Chronicles of Middle Earth: Ansrali in Gondor

[Dhodrimme Rualanna]

Here begins the RP world of this Forum, and to start it all off, we shall be in the Fourth Age, with my new character, Nuaera Ansrali. There will be no ultimate evil in this or some outrageously huge and dangerous expedition, other than her ongoing search for revenge against her father and her search for her sister... This is located in Gondor, in Minas Tirith, starting off at a Sword smith shop, where Ansrali had first been sold as a slave... Be sure you have read the rules provided in a separate thread! There are a couple character’s available, which I am not forcing anyone to play, but it would be nice if I didn’t have to be the “circus” of the whole thing, as a friend once put it... Anyhow... let me continue, with my character’s bio, then I’ll get into details.

--------

Name: Nuaera Ansrali

Translated: Hope-song/singer, Rune-shadow

Gender: Female

Birth year: 10th year of the Fourth Age

Race: Mostly Mortal, only partially elf

Appearance: Redish gold hair which ends just past her shoulders, though it is mostly pulled into a loose tie. Keen eyes of a green shade, and a fair, though mature face, strained by burdens even in her youthful years. Strong and agile, though not particularly tall in height, average of 5' 5" while her figure is fit and trim.

Clothing: Her attire consists of usually redish brown tunic, of supple leather fabric, the sleeves of a three quarter length, split slightly for better movement of the elbow, while the front is laced. Her britches, of similiar color and texture as her tunic, tuck into her calf length boots, dark leather in color and laced the entire length. A broad cape of the same color as her attire beneath, is clasped in place with weathered gold corner claspings and a strap of leather between them. Often she wears a dark cloth wrapped loosely to cover her hair and neck while occasionally she places a circlet of thickly crafted silver around to keep it in place. Also wears brown leather gauntlets constantly, as both concealment and protection. All this is weathered and travel worn, yet still well kept, carefully repaired by her own hand.

Weapons/Equipment: A dagger of broad and simple design, strapped to her right side, while a sword of more intricate crafting settles at her left side, though she is rare to use it, as archery is her specialty, with a bow of her own crafting.

The picture I have chosen for her:


Steed or travel companion: None, besides a rather unlikely friendship with a worn and old dog of a border collie likeness; a reject.

History: During the first years of the Fourth age, there dwelt a half-elven, Aralianna, looking forward to peaceful times and a life with the one she loved, but fate had it that a young and wayward Rohirrim of dishonorable intentions, which put shame on his fellow kin, took her as a slave and forced wife, though he did not return to his homelands with her, as he was forbidden to do so, disowned by his family. Yet nothing could be done for the half-elven maiden, when Elodren took her off into the wilderness, forcing her to his will.

After a few years time, though much to the chagrin of her self-proclaimed spouse, she came to have a child, a girl which she named Nuaera Ansrali, the first name meaning Hope Song, for indeed the half-elven found hope within the child, hope to continue and live for her own flesh and blood. Yet Elodren was not pleased with the idea of having to raise a child and would have taken Nuaera, but Aralianna put herself between the child and Elodren, having him face the decision of putting her to death or allowing her to keep the child.

Elodren gave in to her demands, and the child was raised by the loving mother, though as she grew in years, Nuaera became terrified of her own father, for her mother would constantly be subject to his abusive behavior, and never would Aralianna allow his hand to fall upon the child. When Nuaera reached the age of seven, Aralianna had a second child, a girl whom she named Arnae Ansrali, though it stirred two years of poor health for the half-elf maiden, and it rested upon Nuaera to help care for her young sister, whom she grew to love dearly. Yet shortly after the third year, Aralianna died from the illness which plagued her, leaving ten year old Nuaera and three year old Arnae to the fate of their forceful father.

Elodren, however, wanted nothing to do with the children once Aralianna had died, so he sold them to slavery, though Arnae, being still too young, was sold underhandedly to a family who wished for a child to raise and assist them in their work when she was older, the father being a fieldsman of Rohan.

Nuaera on the other hand, was not so fortunate, and she was sold to a man who worked hard labor in a swordsmith shop of Gondor and it was there she grew strong in arm and spirit, though it taxed her greatly at her young age. As she aged in years, she did, however, learn the art of forging blades, and Vernon, the older son of the swordsmith, secretly taught her the skill of weilding a blade, though it was the art of archery which she mastered. Vernon instructed her in the crafting of a bow and ever more was she grateful for his instruction.

Yet she longed to find her lost sister, to reunite with her, though she was not sure if Arnae would even remember the elder sister who cared for her, and deep within that longing also dwelt a fierce want for revenge against the man who caused the suffering to her, her mother, and the helpless sibling.

Nuaera gained privleges with the craftsman and even a salary, for her work was accomplished well, and he had even begun to look to her with pride, as his student and an adopted daughter, for his son had not followed in his footsteps, but had joined with the men of Gondor as a soldier. Nuaera grew to love Vernon as an older brother, and looked to him for comfort in her stressful times, and strength when things would seem overwhelming. Another companion she would look to, was an old dejected border collie which had taken residence within the smithy, though he was shunned as a stray, being a shy creature. However, the dog took to Nuaera and remained a faithful follower of her footsteps, her shadow more or less.

Often, in her times of leave, Nuaera would search and question many concerning her lost sister, but still, it remained a mystery and a sorrow to her heart...
--------------

Year in which the RPG takes place: 31st year of the Fourth Age, making Nuaera 21.

Starting Location: Gondor - Minas Tirith - Second level - Deornon Sword Smithies

Character's Available:
Deornon - Master smithy and purchaser/adoptive parent of Nuaera - Kind, considerate, yet still with a firm manner and strict rule, hard with work:

Vernon - Deornon's son, a soldier of Gondor, and an "older brother" to Nuaera - Kind in manner yet strong and determind:

Verena - Deornon's wife - a kind woman who cared well for Nuaera, teaching her to sew and cook, aside from the skills taught by the smithy:

Arnae - Nuaera's long lost sister (though she will not come into the story until later perhaps, but if anyone decides to play her, she can keep a low profile, perhaps she's visiting Gondor for supplies or something. Her age would be 14): Played by Revontulet

If you have a character of your own, please feel free to post it, though I would ask that you do not have pure blood elves because that would be highly unlikely in Minas Tirith at this time...

I shall start with the first post later on, but hopefully this will work out and liven the forum just a bit...

[revontulet]

*grins* But you're good at being the circus, my dear Dho!

I must admit that I've never role played at a forum, but after some lurking I'm quite exited about the opportunity. This could really become a great story.

If I may, I'd humbly ask your permission to play Arnae -I'd love to play her.

[Dhodrimme Rualanna]

*smiles* Of course! I'd love to have you join and play Arnae! If you have any questions, I'd be glad to help in any way I can... Feel free to give a history to how Arnae's 'slave' years went if you wish

[Malrid]

Character name: Rhayader
Age: 32
Race: Human (Gondor, Ranger)
Weapons: Bow and short sword
Appearance: Long scruffy brown hair, brown eyes, hardened face, unshaven chin. Wears a green hooded cloak and leather armour.
Background: A master ranger, one of the best at hiding himself in the undergrowth and the trees. He was sent to guard Itilien where not much occured other than an event which he rarely discusses. It changed him from being open, to slightly closed. No one knows why.

[revontulet]

Here it comes...

Name: Arnae (golden whisper)
Age: 14
Gender: Female
Year of Birth: 17th year of the Fourth age
Appearance: Readish gold hair which reaches almost to her waist, often braided with leather ribbons. Blue-green honest-looking eyes. Slender figure, though it’s easy to see she has been working on fields for years.

Arnae’s history after she was sold: Arnae’s adapted father Gáma was gentle, but quiet man, warmed by a child she could raise as his own. His wife, Thelwyn, was a plain woman whose days went by as she worked in the house. They treated Arnae well, as she would have been their own child, but their life was full of work on the fields, and it was familiar to them to regulate their bread. Often they called Arnae Arwyn, but the girl didn’t forget her real name, although she was seldom called that way.

Whenever Arnae had time with her ‘parents’, they were working at the fields, carrying water or cleaning. They weren’t as close as a family usually is, but Arnae respected Gáma and Thelwyn and wanted to make them proud of her, for she thought they were her father and mother.

Sometimes after the long days at the fields Gáma taught Arnae to ride like he would have taught his own son. He also intended to teach her to defend herself so that one day she’d be alike any woman of Rohan. And Arnae started to long to feel wind blowing through her hair and to see sights of distant lands. Even though she didn’t know she was a slave, she desired for freedom. So when Thelwyn told her she could do whatever she wanted for the rest of the day she rode to the hills and dreamed of faraway places. Memories of those moments helped her through the days filled with sweat and dust.

[Dhodrimme Rualanna]

*smiles* Excellent, Revon, I think we can have our first post now.... since it is my day off work, I have time for it *grins*

-----

Nuaera wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt, releasing a heavy sigh as she stepped outside from the sweldering heat of the smithy shop. With a bright smile, she waved to a frequent customer who was passing by, a rather heavily built, though short man, who gave a hearty greeting in response before heading on his way. Her slender but strong figure was hidden beneath a thick bull hide apron, burn marks showing where shards of heated metal had imbeded against the surface during the day's work.

Reluctantly she returned indoors, though still smiling to herself as she removed the apron, glancing towards a broad individual who was hammering out the finally blows against a short dagger. Pausing as though he sensed a gaze, he placed the hammer down and pulled off his glove, turning towards her with a questioning gaze. "Yes, Nua, what is it?"

Nuaera hesitated but continued with a forced smile. "I'm going down to the stables to see if Vernon needs any help today, is there anything you need me to do before I go?" Deornon had been on edge today, since he had a strict deadline for an order of weapons and she wished to be cautious and sure not to upset him.

"Naw, go on down, though I do want you back this after noon to assist with the finallizing of Lord Remar's sword, since I shall not have time to deal with his finicky wishes." Deornon's tone was firm, but not overly rough, as he dismissed her and returned to his work.

"I shall be sure to be back on time, sir" she replied quickly with a grin, hanging her apron on a peg against the stone wall and trading her rough smithy gloves for a more fine pair of red stag leather gloves. Stepping outside with a hurried stride, she pulled a dark cloth around her head, her usual cover, while around her shoulders was clasped her rust colored cape, slightly tattered on the edges due to the constant use.

Heading down to the lower level of Minas Tirith, Nuaera hummed lightly to herself, a spring in her step. She had a meeting with Vernon, and after she had helped care for the horses of the stable, he would take her for a ride to the outskirts of the city, the taste of freedom she thoroughly enjoyed each time she was granted it. But ever on her mind was the thought of what was still missing in her life, the longing to find her younger sister and heal the damage done by the man she could never forget or forgive...

The day was bright and the morning was still fairly young, as she had been awake before the sun had risen, accomplishing what tasks were required of her. The air was cool and refreshing, while Nuaera pushed her sleeves up to allow the breeze to soothe the sting of a fresh burn which reddened the skin of her work-strengthened arm. No one gave her a second glance, save for those who were customers to Deornon's smithy, and with a smile she greeted the sight of the stables ahead of her.

[Malrid]

Inside the stables a lone ranger dismounted from his horse, his legs slightly sore from his long journey. He sighed as his feet touched the ground and he led his horse to a small enclosed space for him. He took the reins off and shut the gate.
"Rest up." He gave a small smile and patted the stalion on the head.
Turning he saw a woman before him.
"Good day."
He walked past her totaly oblivious to any response, he just said it as a curtisity.

[Anariel Narie]

*grin* Gooood evening, my dears...mind if I drop in a charrie?

~*~*~

Triwathion Bainovain

Age: Nineteen.

Gender: Male

Race: Half-elf.

Profession: He travels with a caravan, working as a gypsy and street performer.

Weapons: A simple longsword, given to him by Brethilior, the storyteller of the group.

Creature Companions: The many large, draft horses that pull the carts of the caravan. One in particular - a gypsy vanner mare, named Folly.

Special Abilities: Slight of hand, a few simple magic tricks, the playing of a harp, and, oddly enough, juggling.

Likes: Merriment, music, poetry, writing, reading, sketching, and horses. Also, he somehow has a strange fascination in people; how they act, react, or anything else.

Dislikes: Gloomy dispositions, arrogance, and pointless fighting, unlike his sparrs, with cousins, his father or anyone else, that involve skill and have a point, unfriendliness, and loud noises.

Appearance: As his name suggests ("slender shadow"), Triwathion is a tall, slender, and graceful man. His eyes are a deep, expressive turquoise, and his dark hair reaches just above the middle of his back. His skin is neither tan nor pale, and his body is between built and lean - toned, if you will. He almost always has a smile on his face, though it is neither too broad nor to saddened: content. He wears clothes of rather plain colors - odd to some, for he is pleasing to the eye and would most likely be expected to wear rich clothes, studded with jewels and other treasures, but he chooses not to emphasize on his looks, and instead wears plain clothes - most days a simple white shirt tucked in to a pair of his father's old trousers, a vest overlapping it, and a pair of boots, with the only accent of turqoise being a true turqoise pendant on a silver chain, bought for him by his parents on his eighteenth birthday.

History: Triwathion Bainovain grew up, actually, in the company of a caravan, where he lived as a gypsy with his elven parents and friends. His father, Hiluin Dringol, was the one who tempted Triwathion's mother, a mortal, Silivinu Han, to join him and his band of gypsy elves on their merry journey around Middle-Earth. Shortly after, around a year, Hiluin and Silivinu were wed, and not long after that, Silivinu gave birth to their only child, Triwathion. Because of his being the only child, the two gave him the second, or middle, name of Bainovain (meaning "Beautiful of beautiful") because he brought them such joy, and happiness.

Before Triwathion was even the age of ten, he became a street performer, just like his parents, and would perform on a harp made by his father around the campfires at night, and lull the others to sleep with soft, soothing tunes. Every night, the caravan's storyteller, Brethilior, would teach Triwathion to read and write, and soon the young elfling began to write his own poetry, stories, and started a journal.

Even at age fourteen he began to show signs of growing up to be an excessively handsome young man. He allowed his hair to grow out long enough to be tied back in a short ponytail, and his eyes had deepened over his years from a pale, greenish-blue, to a deep, rich turqoise; his figure began to fill out, and he kept in condition by playing games with the horses, with the elder children of the caravan, and swordplay with his father. (They would often sparr after dinner.)

When he was eighteen, at his coming of age, Triwathion began to work for small pocket money. He would take the weapons of the group into whatever town they were closest to, and get them cleaned and taken care of, or he would take care of a few horses and file down their hooves when they grew too long - perhaps even replace a thrown shoe. Whatever odd job he was given, Triwathion would somehow make it look as if it were the simplest thing he could possibly be doing.

At seventeen, he began to attract much attention from the young females he would encounter, with his good looks, charm, and exciting background of being a "mysterious young gypsy". He would entertain them by reading their palms, tarot cards, or doing small magic tricks, and whatever he did, he would leave them all with smiles on their faces, and they would say such things, as he seemed to be out of earshot, as "what an adorable young man," or "why must he leave?" And every time he would laugh to himself, not really seeing in himself what others did.

Now, at age nineteen, he still entertains among large or small crowds, and enjoys putting smiles on the faces of others, be it with a harp, palm-readings, clever tricks, or magic.

~*~*~

Zat iz m'charrie. Now, for ze post...

~*~*~

"Aiya, where is that boy?" Hiluin grumbled, bustling about the caravan. "Triwathion!"

The elf man's shouts grew louder, as he searched endlessly for his son along the small train of carts and wagons, all horse-drawn and driven by tired souls, their need for rest voiced in complaints as their head, Hiluin Dringol, stormed past them. An older man, seemingly in his late fifties to early sixties, slid carefully from his place in the driver's seat of one of the carts, cupping his hands to his mouth.

"Hiluin Dringol," the man's gruff tone called from behind Hiluin. "You should know your son by this point! He is naught but a curious young man, off wandering on his lonesome. Let him alone, allow him some time to enjoy Minas Tirith, not just entertain her people!"

Hiluin paused and turned to face Brethilior with a sigh, running a hand back through his sleek dark hair. He startled at the gentle touch of Silivinu, who's slender hand now rested on his shoulder. "Come, come, Hil," she soothed. "Triwathion is nearly grown, now. We should respect that. Did you not once have the curiousity to run off on your own sometimes?" Hiluin seemed to ponder this thought, his weary gaze drifting over each member of their caravan, until it landed on an rope tied to the side of one of the wagons; an empty rope. There, attached to the end of that rope, was supposed to be Folly, his son's mare. But, as he clearly saw, the mare was gone, as was her hackamore. He prayed silently that his son would keep his curiousity out of where it didn't belong.

As it turned out, Triwathion was wandering aimlessly through the first level of Minas Tirith, aboard his tall, and rather gorgeous gypsy vanner mare. His clothing was of the simplest make; a white linen shirt, a dark overvest, and riding breeches tucked into a pair of knee-high boots; also, a leather satchel hung over his shoulder. The fact that he was bare-back atop the mare was enough to get him strange looks. What pushed the onlookers of Minas Tirith to stare, was the fact that braided into the mare's mane and tail were decorative bells and ribbons, and her bridle had no bit attached - it was merely a noseband, headband, and a pair of long, slender reins.

Trailing up the street, not far behind Triwathion, was an entire group of riders, with horses the same breed as his mare, made their grand entrance as the entertainers they were, some with harps, others with some other form of strung instrument, and one other with a drum, that kept the beat. These were gypsies.

The guards had allowed them to pass into the city, but told them only one cart would be allowed passage - the cart was filled with supplies from the caravan. The stares recieved from the citizens of Minas Tirith were less than welcome, to say the least; those were stares of distrust, of fright. As if the travelers were demons who would break into their houses at night and kill them. Some, however, were quite entertained by the group, and lined up along the street, clapping in rythym to the music. Triwathion glanced over his shoulder, smiling at the sight of his mother and father at the head of the line, waving to some of the people. This, obviously, hadn't been their first visit - some threw flowers in their paths.

Triwathion, veering off to wander alone, rode in search of a stable, perhaps to allow Folly some rest and relaxation. A faint smile parted the young man's lips as he spied a stable just ahead of them, and touched his heels to the mare's sides to move her into an easy jog, dismounting before a stableboy.

"Pardon me, sir," he addressed the boy with a smile, pulling out a pouch of coins. "Any chance you might take my horse? She's been working a lot; needs a rest, you see."

The boy took one look at the decorated, magnificent animal and nodded, accepting what coins were offered to him, and took Folly's reins, leading her into a stall where she would be fed and watered. Triwathion, on the other hand, was far from rest, at this point, and wanted merely to explore Minas Tirith further, for the farthest he had ever been in Gondor were the smaller villages - never the White City itself, though he longed to see it in person. As he passed the stall where Folly was stabled, scooping up his satchel, he took the mare by her long muzzle and pressed his lips affectionately against her pale nose, and went on his way, drawing his deep, turqoise hood as he went; which, by the by, handsomely accented his eyes, which were of the same expressive color as his cloak.

~*~*~

Sorry it's so long! Sheesh. Had to post m'profile, then the post itself. XP Couldn't stop writing.

[Dhodrimme Rualanna]

Nuaera returned a nod of greeting, a smile forming upon her lips as she saw the stranger. "Greetings, sir." Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him for a moment before continuing on her way into the stables. Suddenly a ragged border collie with a slight limp came barking and rushing at her heels, a greeting to which she reacted with a merry laugh, her green eyes dancing brightly beneath strands of redish gold hair as she crouched down and ruffled the dog's ears fondly. "Hello there, Regar, have you seen Vernon by chance?"

The dog merely barked a second time and bolted into the stables. Nuaera laughed softly and ran after him, her stride swift as she pushed back the covering on her head, alowing the fresh air to cool her. Suddenly she stopped, though, as she saw a strange sight: a gloriously adorned mare with the pride of a wild spirit, and a keen interest in the eyes. Surely not one of Gondor's usual steeds, for rarely was such a color combination seen in those parts.

Her interest sparked, she turned down the corridor, curiosity lighting in her eyes, but she paused as she saw what appeared to be the horse's owner, a tall and rather attractive young man, though his face did not seem familiar to her. Glancing around for her adoptive brother but not seeing him, she stepped forward once more, subconciously brushing aside a strand of her hair obscuring her vision. Timidly she smiled and spoke quietly, so as not to disturb the calm of the stables. "Sir, is that your mare? I must say she is a spectacular creature, the likes of which I have never seen before."

[Malrid]

Rhayader walked through the city streets with a smile on his face, glowing in the morning sun. The ranger walked down the street waving at the odd guard now and again. He walked into a pub and ordered an ale, drinking it at the bar. A drunkard stumbled over to him, it was Teo, another guard of the city who was renound with being lazy and gluttonous, yet he bought his way to a high position. He called the barkeep over and ordered another ale.
"Think you've had enough Teo?" Rhayader said looking into his mug.
Teo's head shaked as he looked at the ranger, the alcohol obviously having an effect.
"You rangers think your so much better then us honest guards!"
"I do my job as best I can sir."
He growled at Rhayader and knocked his fresh mug of ale, spilling it over the floor and bar top. He glanced at it then shot a half glare at the ranger who hadn't looked at Teo since he walked in.
"Look wha you made me do!"
"I did nothing..."
"Are you... saying that I'm a lier?!"
Rhayader sipped his ale and Teo slammed the ranger's mug down away from his mouth. Rhayader turned to look at the short fat guard. He bore into his eyes and gritted his teeth.
"Wha you gonna do Rhayader? You can't touch me."
Rhayader threw a fist into the guard's face and started to walk out. Teo rose to his feet and lunged at Rhayader, thowing a slow weak fist which Rhayader grabbed and twisted. He pulled Teo close and whispered into his ear.
"Go sit down before I truely hurt you." He let go of Teo's fist and stepped back. The guard stared at him as Rhayader walked out.
"I'll have your head for this!"
Rhayader stepped out the door and wondered up the street to the smithy. He stepped inside feeling the heat and threw a sword onto the counter.
"I need it to be repared sir."
The sword was very old and somewhat rusty, but had an elven appearance.

[Anariel Narie]

By the way, all, here's the link to a siggy that a friend of mine made for me for Tri -

i73.photobucket.com/albums/i228/pinprin309/trisig.jpg

And here is a picture to represent Folly -

www.rockisland.com/~schuler/images/sorcha-zmed.jpg

~*~*~

Almost immediately, as Nuaera spoke to him, Triwathion's attention turned from his mare to the young woman. He surveyed her with a pleasant smile, taking in the details of her facial features. He noticed the subtle muscle of her arms, and the make of her clothes, guessing her to be a hard worker. The pleasant smile parted his lips further, into a grin at the compliments toward Folly as he glanced at the mare.

"Hear that, lass?" he said to the animal, one hand on her velvety nose. "You're the first of your kind, around here." The horse merely snorted in reply, and gave a soft whicker as she looked at Nuaera, her ears giving their full attention to the new person. Triwathion turned to face Nuaera fully, sweeping into a flourishing bow.

"Folly's breed is the only my family has ever known, miss," he said. His voice was clear, almost alluring to some, like that of a singer. He smiled again; rather charmingly, at that. "They're known for their endurance, but their beauty is indeed an added prize." He swept off his hood with one hand, and set his hands comfortably behind his back as he resumed observing her, a pleasant expression gracing his handsome features.
"Ah," he began, bowing again. "My manners have escaped me. I am Triwathion Bainovain, m'lady. A traveling entertainer, of sorts."

[Dhodrimme Rualanna]

Nuaera laughed gently, as though she enjoyed to do so, as though it set her free in a way. "Aye, a gypsy you mean? Then indeed that explains the exotic though intriguing appearance, and I do not speak merely of your horse, sir." She smiled slightly as she too bowed, giving an elegant sweep of her hand. "And my name, sir, is Nuaera, of Deornon's Smithy." Before she could continue, a mature and low voice called from behind her.

"Nua! There you are, I have been waiting, you know." The young man had pleasant though strong features, dark hair and deep blue eyes, and was clad in simple leather armor, though it was more obvious that he was a soldier of Gondor by the helmet he held beneath his arm. His smile however, turned into a guarded expression as he noticed who she was speaking with. "Nua, you should be more cautious, I cannot keep watch over you constantly you know," he again spoke as he came to stand beside her, his gaze examining Tri cautiously.

"Vernon, do not worry, I can watch over myself just fine." Nuaera smiled in a timid manner, though she returned the gaze to the young man with curiosity in her bright eyes. "I apologize for Vernon's mistrust, sir, rumors of your kind are wide spread, yet I believe in giving someone a chance before placing judgment against them, is that not right, Vernon?" She questioned with a grin playing upon her features.

Vernon sighed heavily and nodded. "Of course, of course, point taken..." He smiled in a rueful manner and inclined his head slightly towards Tri. "I apologize for my hasty judgement, but one cannot be too careful..."

-------

Meanwhile at the smithy:

Deornon picked the sword up and tilted it different angles, mumbling gruffly to the customer. "I don't have time today, I have several projects in line, but I can send off for Nu, I disagreeistant. How soon do you need it done?" He placed the sword down and again, wiping his hands on his apron before pulling his leather gauntlets on again.

[revontulet]

“Arwyn!” Clear voice pierced the air as a young girl ran through the field. Arnae lifted her head and smiled slightly as she saw the her friend Fenhild, but soon she turned back to her work knowing she wasn’t allowed to go and play with her friend before all work was done.

“Please, mister Gáma, can Arwyn come to ride with me?” Arnae could see Thelwyn open her mouth looking strict, but before she had time to say anything, Gáma had spoken softly: “Why not. Just promise you’ll look after her and won’t lead her into troubles.”
“Why would I lead her into troubles, mister Gáma?” Fenhild asked seriously. Gáma smiled at her and winked. “Arwyn! Come here, my girl.”

Arnae couldn’t believe her luck when she walked to her father and Fenhild. The girls had been best friends since the age of five, though they seldom had time together because of the farmer life. Fenhild was almost a year older than Arnae, but standing next to her she was shorter. Arnae was taller than most of the girls she knew, she had always been. They also looked quite different, for blond Fenhild was true child of Rohan and there was softness in her features, but Arnae’s face spoke of wild spirit and curiosity to everything world can offer.

“Arwyn, take care of Déalaf and come back when you get hungry. Before nightfall”, Gáma added knowing Arnae could loose sense of time on her trip. “Go now.” Arnae nodded smiling. Fenhild took her hand and pulled Arnae to run. Thelwyn’s voice reached their ears, but they didn’t look behind, for they knew her angry words were for Gáma.

“Why does you mother act so different when it’s about you leaving?” Fenhild asked as they stepped into the stables. “I don’t see her as a strict person, but when it comes to you…”
Arnae looked down and frowned. “I don’t know.” Fenhild glanced at her expression, touched her shoulder and smiled. “Obviously she wants to protect her only child. Parents, you know. Let’s go now. We don’t want to loose this wonderful day.” Arnae looked at her friend’s face and forgot her thoughts as a joyful smile took place on her face.

[Malrid]

Rhayader thought. He had found the sword in an old dank forest and he was curious as to what it would look like in all its splender. A small feeling of excitment surounded him when he invisioned what it might look like, gleeming in the sunshine. He came back into the room with a slight shake of his head.
"As soon as is possible. I hope this will cover it."
He tossed a small bag of coins onto the counter making a clinking sound. A few gold coins fell out, spreading out onto the counter.
"I'll come back tommorow."
The ranger walked out and headed to the barracks.

[Anariel Narie]

Triwathion's eyes brightened ever-so-faintly as he made a mental note of the young woman's name, the ghost of a smile playing about his features.

"It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Nuaera," he replied, inclining his head in a gracefully polite manner. "And, if it's not too bold to say, you have a beautiful name." His gaze diverted from Nuaera to Vernon, and both of his slender eyebrows rose at the soldier's comment, glancing at his magnificently adorned mare; Folly replied with a loud, indignant snort at Vernon, flicking her tail so that the bells braided into it jangled musically. Triwathion released a quiet, amused chuckle, shaking his head ever so slightly as his laughing eyes rested lightly on Vernon.

"The ways of my kind are not always pick-pocketing and thievery, sir," He folded neatly behind his back. "We are a hard-working people. Entertaining others, mostly, is what keeps us off the streets --" Pausing, a smile at his own irony tugged at the corners of his mouth. "-- so to speak."

Folly seemed to regard Vernon with distaste; her expression was less than her usual, merrily-spirited self. Her small, pointed ears were pinned back in an irritated manner, and she pawed the gate of her stall with a front hoof. Triwathion, shaking his head at the mare, stepped to the gate, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he pressed lightly on the bridge of Folly's nose, backing her away from the gate.

"I'll have none of that, now, my girl," the young gypsy crooned, heartily patting the mare's thick neck. He looked back at Vernon and, stepping away from the gate, dipped into a bow, glancing briefly at Nuaera as he spoke to the soldier. "My manners escape me yet again; Triwathion Bainovain is my name, sir."