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Welcome! This is a Lord of the Rings roleplaying game based on the trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien (book verse).

Frodo and Sam failed in their quest to destroy the one ring. It is lost in Mordor, and the two Hobbits had no choice but to turn back. The fate of Middle Earth once more is undecided.

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One Ring to rule them all..
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» Back Into The Dark, Secret conf. about the Ring - April 17
Frodo Inactive
 Posted: Mar 29 2015, 22:37
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"You cannot defeat me now, Halfling. You LOST THE RING! I will find it." The voice was deep, vast, echoing through skull as well as eardrum. It was felt as well as heard, and sent shudders of fear throughout Frodo's body. He was in pain, especially his hand, and his shoulder wounded months ago by the Morgul blade. But other wounds he felt as well, of spirit and body.

He was in a ball, wearing only his undertrousers, left him by the Orcs in that horrid tower Sam had rescued him from, but now he was in the ruins of Minas Tirith, yet so unwell, so sick of heart. He cowered against the voice. "I will defeat you. I will defeat you. I have promised this! I have promised this and will do it..." So frightened and sick of heart was he that his voice trailed off with his courage.

The laugh that filled the world, and turned the dark room into a black room showing only the Great Lidless Eye, Sauron, shook Frodo to his soul. "A Halfling cannot defeat me. No one can. I am the Ring, Small Bearer, and I will kill you with my hatred if you touch me again. Know this."

Frodo whimpered, and even with closed lids, he could still see only the Eye of Sauron, blazing bright as hottest fire. "I have promised. I have promised."

"What matters that to me? I will destroy you. I will destroy Sam. I will destroy every land, every person, every living creature, and you will see it all, for I will destroy you with this, as you will be my slave, as you already are. You are my slave. I own you. You feel this truth."

"I FEEL IT!" Frodo cried out aloud with his fear, and his worst dread. But inside him, a spark lit, and his courage flared into being again, not perished as he had feared. His words came quickly as he unfurled himself from his huddled corner, and he stepped into the middle of the room, as if into the center of the blazing eye. "But it is not a truth. You lie. You are doomed. The Ring is doomed. I am not your slave, nor ever will I be. And the goodness of this land you can never destroy. Never."

A shriek that shook walls issued from the Eye, and Frodo's flare of courage was almost blown out by the fear that caused screams from all around him, people in other rooms he could not see. "I CANNOT DIE! I CANNOT DIE! I CANNOT DIE! But you CAN!!!!!!!!!!! And you WILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And with that, Frodo was smote with a fire so hot, a fear so cold, that he sank into his ball against the wall, wailing and shaking, so deathly afraid.

And then he was awake, bathed as if from a rain, head to toe dripping with sweat. He was scrunched up against the headboard of his bead, his pillow torn from his fierce grip on it, the blankets twisted so they were like a prison, until he shook them off, for they felt like spider webbing in their tightness. "It was a nightmare. It was only a nightmare. A nightmare. Oh Elbereth, such a nightmare."



Frodo had had this type of nightmare many times, so many times since bearing the Ring, but this was the worst ever. And he knew why. His good hand shook as he struck the match to light his bedside candle, and then several others, until his room was alight with tiny eyes of courage. He looked to Sam's bed, but it was empty, and he could think of nothing to do but find him, so he pulled on his day clothes and ignored his throbbing finger, where Gollum had bitten the top off of it to get the Ring back in his madness. The bandage seemed dark to him, and he knew it was bleeding again. It was healing slowly.

His soul was healing even more slowly. How he wanted the Ring! How he hated the Ring! How he mourned the loss, and feared it too. How he hated even the idea of what he knew he must do.

Someone came into the room, while he was putting on his waistcoat, so hard to button with the bandage on his hand. He felt a friendly presence, and felt courage grow a little. "We must go back. We must find where it is lost, and go on. We must. Else, the nightmare will become real. We must do this."
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Samwise
 Posted: Mar 30 2015, 06:33
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It had been maybe three weeks since they’d lost the One Ring in Mordor and (unless he’d lost count already, which he very likely had) ten days that they’d been resting and healing in this kindly place in Minas Tirith, a city about as unsuited to Hobbit tastes as any he could imagine (places of Good Folk, that was – it had become all too easy to imagine Evil Places, those he hadn’t already seen with his own eyes). Sam still felt weary from the long ordeal he and Frodo had been through – the months of travel and struggle and fear, plus more travel and struggle and fear, right partway through the land of Mordor itself.

He was still weary (it didn’t take much to tire him out, which troubled him since he’d always been a strong Hobbit with plenty of energy), but at the same time he felt restless. It had become easier sometimes to get up and walk in the gardens of these Houses of Healing, or even outside the Houses, than to rest abed all day and night.

He knew that went double, make that triple, for Frodo, who’d had it all much worse than Sam himself and had never been accustomed to a life of hard work to begin with. But being Ring-bearer, and the particular wounds he’d suffered… No wonder Frodo was recovering slower. Sam was just worried whether his master would recover completely eventually, be healthy and happy again.

He’d awakened during the night feeling hungry and needing the privy. Frodo seemed sound asleep, so Sam left their room quietly and returned with a small tray of food and water. Just rolls and apples, simple fare, but it was delightful compared to what they’d been surviving on for most of their months since leaving Rivendell, and they’d been told that food wasn’t plentiful in Minas Tirith thanks to the war.

He was surprised to see Frodo out of bed and already dressing for the day, but he knew his master so well that even from behind, and before Frodo spoke, Sam could tell from his bearing and the telltale signs of heavy sweating that he must have had another nightmare – a real nasty one. Setting the tray down quietly on the table, he stepped to Frodo and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, feeling the dampness beneath the fabric, and spoke kindly.

“Yes, we must, Mr. Frodo. That thought’s been growing in me too, but I didn’t like to say so until, well, you were either ready or you said it first. Here, let me button your waistcoat. Oh, your finger’s bleeding a bit. Rest your hand, Mr. Frodo.” And Sam didn’t take any ‘no’ for an answer that time. He also didn’t suggest right away that Frodo take a bath, although he’d have to bathe soon or catch a chill. The healer would insist on that in the morning anyway.

“That must have been a nasty nightmare, Mr. Frodo. Why don’t you tell me about it, or at least tell me what you’re thinking. Please tell me.” He tried to guide his master over so they could both sit up against the headboard of his own bed, seeing that Frodo’s bed was a wreckage of sweaty sheets and – oh dear! – even loose feathers spilling from the torn pillow. Whether Frodo came along or not, Sam pulled the extra throw off the foot of his bed and draped it around Frodo’s shoulders to keep him warm.


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Frodo Baggins
 Posted: Jun 4 2015, 20:00
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Frodo accepted Sam’s kindness gratefully and settled down for a talk as his dear friend asked, quickly losing track of how many times he thanked Sam, since although he felt suddenly very restless indeed to somehow retrieve the Ring and finish their quest to Mount Doom, he was also exhausted. Neither was he delirious to imagine that they could set out that very night.

He felt reluctant to talk about his nightmare, as he always did, even though he had long since admitted enough about them for Sam to know more or less what they were about. But talking about one still felt somehow – embarrassing wasn’t quite the word, but… He felt weak for being so vulnerable to the nightmares, and he didn’t want to upset dear Sam. But gradually he was beginning to realize that Sam might be worrying all the more because Frodo would not confide his real mind.

“Dear Sam, I think I have been rather selfish toward you lately,” he finally said, half leaning against Sam where they sat side by side. “You have more right than anyone to know my mind when it comes to the Ring. It is just this: I hate the Ring, but I know in my bones that I am not free of it, will never be free of it until it is destroyed forever. So we must go back into Mordor and find it, so we can destroy it. But I’m terrified to go back there, and… terrified that in the... end... I’ll fail... and keep the Ring… and doom myself and everyone I love. That’s the fear that fills my nightmares – not death, but failure. Sauron winning. I feel in my heart that I might not be strong enough to destroy the Ring when I get the chance.”
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Samwise
 Posted: Jun 14 2015, 22:29
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JOINT POST with Frodo (easier this way, since I play both):
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It was well that Sam was busy at first settling them both comfortably, making sure the throw was tucked around Frodo enough to keep him from catching a chill, all the while not overturning the small tray of food and water which he finally balanced on his lap. That gave Frodo time to decide without pressure whether to tell Sam what he had asked to know. Sam was relieved and grateful when Frodo finally spoke. Even though it mostly only confirmed what Sam had already been pretty sure of, he had needed to hear Frodo actually say it.

“I figured that’s what you’re most afraid of, Mr. Frodo. You’ve heard the histories about Isildur, and…” He trailed off, realizing that the next Ringbearer had been Gollum – pathetic, crazy, evil Gollum – and couldn’t bring himself to mention that name. Bilbo had been the next Ringbearer, but he’d never had to try to destroy it. Funny to think that only Mr. Frodo and Isildur had ever meant to destroy the Ring, and they as different as any two folk could be!

“But you’re not a Man, Mr. Frodo. You’re a Hobbit, a Hobbit with the truest of hearts, and that means a whole world of difference, not just in size and how big a sword you can swing, but different… different nature, if that makes sense. And you’ll have help. Help you can trust. I’ll be there, at the very least, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Mr. Gandalf cooks up some better plan than we had the first go ‘round. Let’s talk with Mr. Gandalf about this.”

“I hope you’re right, Sam,” Frodo sighed after thinking it over, though he sounded nearly as unconvinced as he felt at heart. Truest of hearts? His heart felt weary, weak, grimy, polluted. Corrupted. No, not yet corrupted, not yet, but… corruptible, he feared, if the Ring had too much more chance to work on him. He chose not to say as much to Sam, though, not wanting to worry him that much or damage his optimism. One of them needed to remain optimistic!

“I understand a little better how the Ring makes everything seem sort of false,” Sam said. “Like a mirror that’s got a bit warped, so it makes things look wrong from how they really are. Oh, that’s a clumsy way to put it, but you know, Mr. Frodo. I carried it for just one day and night, but that was long enough to feel the difference.”

“But you feel well again now, Sam?” Frodo asked kindly, full of renewed contrition over how he had cruelly accused Sam in that horrid prison room in Mordor. He knew he still felt the shadows of the influence of the Ring clouding his spirit, but he had borne the Ring for so much longer. He hoped Sam would not suffer such lingering hurt.

“I’m well, Mr. Frodo, don’t you worry. I’m just tired and can’t seem to get enough to eat.” He turned his face toward the tray on his lap while he said that, handing Frodo a roll and a cup of water. He wasn’t being untruthful, exactly, but wasn’t going to worry Frodo by admitting that he did feel a lingering wound from carrying the Ring – hard to describe, deep inside, and gradually getting easier to ignore, but the wound was still there. If Sam thought about it, he knew it was still there. But even if it never completely healed, he believed he could live with it without real trouble, and that was good enough, and so he needn’t mention it to Frodo at all, at least not until a much better time.

“I still feel the Ring on my spirit, Sam. Like dear Uncle Bilbo, who still felt drawn to it when we met him in Rivendell after he’d been away from the Ring for more than seventeen years. I don’t think my spirit will really be free until the Ring is destroyed.”

“We’ll get the job done, Mr. Frodo, and then you really will be well. Despite the Ring, Mr. Bilbo was happy and at peace living in Rivendell.”

“Yes, he was almost entirely happy, Sam. And as peaceful as Uncle Bilbo ever got, meaning never as peaceful as a really proper Hobbit.” Frodo hadn’t expected to find himself thinking about his beloved uncle just then, but the memories actually felt comforting enough that he ate the roll with almost a smile, and then took an apple.

“I wish I’d known Bilbo before he set out on that Quest and found the Ring, known what he was like before all that adventuring. He must have been quite different, or Gandalf would not have had to work so hard talking him into it. The Bilbo I know would have been eager for the adventure, not reluctant almost to flatly turning down the job.”

Thus began a leisurely chat, about various people and events, that lasted until awhile after they had eaten all the food Sam had brought. Neither could have said when they had drifted off to sleep, or who fell asleep first, but neither suffered another nightmare, and morning found them still leaning against each other just as had often happened after they had left the Fellowship.
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