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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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» Unknown Territory, TA 3019, February
Aglanor
 Posted: Mar 3 2015, 22:41
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Group: Men
Posts: 16
Player: Chris
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It was evening. Late. In fact in an hour or so the word evening would stop being applicable even with the most generous of definitions and have to be replaced by night.

Aglanor was not even sure whether it was worth pressing on, whether the Dwarven hospitality he hoped for would truly outweigh the strain from pushing through these last few miles. In truth, he did not know what awaited him at the end of this long journey. So far, his dealings with Dwarves had been few, far between, cordial, short, and completely superficial. That he was the one making this journey spoke volumes about how thin the Rangers were spread now. Aglanor's main qualification for this trip had been availability. Or maybe some unhelpful individual had thought that a smith might find it easier to deal with Dwarves.

Be that as it may, he soon found himself approaching the great gates of Erebor, and Aglanor had to admit that small stature was not needed to feel dwarved by them. It wasn't long then, until he was intercepted by the guard. As he dismounted, he fleetingly wondered whether and where in that mountain there would be space to house his mare. That was a question he need not concern himself with, though. If he was admitted, someone would undoubtedly look after his horse. And if the King under the mountain wouldn't receive him then there would still be more riding to do tonight.

"I am Aglanor, of the Dúnedain. I was sent to speak to your king on behalf of my people."
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Dwalin
 Posted: Mar 5 2015, 08:49
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Group: Dwarves
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Player: Rowy
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Though never reputed as an affable Dwarf, Dwalin had felt exceptionally quiet and moody in the days since the tragic news had reached Erebor – that his brother Balin had been slain by Orcs in Moria twenty-five long years ago, along with every Dwarf who had accompanied him with the intent of reestablishing the great mines of Moria and a Dwarf colony there. For twenty-five years, no one had known of their dark fate until Gandalf, traveling with a small company, discovered the mournful truth a few weeks ago. Ever since that news had reached Erebor, it had weighed heavily on Dwalin’s heart that he had felt no intuition of his brother’s death and he remained unavenged. Dwalin felt guilty and responsible, regardless of how his friends explained to him that he was neither.

So dark-miened had he been that people seemed to be carefully keeping their distance, which suited him fine until further notice. He kept doing his job as diligently as ever, but silently except for a sharpened temper.

That cold February evening fading to night he was a solitary figure prowling the night watch outside the great Gates of Erebor – partly to be alone with his brooding thoughts, though partly because he had lately felt a vague uneasiness or worry. He did not think it was merely the news Gloin had brought back from Lord Elrond’s Council in Rivendell, neither was it his guilt about Balin, though just perhaps that was all. Still, he roamed the night watch as if being in the open air outside the mountain would clarify whatever trouble he might be sensing.

The clopping of a horse’s hooves caught his attention because Dwarves favored ponies over horses, and even their ponies were typically in stable for the night by sundown. Following the sound, he walked to the road leading to the Gate and saw a Man ahorseback just arriving. That was unusual, especially at such a late hour.

He approached just in time to hear the Man introduce himself and ask to speak to King Dain, but took it upon himself to question this Man himself first. He would not have his cousins and sovereigns disturbed needlessly when they, too, were freshly mourning the death of Balin and his companions.

“Dunadan, you say?” Dwalin asked in his deep voice, his tone not quite rude though less than cordial. The guards stepped aside, deferring to him. Dwalin briefly surveyed the Man’s general appearance and gear and noted the brooch he wore, none of which argued against him being who and what he claimed. Still, he would not be allowed nearer the Gates until Dwalin got some answers.

“I am Dwalin, son of Fundin, a general of Erebor. Who are your kin, and by whose name were you sent here?”
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Aglanor
 Posted: Apr 12 2015, 20:22
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Group: Men
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Aglanor had been trying to gauge the guards' reaction to his arrival, and from there calculate the odds for his visit to turn out a success, but before one of them could as much as utter a word, another Dwarf appeared and took control of the conversation. That suited Aglanor quite well. If they skipped a couple of ranks in dealing with his arrival, there was a chance that the would be an opportunity for rest just a tad sooner.

Nonetheless, he nodded at the guards as if thanking them for their troubles before fully focusing his attention on Dwalin.

Despite the gruff tone, the Dwarf showed the good manners of introducing himself. The best Aglanor could do was answer his questions straightforward. Diplomacy wasn't in the normal Ranger skill set.

"The Dúnedain. You seem familiar with the name. There are few enough left of us to view each other as kin, whether directly related by blood or no. If you want a name, Beretar is the main leader now that our Chieftain is fighting against Sauron in the South."

Along with Aglanor's father and baby brother, but that was information no one needed, and worry he had better bury if he wanted to deal with the situation at hand. Also, if anyone knew, he might get accused of a personal agenda.

"It is the attempt to help in these efforts in what small ways we can that brought me here."
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Dwalin
 Posted: Apr 20 2015, 08:31
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Group: Dwarves
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Player: Rowy
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Dwalin’s dark, brooding mood was not improved by the arrival of someone who sounded as though he might be a harbinger of even more ill news, of which Dwalin had recently heard far too much already, but he had no complaints about this Man’s manner. Neither formal nor fine, he would judge, but although Dwalin was familiar with high-formal manners, it was only as an observer of them (often while resisting the urge to grind his beard and snap, “Enough with the pretty dancing! Speak plainly!”). It had taken him many, many long years to concede that such formality was not *always* a waste of time, but still, he tolerated rather than appreciated it.

It was well, then, that Aglanor was being courteous but direct, not wasting time. It did not cure Dwalin’s mood, but neither did it worsen.

“We know the Dunedain as honorable people,” he replied after another pause to think and observe, wherein he noted definite signs of weariness in both Aglanor and his horse. He noticed and did not intend to withhold hospitality for too long, but he wanted a few more answers first – primarily, making sure he understood why Aglanor wanted to speak with the King and Queen Under the Mountain.

Even before that, though, he asked a question born of his own curiosity which, based on his cousin Gloin’s report when he returned from Rivendell, might also have some bearing on why the Dunedain had sent one of their own to Erebor.

“We know the wizard Gandalf even better, and he has long had dealings with the Dunedain. Is Gandalf part of the reason you were sent here? Or part of the reason why your Chieftain has gone south to fight Sauron?”

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