Role play is a huge reason why I play MMos and especially LOTRO. So, I’m in high heaven when our kinship has a membership quest. The night of this quest, I pulled my long ignored minstrel, Lothlorell, out of mothballs. She was to be the suffering soul in need of assistance from a valiant captain hoping to earn the rank of kinswoman.
All the dialogue and emotes in the tale are straight from the evening’s log. (I just clean things up and add background details.) The RP was great! I only had a long moment of panic when we finally got to fighting. It had been so long since I’d played Lotlorell, I looked at all the icons on the toolbar, and couldn’t for the life of me remember what any of them did. Good thing I wasn’t the primary healer!
Here is…. The Captain’s Challenge
Lord Tyrthalion Sylvanstrider, Tûr of the Marchwardens, stood before ancient Tinnundir Keep. The bronze doors, green with age, were embossed with an eight-point star. Perhaps the star was a symbol of hope. Tyrthalion fervently desired that, for one of his own was in dire need of hope. He pushed through the doors and strode down the dark hall, under moldering tapestries and past an ornamental pond, its water fouled by algae. Ah, the glory was long gone from this place.
Around a pillar, he found waiting a squad of Marchwardens.
“Suilad, my kin,” Tyrthalion said. “Many thanks for answering the call to duty. A serious task awaits us. We must help one of our own this day.”
Ealfled, the only human present, Turned her attention to the Tûr. Gronar, dwarf champion, narrowed his gaze at Tyrthalion.
Tyrthalion looked around the high-ceiling chamber and sighed. “Where did she go?” Tyrthalion asked. He raised his voice. “Lothlorell, please join us. No need to be afraid of your own kin.”
After a long pause, a door creaked open. Lothlorell, an elf and minstrel of the kin, stepped from the shadows of a dim hallway. Though she was dressed in the distinctive blue Marchwarden hauberk, its cloth was creased and stained. Her face was lined with care and her hair was a mass of knots and tangles.
“Is it Lady Lothlorell?” Sophronia asked. “Gracious!”
Ealfled stood and offered her seat to Lothlorell. Gronar bowed deeply to the minstrel.
At the sight of her kin, Lothlorell froze.
The Tûr stood and saluted Lothlorell. She hesitated a moment before returning his salute. “M’Lord Tûr,” she replied. Her voice was barely audible.
“You’ve been gone so long, we thought you’d gone to the Havens,” Sophronia said. The sturdy hobbit studied Lothlorell with concern. “Where have you been?”
Lothlorell shook her head. She looked wildly around the room, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze.
Gronar wrinkled his brow in confusion. “No need to be shy. We’re all friends here!”
“Kinswoman, you must speak. This is a request from your Tûr.” Tyrthalion’s tone was low, but firm.
Sophronia nudged Ealfled. “Why doesn’t Lothlorell speak?”
Ealfled shrugged, never taking her intense regard from Lothlorell.
Lothlorell took a deep breath. She glanced from the Tûr to Ealfled.
Tyrthalion, rather loudly and emphatically, cleared his throat.
Lothlorell’s features hardened. She glared at the Tûr. “I said I would come here. I did not say I would speak!” She crossed her arms and turned her back to the Tûr.
Gasps went up. Ealfled started in surprise and threw her hands up in exasperation.
Sophronia gently took Lothlorell’s arm. “Something must be terribly wrong for you to act this way. Come, sister, we are your kin—what is wrong?”
“Renich i beth i pennen? A si i-Dhúath ú-orthor,” Tyrthalion said urgently. [Do you remember the word I told you? The Shadow does not rule yet.]
Ealfled stance softened. “Speak, I pray you, or else we cannot make things right.”
Lothlorell turned and bowed deeply, first to her Tûr and then to her kin. “Please forgive me. I’ve been alone for so long, I’ve forgotten know how to act. May the Valar forgive me, I’ve barely a right to wear our colors or to even call myself a minstrel. None of you know—know why I was away so long.”
Lothlorell took a deep shuddering breath.
“Lady Lothlorell left us because of a great uncertainty. Isn’t that right, child?” Tyrthalion said.
Sophronia sighed.
Lothlorell nodded to the Tûr. Her thin face paled and she sagged down into an empty chair.
“I was out hunting, hunting game, of all things, with my friend Glorflada,” Lothlorell said. “I have known her since she was a child. We were following the trail of a hart along the banks of the Bruinen. In truth, we had been laughing and talking so much, the beast was probably long gone. We strayed far south along the river. Our carelessness proved a grave folly.”
Lothlorell wring her hands. Deep regret darkened her eyes.
Ealfled gave Lothlorell an encouraging, if awkward, pat on the back. Lothlorell managed a weak, but grateful smile in return.
“Near the Eregion border,” Lothlorell continued, “three wood trolls sprang from the forest behind us. Before I could cry out a warning or even reach for my lute, a terrible blow to my head put me out cold.”
At the mention of wood trolls, Gronar tensed and clamped a hand on his axe hilt.
“Oh my!” Sophronia said.
“And your companion, what of her?” Ealfled asked.
Lothlorell blinked away tears. “When I came to, I was alone. I staggered to my feet, I was so dizzy. I had lost blood from a deep gash in my scalp. I wandered, in a daze, calling for Glorflada.”
Gronar and Sophronia exchanged sober, concerned glances.
Lothlorell’s gaze searched the dim corners of the echoing hall, as if looking for a memory. “Glorflada never answered. I found her body in the river shallows. Her body was cold. She had been terribly beaten, her …”
Gronar muttered an ancient prayer under his breath.
Lothlorell stopped abruptly and shook her head fiercely. She finally met the Tûr’s gaze. “I should have saved her.”
Ealfled narrowed her eyes and her voice turned steely. “Tell us more, if you can.”
Lothlorell dared a glance at Ealfled. ”I threw my lute in the river. I’d failed her as a friend and as a healer. Since that day I have been plagued with terrible dreams. Every night, I am standing in a dank cave facing an immense wood troll. His name is Heart-rot. Every night, I try to fight him and every night I run. Perhaps I would stay, if I had more courage, like a captain.”
Lothlorell looked beseechingly at Ealfled. “You would have saved her.”
“A true captain knows better to fight alone,” Ealfled said. “To run back in revenge would have been folly.”
Lothlorell chewed her lip as she considered this.
“I have heard whispers of this ‘Heart-rot’ from the local soldiers,” Gronar said.
“Doesn’t he hide across Lake Evendim?” Sophronia mused.
Gronar nodded to Sophronia. “There are whispers of how strong and evil he is, and that some have hunted him, and have failed to return. But, these could be rumors as well.”
Ealfled smiled grimly. “Then we shall be the first to return victorious. If this is the purpose for which the Lord Tûr has gathered us tonight, than this injury will not go unanswered.”
“He is real?” Lothlorell’s voice rose in near panic.
“He is indeed real,” Tyrthallion said.
Lothlorell turned to the east. “That’s the evil I feel. Loathsome creature!” She began to tremble.
“We have a minstrel in need of hope and guidance,” the Tûr said. “And a captain hoping to prove herself as a Marchwarden. Lothlorell, I knew I had but to call your kin and we would find an answer to your troubles. You must face your fears and Lady Ealfled will lead you.”
“Lady Lothlorell, I vow to you that Heart-rot shall be defeated, and that you shall find your courage again,”
“But — but, I cannot. I have no instrument! Lothlorell looked around anxiously.
“Here!” Sophronia exclaimed. She pulled a small lute out of her bag and offered it to Lothlorell. “This is a fine instrument for you.”
Lothlorell reached out a shaking hand and took the lute.
Tyrthalion fixed his gaze on Ealfled. “Lady Captain Ealfled, you will guide Lothlorell. Fight when you must, but give her your hope, your leadership and protect her under your banner. Lead her to victory against this vile corruption of a tree, and help lay her nightmares to rest.”
Ealfled gave Lothlorell a warm smile. “Do not fear, my Lady. You are in very safe hands.”
Lothlorell ventured a timid smile in return.
Gronar tightened his belt and adjusted the set of his axes. “I am ready!”
Ealfled gave her blade a quick shine. “Onward, Marchwardens!”
The kin moved out of the keep and towards the boat landing. A shouted greeting and the sound of running footsteps brought them to a halt. Lady Serenyalen, kin and champion, hurried to join them. Serenyalen blinked as she caught sight of Lothlorell.
“Brennil Lothlorell!” Serenyalen said. “Mae govannen, mellon nín. Gwenwin in enninath.” [Lady Lothlorell! Welcome back, my friend. Long years have passed.]
“Indeed they have,” Lothlorell said. “And much pain in between. But I am a bit more hopeful now.”
The kin loaded into two boats and rowed steadily and swiftly to the Eavespires. Once on firm ground, they headed north, scaling the grassy ridges and scrambling down the ravines of Northern Emyn Uial. Their steadfast pace was slowed only once by a wandering band of Gauradan. At the Marchwarden’s fierce attack, the few Gauradan left alive, scattered in panic.
At the top of a rocky rise, they looked down on a pond, edged with twisted and tangled brambles. Around the pond, spaced like sentries, were a dozen wood trolls.
“Remain steady, Lady Lothlorell,” Ealfled said. “Start with one note, then two. Play a scale, then a few chords.”
“Lothlorell nodded and swung the lute from her back. She held it awkwardly. “I thank you for the kind words. I will try.
“Be brave, Lothlorell,” Sophronia said.
“Have courage,” Gronar added.
“Archers take aim,” Tyrthalion ordered. “At my command, let loose, then all charge.” He raised his staff. “Now!”
Bows twanged and arrows flew true, bringing down the closest wood trolls. Serenyalen, Ealfled and Gronar charged. The dwarf bellowed his battle cry as he swung his axes and bit deep into the wood of his first opponent. The trolls growled as they fought, savagely whipping their root-like arms. But their blows were met by Marchwarden steel and the first wave of trolls went down.
Lothlorell hung back. Ealfled glanced over her shoulder at the minstrel.
“Can’t you hear it, my Lady?” Ealfled called. “There is music in our cries. You can simply play along with it.”
“For Enorrath,” Serenyalen exclaimed. She charged two more trolls. Her bright blades wove a deadly pattern in the air.
“Baruk Khazhad, khazâd ai-mênu!” Gronar bellowed. He whirled to meet the blows of a wood troll who popped up behind him.
“Aye,” Lothlorell said. “I hear the melody” She let loose a few hesitant notes and watched the closest trolls cringe away from her music. “There, I have it!”
“Stay with me,” Ealfled said. She gave Lothlorell a merry flourish of her blade, already stained with gray-green blood.
Ealfled led them down a curving tunnel, raising her battle cry, and bringing strength to her kin. They battled past a dozen trolls. Staying close to Ealfed, Lothlorell stood with her legs apart in a sure stance, her notes rising, bringing shimmering light. Waves of healing power pulsed stronger with her every chord.
“My hands are still shaking,” Lothlorell said.
“Busy your hands with melodies, Lady Lothlorell,” Ealfled said. “That will stop your heart from shaking as well.”
Lothlorell nodded dutifully.
Ealfled dove into a pack of trolls, with Gronar, Serenyalen and Sophronia right behind. Lothlorell’s music grew in volume, sending power to her kin and fear into the trolls. Finally, before a dark doorway, the last troll went down under a blinding bolt of Tyrthalion’s power.
For the first time that night, Lothlorell grinned, ever so slightly. “They are fierce!”
Sophronia nodded with satisfaction. “Aye.”
“But, we are fiercer,” the Lady Captain said. “Some call me ‘Ealfled the Fierce’, you may have heard.”
The party stopped at a dark archway. Lothlorell peered into the shadows. ”I can feel him.”
Ealfled gestured them forward and into a damp, mossy cavern far below the pond. At the room’s far side, standing before a crude stone throne, was a massive wood troll.
“There is your demon,” Tyrthalion said.
“Heart-rot,” Sophronia said. “Is that the troll from your nightmares?”
“He is indeed,” Lothlorell said. Sweat broke out on her brow, but, she took up her lute and looked to Ealfled.
Ealfled nodded and raised her hauberk. “For Rohan, and Lady Lothlorell!” She charged the troll king.
Heart-rot met her with a roar and a defense of whirling arms and whip-like kicks. ”I am not… ssso eeassily defeeated… do not underessstimate my power…” he spat out.
“Don’t underestimate mine!” Ealfled countered. She dodged his blows and swung down hard on his shoulder. Her keen blade sliced clean. Heart-rot’s arm dropped to the stone floor, its fingers still twitching. The troll roared in pain and came at her again. Ealfled blocked his blow and jammed the steel-capped butt of her weapon in Heart-rot’s mid-section. A harsh crack sounded across the cavern and Heart-rot went down. Ealfled moved in to finish him off. But, with another fierce roar, he scrambled to his feet. As his eyes shined with dark power, he bounded over their heads to the ramp.
”I ssshall return, meeatlingssss…” he said. Before any of them could take a step, the troll lumbered with wild grace up the ramp and vanished from their sight.
Everyone caught their breath. The battle clamor abruptly gone, the only sound remaining was from water dripping from the rocky ceiling to shallow pools scattered about the cavern.
“Have we defeated him?” Lothlorell asked.
“We have driven him out.” Tyrthalion said.
Serenyalen nodded.”’We confronted evil, and it fled.”
Ealfled shook her head in annoyance. “The coward. I wanted to kill him!”
Sophronia grinned at Ealfled. “Our fiercest Marchwarden.”
“That’s the way of evil,” Serenyalen said.
“We have done our best here,” the Tûr said.
Ealfled loosened her grip and lowered her weapon. “I am not the sort to let evil remain undefeated, but if Lady Lothlorell has again found her voice …”
Lothlorell nodded to Lady Ealfled. “I have strength again. Thanks to you.”
“Than that is a victory worth celebrating with a few ales at the Kin Hall!” Ealfled exclaimed.
~ Back in Lant Veren~
Lothlorell lifted her shoulders and walked into the Marchwarden kin hall, straight and tall, side-by-side with Ealfled. The Captain looked in mock surprise at her gathered kin. “What are we all standing around for? Come now, first ale is on me!”
“Not quite yet,” Sophronia said. “Everyone gather round the flame.”
Ealfled blushed as a look of realization swept across her face.
As they circled round the Flame of Memory, a young hobbit entered the hall.
“Greetings, Master Hobbit,” Tyrthalion said.
Perram attempted a salute to the Tûr. A new recruit, his military bearing was still a bit awkward, but, improving.
Serenyalen beckoned Perram closer. “Be welcome, friend.”
Looking slightly ill at ease, Perram stepped forward. The Tûr raised a hand. His kin quieted and moved to stand around the flame. “Lady Ealfled, tonight I was never more inspired by your banner and by your valor. I could see the hope you brought to Lady Lothlorell. It shone in her eyes. You may be a fine warrior, but, as a captain, you brought courage and healing to her.”
Lothlorell blushed, but, smiled gratefully at Ealfled.
“Approach, Captain Ealfled,” commanded Tyrthalion. The Lady Captain moved to stand before him.
“You have more than earned your place as a Marchwarden. Captain Ealfled of Rohan, are you ready now to leave behind the status of recruit and become a full kinswoman?” he asked.
Ealfled stood straight, looking very proud. “I am.”
“This flame, to which we kneel, represents the Marchwardens who have fallen before us. In their honour we light this flame. In their memory we carry on their vision for an Ennorath free from tyranny and despair,” Tyrthalion said. He paused for a moment and knelt briefly before the flame. His kin followed suit.
“Here it is our tradition for recruits to pledge their oath as Marchwardens, Tyrthalion said. “Our oath stands in memory of the glory of all Ennorath, and of the faith of Gil-Galad and Elendil, in the keeping of those who sit upon the thrones of the West, and the One who is above all thrones forever.”
Sophronia whispered a prayer to Eru Ilúvatar.
“Attend now, Lady Ealfled,” Tyrthalion said, “and make your sacred oath.”
Ealfled gazed deep into the flame. “Before this sacred flame, and in the presence of my kin, I swear to abide by this oath for all my days as a Marchwarden. My strength, my sword, and my honour I give now to this kinship, and to our battle for the Free. So I swear by the Light above, and the Light within.”
Cheers and applause echoed to the ceiling. Gronar knelt in respect to his newest kinswoman.
Ealfled shot Gronar an embarrassed look. “For goodness sakes, don’t kneel!”
Serenyalen approached Ealfled. “Lady Ealfled, kinswoman, we offer to you the livery of the Marchwardens of Ennorath, to carry with you throughout your struggle against the Enemy. A reminder that you are not alone. And, a reminder that at all times it is the Free Peoples whom you serve.”
“Yes, the Free Peoples!’ Sophronia said.
Serenyalen solemnly held out a blue hauberk. Ealfled took the hauberk and pulled it on.
Serenyalen gave her a salute. “Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tiëlyanna nu vilya. [May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.]”
“May the Valar protect us all,” Lothlorell said.
Ealfled sighed and stroked the fabric of her new hauberk. “Blue really is my color.”
“Oh, it looks very fine on you, Lady Ealfled,” Sophronia said.
“I dare say I’ve n-n-not seen it worn b-b-better,” Perram ventured.
The Tûr reached behind him and took a shining hauberk from the corner. ”On my travels, I relieved a very large orc of a weapon that he had no business carrying.” He offered the hauberk to Ealfled.
“Well, that is a very fine weapon,” Serenyalen commented.
Ealfled examined the halberd, her eyes shining bright. “A fine weapon, indeed.”
Tyrthalion smiled proudly at Ealfled. “Go forth now, Lady Ealfled, Kinswoman and Marchwarden of Ennorath!”
PvMP (Freep)
Housing
Fishing
Music
Loading ...
(2 votes, average: 4.5 out of 5)
