Welcome to Gaia! ::

• THIS IS A LITERATE RPG!
  
• No spamming.
  
• No sexually explicit materials or role playing (you can say you slept with someone, but we don't want too many details).
  
• No outright character killing (unless it's your character killing and being killed, or it is pre-approved by the character who will be dieing).
  
• No Godmoding.
  
• No stupid characters, please. Stay within the Realm of Tolkien.
  
• You can have better magic than there was in LOTR, but not unbeatable magic.
  
• Villains with a good angsty side are always welcome.
  
• No, you can't be princes or princesses of places unheard of. You have to come from somewhere on the Middle-earth map or you must have a good reason why they aren't.
  
• WE NEED CANON CHARACTERS! Ask if you can play them, BEFORE playing them.
  
• Legolas is already taken. DON'T ASK TO PLAY HIM!
  
• Your Character CAN NOT be related or in love with Legolas unless there's a damn good reason, and unless you clear it with me first! I'm getting sick of having to yell at people to stop trying to godmod my character by saying they're in love with him and he's in love with them!
  
• You can be an Original Character, but you MUST post your bio in the Original Characters Announcement.
  
• Out of species love is PROHIBITED (except for Human/Elf).
  
• You CANNOT post using *actions*. Please use complete sentences and paragraphs and punctuation and the like.
  
• No quoting other people's posts. It takes up too much room.
  
• Please use Punctuation Marks as well as Capitalization! We respect and demand good, if not decent, grammar.
  
• This board is checked and posted in EVERYDAY! Just to warn you...
  
• Have fun, and if you have any questions, feel free to pm me and ask or simply post in the OOC Random Things topic.
  

PLOT & CURRENT LOCATIONS

The heat radiated from the furnace and enshrouded him in a cloak both sweltering and sickly. The oppressive fire constricted his skin and forced the sweat from his body; he felt the weight of his sopped hair bare down on him. His eyes were dry and stung with each blink, only working to force the kicked up ash deep into his sockets. His head was swimming as he tried to concentrate on that smoldering little circle in front him and he tried to stave off images of such perfectly circular smoke rings he'd blow late nights in the Shire. But like those rings, this one too began to lose shape and warble away.
For the first time in 10 years though he felt no panic and the wave of heat rolled from his body as he struck out with his probe and reconfigured the loop into perfect symmetry. Quickly now, he plunged the piece into cold water and listened to the screaming hiss as the heat was vanquished. Then he reached his hand in and he pulled out a beautiful gold ring. Flawless.
"Well done." Delthur said into his ear. "I have 9 more fingers though."
It seemed he had to match every bead of metal with a bead of sweat. This was not what he had in mind when he wanted to be a jeweler. He saw it as an easy life. It was a mighty fine ring though.

~~~~

"Please! Stop! My wife and daughter, please! Spare them! Do what you will with me!"
"Of that there is no doubt but as you see, your wife and daughter are well taken care of." Harthur said as he gestured, very gracefully, to the two recently, a brutally, raped women quivering on the ground.
"It's okay girls, my two strong, brave girls, it's alright. Aila, you're so strong, that's why I married you. And Ditya, you take after your mother, so much." The man forced from his shuttering lips, trying desperately to see his women through the pools on his eyes.
Harthur removed himself from his throne and with something of a skip in his step made his way over to the man. He drew his sword. And if there was one flaw he would admit to himself, it was having to stare upon the beauty of that blade every time he drew it. As he did now.
"Aila! Ditya!"
With those load cries from the man Harthur's attention fixated back on those at his feet. He placed the blade against the man's throat who looked up with a stony face and said, "I'm ready, you son of a b***h." And with that Harthur drew the blade...across the man's cheek, causing a slow trickle of blood from his face. "No, but you will be."
The man bled for hours and his women screamed in front of him for every second of them.

Aevin wiped the sweat from her brow with the dirt-smudged back of her hand, pursing her lips with distaste as she made her way among the raucous crowds of men. Her strong wrist balanced a stack of grease-slicked, crumb-laden plates that grew larger as she passed more tables, sliding the more or less empty dishes from under the diners' noses. She'd learned over the years how to go about her work quickly and quietly, in a way that drew very little attention to herself. Most of the men that passed through the inn were good folk in spite of their appearances, and her mother had made sure she knew how to handle herself around the ones that weren't. Thus it was with an air of confidence that she went about her work, and was able to meet a few pairs of curious, wandering eyes unafraid.

But she didn't bother to be discreet as she slipped around his table. She gave him a smile that was charming even through the dirt and oil on her face, and was delighted by the sharp nod he gave her in return.

"How ya doing this fine evening?" she called over the noise that filled the air between them like a wild stampede.

He grinned, lifting his mug. "I could use another pint."

She had to struggle to find the breath to answer him. His deep voice sent shivers through her. "Right away, sir."

She stepped into the kitchen, dropping her load of dishes in the basin. Her heart was pounding. She splashed her face with the thick water, scrubbing hard and wishing she had a mirror on hand. If she'd known he was in town again, she would have paid more attention to herself that morning, brushed her hair and washed her face. Usually, it wasn't a very good idea to look too nice after dark at the inn, but she would have risked the cat-calls and gropings for him.

She'd loved him for a very long time.

"An hour."
Legede sighed, "I know."
With a frown, Nileregwen crossed her arms over her chest. "And no one seems the least bit worried?"
"No." came two voices in unison.
For a moment, Legede and Feanaro looked at each other, before both smiled slightly and went back to their tasks. As Nil looked on, Legede was skinning a rabbit, which Feanaro had brought back, while the younger Elven warrior was busy clearing brush away from their resting place.
Nileregwen, had no job... at least not until Legolas came back with the damned firewood.
"He does this a lot, doesn't he?" she asked, looking directly at the Elven captain.
With a sigh, Legede's blue gaze turned upward. He set the knife down on a smooth stone and sat back. "It is a new forest, Nileregwen. Legolas... likes his trees. I know Feanaro doesn't really understand the prince's love of them, but you are Silvan. You should feel the same."
"You do not love the trees as he does." the woman pointed out. "And your hair is far lighter than mine."
The elder Elf smiled softly. "I am also far older than you, and have seen my fair share of trees in my lifetime... including those of this forest. Legolas is young... give him time. In a thousand years or so... maybe his interest will have worn off."
"More like ten thousand..." Nil replied grumpily, looking off into the distance.
Legede laughed, picking his knife up again. "If Legolas has not returned in two hours time... we will go search for him."
"And you are likely to find him asleep in a tree." Feanaro replied with a smile.

~ ~ ~

"Bain..." the Elven prince whispered from where he perched.
Legolas sat atop a tall oak tree, looking out over the tree covered landscape that seemed to stretch for miles and miles. To one side, the trees eventually gave way to a plain with rolling hills, and to the other, tall imposing mountains towered into the sky.
The forest wasn't large, but it was a decent size, and it bordered the Ered Luin from the Hills of Everdim. Nor was the forest very thick, hardly noticeable upon any map of Middle-earth, especially when compared to those of Mirkwood or Lothlorien... or even the Fangorn.
The latter of the two were forests that Legolas hoped to venture to one day.
But every forest held a special place for the Elven prince, because each one gave Legolas a new insight into the language of trees... into their thoughts, their feelings...
With a sigh, Legolas trained his blue gaze on the mountains, searching them carefully.
Usually, Elves of Taur-nu-Fuin and Imladris would travel through the shire and then north, moving to Mithlond from the north. However, lately, the Elven parties had been steering clear of the northern harbor, in favor of it's southern counterpart.
It was reported that an ill feeling had been upon the wind.
Legolas wanted to know just what misfortune the trees might have encountered, wondering if they were perhaps the ones worrying the Elves which left Middle-earth.
So far however, there was nothing.
Thus, the mountains were Legolas' next target. If nothing turned up within their peaks... they would have to travel further north, a prospect that certainly had it's own pitfalls.
Just when Legolas had about decided to simply find his fallen firewood and return to camp, a light caught his eye. He squinted, his vision allowing him to see a small entrance into the mountains.
A cave... and what was even stranger... a cave that had a trail leading to it.
"Naugrim?" the Elf asked himself, curious about this prospect.
Without a moment's hesitation, Legolas leapt from the tree, hitting the ground as lightly as a feather. He dashed through the forest until coming to the very edge of the treeline.
There could be no mistaking it.
Someone lived in the mountains... and that someone might know what had befallen the countryside in recent months.

~ ~ ~

Sindarin Translations:
Bain = Beautiful
Naugrim = Dwarves

~ ~ ~

Notes:
Taur-nu-Fuin is another name for Mirkwood.
Imladris is another name for Rivendell.
Mithlond is another name for the Grey Havens.
Ered Luin is another name for the Blue Mountains.

heart

While Druber slept, Delthur worked, as was his habit. The longest breaks he took were for sleeping, otherwise it was just a beer here and a smoke there, then back to the forge. He pounded the hot metal with violent strokes. The clang of the metal rattled through his bones as his hammer collided with the would-be-sword. Sparks leaped up and smoldered in his beard, ash billowed up from the coals and blackened his bare arms that throbbed and strained with every blow.
With the skill of an experienced artisan he made every strike to his standard of perfection. It did not come as natural this day however. It hadn't come natural for awhile. Delthur felt a pressure bearing down on him. Outside a dark cold was gathering. An evil chill that began to erode at even the mountains. His blades could afford no flaws. His armor no imperfections. Every piece of metal would have to hold shape in the deepest frost. He knew not all of this, but only felt it. It was strong enough for him to leave his beer undrunk, his pipe unlit, and his bed untouched.