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piosenniel · 01-01-2004, 02:36 PM

Imladris’ post - Ori

Ori stroked his wooden flute fondly as he gently tucked it away in a small travelling bag. He smiled as he remembered the odd circumstances the instrument had been given him: a wood-elf of Mirkwood had given it as a gift when he had saved the elf’s life during the Battle of Five Armies. Intricate carvings of vine and forest flowers wrapped itself about the flute, and it’s tone was haunting and enchanting and woke sweet memories or inflamed the heart to bold deeds.

He glanced out the window and roving grass lands met his eye. The sky was blue with mere wisps of cloud floating above. The sun shone brightly and a gem glittered somewhere near. A pleasant breeze brought the fresh smell of grass and flowers into the slightly musty room. All was so fair, and yet an unseen shadow hovered over their pleasant realm. Unsettling rumors whispered seductively into one’s ears, a voice of power was nigh. Alas that Balin heeded those whispers of ruin and destruction!

Ori’s thoughts turned to Balin, and Ori wished again that Balin was not so driven to reclaim Moria. Darkness held it, evil had the once mighty kingdom in its grasp. It would be folly to return, and certain death. “I cannot leave Balin alone to his fate,” Ori said aloud as he placed a brown hood upon his head. Maybe he himself was wrong, and Balin was right: maybe they would be able to conquer it again and find the Dwarven ring of power. A chill hand passed over Ori’s heart sweeping the hope away and a gloomy prediction took hold of the dwarf’s mind: they would find no ring, only death in the darkness of Khazad-dum.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:03 PM January 15, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

01-01-2004, 02:36 PM	#2
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Imladris’ post - Ori Ori stroked his wooden flute fondly as he gently tucked it away in a small travelling bag. He smiled as he remembered the odd circumstances the instrument had been given him: a wood-elf of Mirkwood had given it as a gift when he had saved the elf’s life during the Battle of Five Armies. Intricate carvings of vine and forest flowers wrapped itself about the flute, and it’s tone was haunting and enchanting and woke sweet memories or inflamed the heart to bold deeds. He glanced out the window and roving grass lands met his eye. The sky was blue with mere wisps of cloud floating above. The sun shone brightly and a gem glittered somewhere near. A pleasant breeze brought the fresh smell of grass and flowers into the slightly musty room. All was so fair, and yet an unseen shadow hovered over their pleasant realm. Unsettling rumors whispered seductively into one’s ears, a voice of power was nigh. Alas that Balin heeded those whispers of ruin and destruction! Ori’s thoughts turned to Balin, and Ori wished again that Balin was not so driven to reclaim Moria. Darkness held it, evil had the once mighty kingdom in its grasp. It would be folly to return, and certain death. “I cannot leave Balin alone to his fate,” Ori said aloud as he placed a brown hood upon his head. Maybe he himself was wrong, and Balin was right: maybe they would be able to conquer it again and find the Dwarven ring of power. A chill hand passed over Ori’s heart sweeping the hope away and a gloomy prediction took hold of the dwarf’s mind: they would find no ring, only death in the darkness of Khazad-dum. <font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:03 PM January 15, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.