Search for Rhûn RPG

[Himaran]

Bali was instantly uncomfortable at the mention of treasure. There may be none at all, and it is all they can think about! He did, however, know that the dwarves needed something to talk about, so they could mingle and become friends. They were all young and shy, most on their first journey. It will be good to get their minds off home.

"I have always been a fan of making fine jewelry. Necklesses, mostly; but I enjoy working on rings as well. Ah... to have the skill of the elves, and craft those magic items. Rings can hold far more power than axe-heads, you know."

Nelin joined in the conversation. "Why rings and amulets instead of axes and knives? Weapons are far more exciting to build than gold cresents!"

Bali slowed his pace to match Nelin's, and patted the young dwarf on the shoulder. "Well, I have traveled a lot, and found that steel blades kill orcs better than gold ones. Besides, I hate to scratch up such good craftmanship, and there is little need to scrape a notch in a ring." He pulled his single-bladed, curved, Ereborian-style axe from the strap on his back, and showed Nelin the many scrapes along the pole. The dwarf's eyes widened: hundreds were visible.

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy," said Bali, winking. "And what about you others? What do you hope to make?"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

He has been quiet for most of the trip, and it bothered him. Usually, Narvi would have been the first to crack jokes, or sing songs, or start conversations. But not this time.

Perhaps it was the thought of Rhûn. I have been through the greatest battle of the Third Age unharmed; now the name of some wild place disturbs me?

He decided to wander around, and listen for any hints of conversation interesting to him.

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy," said Bali, winking.

A talk about great battles! This would prove interesting.

As he slowly walked on to Dwalin, he didn't notice that the Dwarf was heedless of his path, and soon Dwalin bumped into Narvi.

[Novnarwen]

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy."

Narrow-eyed, Dwalin gazed at Bali. Battles were easy? He looked at his double-bladed axe and his cross bow; hanging over his shoulder. When leaving the Hall he had never really imagined he would need his weapons. Rhûn was filled with treasure and fortune, not wild barbarians who would kill everyone who came to seek luck, right? He frowned, taking no heed to poor Narvi who went quietly at Dwalin's left side. Dwalin, unintentionally, bumped into him, as he was in deep thought.

"Oh, sorry!" Dwalin exclaimed, realising he wasn't paying much attention to others than himself. Narvi didn't seem to mind, even though Dwalin had heard of his temper from others. He had a grim face and was, of appearance, taller than Dwalin.

Dwalin excused himself once more, looking up and into his dark brown eyes.

"Narvi, is it?" Dwalin asked, suddenly, feeling the urge to make up for any awkwardness between them. The Dwarf didn't want to offend anyone, or be in the way. After all, this was his first adventure, and he wasn't very familiar with this whole travelling thing. This of course, only he knew and his brother. No one, absolutely no one, knew that the gash on his cheek was not from a battle in a distant ..... He was interrupted as the other Dwarf answered his question.

"Aye, I'm indeed Narvi Silverfist." Dwalin nodded, not knowing what more to say to this grim dwarf. It was a strange feeling. He was known to be kind, social, friendly, (which came under 'kind', Dwalin reminded himself of) humorous, intelligent, (this made Dwalin giggle) generous, good looking; in fact quite handsome . . . Dwalin made a jump. I'm humble! He thought, and with this he settled as he realised humble dwarves didn't think of themselves as good-looking and intelligent and all the other things he had thought of, which had made him seem not humble at all. It was an odd feeling around this though, but he couldn't quite explain it. It was Narvi's fault; that dwarf made him think, Dwalin figured; giving one last glance up at him before taking his leave. Narvi looked down for a moment, before stretching out his hand, taking Dwalin by the arm. The so called humble dwarf felt Narvi's strong hands, around his, or so it seemed, tiny arm. Dwalin didn't have time to think now, he was too afraid? What could possibly Narvi do to him? Nothing.. Oh well... Narvi was so 'big', Dwalin pointed out to himself in a hurry, trying very hard to find something to say. He stood like a stiff mummy, trying not to seem rude or impolite, but the fact that Narvi had grabbed him, not very hard, just firmly, had given Dwalin a fright.

"Woah, I'm glad to be here," Narvi said. "Thank you Dwalin," he finished.

For a little Dwarf, Dwalin, this was indeed nice words to hear. Narvi wasn't that big, just tall. Yes, that was it. Dwalin gave him an encouraging look, before walking on with Narvi at his side.

[Will Witfoot]

Gortek lay on the grass of their common campsite, letting the sun shine down on him with it's pleasant warmth. His pipe was clutched between his teeth, and a stream of perfect smoke ring's rose to the breezeless morning air.

"So Gortek, what House or Mansion of Dwarves are you from?"

Gortek turned his head slightly, fixing his one good eye on the man, Aras. Despite his apparent and undenied madness he was far from stupid, and he caught a faint note of distrust in the rangers voice.

"From the Iron Hills, lad." He could not quite keep some amount of surliness from creeping into his voice. The man's lack of trust angered him. He had met distrust many times on his travel's, at times directed towards his honor and at others at his skill's. There was nothing he hated quite so much as not being trusted.

He tapped the ashes from his pipe and got up, resolving to go for a walk or to fish until his temper cooled.

"I'll see if the fish round 'ere is easy."

[Himaran]

The dwarves had walked for most of the day, and dusk was creeping upon their path. Thankfully, the city of Laketown was spreading out before them, it was not long before they arrived at its sturdy northern gates. Most of the young dwarves had never been far outside of Erebor, and they gaped as the huge doors creaked open. Bali spoke with the guards, and the iron-clad men nodded and waved them forward. Owing to the ease of their entrance was the fact that security had loosened slightly after the fall of Sauron; and travellers were frequent during the fall.

The town was far from glamorous; sturdy, wooden and straw houses were built around the great Lake Esgaroth. The townsfolk were primarily fishermen and farmers, also some were fortunate and had more important professions.

Bali and his companions soon arrived at a comfortable-looking inn, The Silver Stable, and entered. The dwarves situated themselves at a large table while Dwalin and his brother saw to the reservations. "Three rooms for two nights; large, if you can manage." Drinks were soon served, and the party was in far higher spirits than it had been during the day's long march.

[bilbo_baggins]

Aras was sorry to see the Dwarf walk off to see about fishing, and he was also sad to see him angry and slightly hurt at the mistrust he had shown. But could he do anything about it? How far would he in placing his life in the hands of these strangers? Maybe after some well-spent time together, he could trust them more, but not even 12 hours had passed, by Eru! 'How far can I trust?,... How far?' he thought, over and over in his mind.

Today would be a good day, and it was already starting to blossom. Maybe they could go hunting later, or fish, or just talk. Talk would be good. He needed to know something; something, anything that would tie a bond of friendship between him and these two. Their names already had passed around between them, and it was blatantly obvious what their general origins were,... what could be a pact?

He turned to the Elf, and asked, "Will you fish with the Dwarf, or go hunt, or what?"

"I do not know, I may find something in a while. My heart tells me that we are to wait for someone or something that will come to find us, though I don't entirely trust feelings or emotions."

Aras felt the same way. What could they do? They had to wait.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Haenir settled his bones into the hard wood of his chair and indulged himself in a slight sigh of relief. The day’s march had worked its way into his body and the prospect of a couple days’ rest was appealing to him. He shifted his shoulders beneath his armour, reflecting on the days of walking still to come. It had been years since he had marched forth in his gear of war and it would take some time before it felt natural once more. He drank a great quaff of his ale and then banged the tankard to the table for more. A servingman hopped to his side and filled it once more with foaming liquid which soon followed its predecessor down Haenir’s throat.

The other Dwarves in the party had finally found their tongues, it seemed, but Haenir had fallen into something of a brood as he reflected on an incident from earlier in the day. When they had reached the city gates, the guards had asked where they were headed. When they had heard the answer, eyebrows had been raised and knowing looks had been exchanged among the men. Haenir and the other Dwarves had thought little of this reaction, for Men were a superstitious lot. But the echoing chatter had followed them into the Silver Stable. Even now, from where he sat Haenir could hear whispered fragments of conversation from about the room:

“Off to Rhûn you say they are? What madness could drive them there?” he heard in the slow tones of a Lakeman.

“Such is always the desire of Dwarves to seek their fortune far from the safety of home,” came the whispering music of an Elf from the Greenwood.

From the far side of the room he heard, “If half of what I’ve heard is true…” and from nearby, “death by darkness, they say about those lands. Death by darkness.”

This latter claim caught Haenir’s attention and he turned in his seat to find the speaker. At a small table not far from where he sat were two richly clad Men from Gondor – merchants, it seemed. They saw Haenir looking at them and quickly busied themselves with their food, embarrassed at having been caught gossiping about him. The Dwarf rose and bowed to them deeply before speaking formally. “My apologies, sirs, for intruding but I could not help but overhear your conversation about our destination. You seem to know somewhat of it, whereas I know nothing of it. As I am now on a road that will lead me into the heart of a great mystery, I would be grateful for anything that you might know.”

The two Men looked at one another quickly before the taller and fairer of the two responded. He was clothed in rich cloths and bore a large amulet of gold upon his chest. He was obviously one of high and noble birth and his eyes held Haenir’s as he spoke. “I’m afraid, Master Dwarf, that there is little that we know beyond the tales told by old women by the hearthside in our land. What value there may be in their stories I know not, but what I remember of them is yours for the asking. They speak of an empty land, devoid of people, and yet with all the signs of habitation. It is as though a race of spirits inhabits that realm maintaining paths and roads but living nowhere – being seen by no-one.”

Haenir’s countenance grew thoughtful as he took this in. “You are right, sir, that is not, perhaps, as helpful as I would like. But beggars cannot be choosers! You spoke, though, of ‘death by darkness’ – I note that you do not do so now. Do not worry about scaring me with old tales, sir! If there is aught to hear of this land, I desire to hear it.”

The Men looked at one another once more before the slighter one responded. “Like my friend, sir, I know nothing for sure of the land where you are headed. The line you heard is part of an old rhyme that I remember from my youth:

“The night like daggers glistening,
Cry out for the sun,
Fear a death by darkness,
In the land of Rhûn”

“As I say, Master Dwarf,” the Man continued, “it is an old rhyme and meaningless to me. Take it, for what it’s worth, and may it be of some use to you on the road you have chosen to travel.”

Haenir thanked the Men and bowed once more, returning to his seat. Cry out for the sun, Fear a death by darkness… The rhyme was a riddle to him – and he hoped that it would ever remain that way…

[Himaran]

Fordim Hedgethistle's Post

Hænir’s axe was in his hands before the arrow that had embedded itself in the ground by Erulon’s hand had stopped shivering. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the surrounding trees and his nose twitched for the scent of danger.

The long days of their forced march had begun to dull his spirits and place upon him the heavy burden of his cowardice during the attack upon their companions. Bali’s words had been wise that day, they had been no match for the numbers of enemies they had stumbled upon, but still Hænir had had difficulty in accepting that hard truth. Never before had he fled before an enemy…and never again would he. ‘Tis better to die in the defence of friends and pursuit of honour than to flee to protect one’s hide he told himself for the thousandth time.

Beside him stood Nerin, nervously clutching his weapons and glaring at the woods. Hænir had taken a liking to quiet fellow in their journey and in their conversations he had found that they had much in common. It was obvious that the younger Dwarf looked to Hænir for guidance in this quest, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that Hænir had accepted the silent charge of duty that this placed upon him. To the other side stood Bali, who had snapped to alert as quickly as Hænir. For a moment, the party stood quietly awaiting whatever else was to follow the arrow, but the woods remained silent. “What think you of that, Master Bali?” Hænir asked under his breath. “More orcs?”

“I think not,” was the reply. “That arrow is not of orcish make.”

“Well,” Hænir said, “whoever shot it is not being overly friendly. Ahoy there!” he bellowed, “If you wish to pick a fight with us then come out in the open where we can see you and we’ll be happy to oblige you. But if you’d rather play hide-a-seek like young ones then be off with you, for we have no time for such amusements!” At first it seemed that the silence would be their only response, but the three figures stepped from the trees and advanced toward them…