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Thread: [TA:TW MOS Mirkwood Elves AAR] War Beneath The Trees [Updated: 27/11/13]

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    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default [TA:TW MOS Mirkwood Elves AAR] War Beneath The Trees [Updated: 27/11/13]






    Chapter I, Part I – It Is Good To Be Home




    Fire.

    Fire consumed the trees and burnt the forest to the ground, all around his people were dying, the screeches of Orc-kind and the tears of misery from his own people ringing in his ears. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all, his body shattered and broken and bleeding from a thousand smaller wounds as he lay in the tall grass and gazed upward at the sky.

    What had he done to deserve this? Why was his life-force ebbing away? Was this the very time when his people would fall into darkness at last?




    Arodiaur awoke in a sweat, his keen eyes gently probing the dusky gloom all around him, his slender hands running over his body that had tightened as the nightmare took hold, and now relaxed as a breath left his throat and reality seeped back into his mind.

    Why had the nightmares began now? Was it his ever-closing proximity to Eryn Galen, known in the tongues of man as Green the Great, the place of his dwelling for nigh on time immemorial before he had begun his travels into the wider world?

    It was two millennia past when he had left the Kingdom of Thranduil in northern Mirkwood, taking with him only his weapons and some simple green garments. During those centuries of wandering he was travelled the length of Middle-Earth, from the Ered Luin and the Elven harbours in the west to the lands of the Avari Elves in the far east and southern lands, seeing and experiencing all manner of things.

    Only recently had the yearning for his forest home started once more to beat in his breast, longing for the smell, the sight and the sounds of the deep woodlands and plentiful glades. In his mind he could see the living rock of the caverns that were the Halls of Thranduil deep beneath the forest floor. In those caverns had Thorin Oaken-shield and his friends been incarcerated, before their escape and the Battle of Five Armies that followed, an event in the history of the Mirkwood Elves that still stung Thranduil to this very day.

    Yet if the rumours were true then evil had crept into his adopted home, adopted because Arodiaur was part of the older Sindar race that merged near completely with the Woodland Elves which dwelt in Mirkwood; they were uncouth, archaic and highly xenophobic of others if merry, and it was because of this that Arodiaur had fallen in love with the people and their country. His Galadhrim kin of Lothlórien were more alike to their Noldorian queen, a queen who protected her people with magic and powerful spells, much likened to Lord Elrond of Imladris in that respect, where Thranduil had no such power but who kept his northern realm free of intruders by skill-at-arms alone.

    Some said that the hill of Amon Lanc was now in the possession of an evil the likes of which had never entered the forest before, an evil that had alerted Thranduil to its presence but that the Sindar king was at this time powerless to stop.


    With all haste he got to his feet and pulled on his travelling clothes, wrapping his russet brown cloak about him and peering down at the treetops from his hillside vantage point.

    Some feet below him, a distance from the foothills on which he now stood, bubbled the flowing Anduin river - the river that even long ago had separated the Galadhrim from the Silvan Elves, their bloodlines and separate kingdoms previously one, fractured by time and differences – and in through his keen eyes he could make out what the men of the valley called the Old Ford, its bridge in disrepair but still able to hold the weight of a traveller or two. This would then lead onto the overgrown Old Forest Road, and eventually would take him home...home.



    ************



    “Should we have killed these ebœnnin?” Came the voice from close by, lilting and light as the leaves on the wind, to reach the ears of Arodiaur.

    Finding tracks along the Old Forest Road leading north-east into the Mountains of Mirkwood, tracks so faint that no mere human would have been able to follow them, he had abandoned his plans for one moment and deftly scaled the rocks until he had come straight down into the foothills on the other side. This was only possible because these particular 'mountains' were not like those of the Ered Luin or the Misty Mountains but smaller and less steep, combined with a grace born into all of the Firstborn it allowed him to make fleeting movements across the stone and rock of the mountains.

    “They were trespassing in my fathers realm, they should not have been here at all.”

    “I do not know, my Prince. They had never harmed us.”

    By now the traveller had struggled onto a rock outcrop and gazed down with narrowed eyes at a scene of battle, indeed a scene of slaughter, the many bodies of Men and those of Elves here and there showing signs of a struggle which had not gone well for the humans at all. Counting some seventy or so of his kin, the human bodies amounting to nearly seven hundred all told, it was nonetheless a steep price to pay for a dwindling race. They would not have attacked without good reason.

    “The men of Dale and Esgaroth enter our woodlands of their own choosing, others like them making their homes in the southern woods. They all know the boundaries, and they were crossed by these folk. That is all.”

    From what Arodiaur could tell the settlement had been a mining camp, a small palisaded settlement full of mostly male humans digging into the sides of the mountains in the hope of finding riches therein. He who spoke, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, was correct that they should not have been there without permission from Thranduil and death, as it went, was a just punishment. Even those years out in the world had not changed his view on that.

    “Come, we return to the Halls.”

    “As you wish, my Prince.”

    Even though Legolas had never so much as glanced his way Arodiaur knew he had been spotted, the keen-eyed archer and warrior never missing so much as a flicker of movement among the brush.

    “Do not worry about me, Prince,” muttered the Elf under his breath, “I shall see you at your fathers Hall before sunset.”
    Last edited by McScottish; November 27, 2013 at 01:24 PM.

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    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: [TA:TW MOS Mirkwood Elves AAR] War Beneath The Trees [Updated: -/-/-]

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