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Autor Thema: The Minstrel Contest  (Gelesen 1230 mal)

Isaac632

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #15 am: 6. Okt 2017, 22:49 »
Forsooth, I couldst not escape He who Pursues Me,
Even in this woodland realm, this paradise of peace?
His shriek, I still remember vividly, ever since facing him on the tower
Of Cirith Ungol.
I had been sent there, The Plague of Blood, to end,
But in exchange for the ruin of Rohan,
A dread ghost has brought ruin to my mind.
Even now, I hear him whispering to me.

“Escape!” says he,
“Run from the clutches of she who holds you,
Away from the cellars where you were dining in peace.”
“Indulge yourself,” says he,
“Eat, drink, and be merry of heart, for tomorrow never comes!”
So tempting these whispers of a rich, rolling, crackling thunderstorm of a language,
I would most certainly dare to squirm out of your arms, Lady Galadriel,
If I could stop these hiccups that sap my breath,
And regain the strength of my paws!
For I fear the anguish of my mind more than the clashing of blades,
And my night terrors have made me lose more sleep than the horns and drums of war.

I am so full, and so dizzy,
I have come here to flee from this dark voice who is haunting me,
Driving me to gluttony and drunkenness,
The likes of which have been more intense than I've ever struggled with before.
Grievously ill, do I feel,
So many aches throughout my body, from traveling to this far-flung place,
For the purpose of trying to drink the voice away.

And yet in my agony, I feel hungrier and thirstier still,
Hellbent on helping myself to even more of the rations you have locked away,
Down in the cisterns of your fortress, My Lady,
So desperately have I come here seeking excess,
And so I took this form hoping that no-one would detect me as I sneaked in,
And even if you did find me, I hoped you would regard me,
As a little lost forest animal who stumbled in by accident,
To merely carry me outside of the gates, so that I could crawl back in again
And seek even more food and drink

The whispers, they won't go away, My Lady!
I wriggle and writhe weakly in your arms, whimpering loudly, for they are getting louder,
“Go and feast! Go and feast!” He whispers,
It won't stop for anything, no matter where I run to.
Where are you carrying me, My Lady?
My stomach is starting to curdle with nausea,
How now, do I still hunger?
My head is starting to pound with migraine,
How now, do I still thirst?
Please, Galadriel, take me back to your basement,
I must seek another banquet!

Walküre

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #16 am: 7. Okt 2017, 18:55 »
No fell eye may spot you here, fiery fox,
Hither you have come, in the domain of the Lady and the Lord,
Rulers of might and wisdom exceeding the imagination of mortals and of whom to living under the threat of death is used,
Those malicious voices resounding in your weary mind are naught else but phantoms of your past, tormenting you even within the borders of my golden shires,
For I can and may many things, if I am to endeavour to counter approaching hosts and unwanted guests, but the cure of that kind of malaise has never been simple or very viable to perform, in that it is the very soul and spirit of each of us, my friendly beast.

Who could boast perfect science and knowledge about the immense mazes and meanders of one's mind and thoughts?
Any thinking being, free and loose, with the primeval gift and imperishable force of the Flame has been endowed, by whom beyond time, space and matter dwells,
Be it the mortal Man who suffers his tough fate of demise, or the proud Elf who to persist until Arda does as well is destined, or even the mighty Vala, ultimate keeper of lore and rule,
All sentient life is able to form thinking and thoughts, streams of memories, seas of perceptions and oceans of emotions,
And yours are wounds and scars of the soul, your inner essence, which are hard deed to heal and mend.

Don't despair, I am leading you to the western ends of my land,
There you shall be fine and such a spectacle you are to behold!
One which hope always rekindles, in times of grim mood and somber impressions,
Traces of antique mystery and love, ever-pure and never stained,
Proofs that light, even at the darkest hour of terror, us has not forsaken.

Contain the thirst,
Bind the hunger,
Shut the door to weak and feeble will,
You are in my arms and you I hold firm,
Close your eyes and let yourself be guided by the harmonius breeze of this quiet night without flaws, unto the realm of dreams, fathomless vastness.

Isaac632

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #17 am: 9. Okt 2017, 05:26 »
The strength of my eyes have failed me completely.
I have succumbed to the spinning and weakness,
Everything goes black and quiet, like a blanket of the night sky.
My last moments awake—it is a shame I may never remember this night.

There is a faint murmur like a heart. The heart, beating as the drum of mortality.
Doomed to die, am I, unlike those who continue to tutor me.
No... that's not how I want to be remembered. Not while my lusts and sin cling to my tainted soul.
So desperately do I want to be one with divinity,
I would forsake the world, that even if I never see the day that I live in the undying lands,
That my remains would be buried there, where the wine flows like water,
Where peace bubbles from every stream and happiness eternally grows like flowers there.
I can see it! Has the day come, to vanquish the horrible night?
Have the pure and the righteous come to redeem me of my shortcomings,
To wipe the tears from my eyes and take me into their stead?
The light... I am so close... But why can't I reach it?

… It can't be... I can still hear my heart.
It is so loud, and slow. Irregular.
I must have drank too much. I may never wake up from this.
Surely, I must have destroyed myself in this final feast.
The heavens! I may never reach them, now that I die.
All hope is lost to eternal despair... This could be it.
That was the glimpse of the light... to remind myself of the joys I've had in this short and eventful existence.
No... the darkness closes in on me...
I don't want to go...



“Get up, wizard.”
A new voice has followed me. Who is this?
“You are not dead yet.”
I see a new light. Not of the sun of the Undying Lands, but a faint glow like a torch.
Three torches. Now seven. Now nine.
… And then, I beheld one grand flame descending from the endless void,
The other flames danced and encircled this one, in worship and reverence.
It approaches me, and I am paralyzed before it.
I cannot move, I cannot breathe. Time has stopped.

The new voice is even more dreadful than the one that haunted me before.
I can feel a grand and terrible presence binding me in place,
Fixating my eyes upon these orbs of light, that dance around and burn.
The Grand Flame speaks, with a voice even deeper and more powerful than that which came before,

“Listen. Hear me, and obey.
The Lady of Gifts has abandoned you in the mountains,
She is above receiving you,
Because you have made yourself gravely ill,
And you have defiled her house with the sin of excess.”

The Grand Flame rises... the others are starting to organize.
There's a most peculiar pattern in the sky,
As the smaller torches begin to burn in formation.

“Rejected. Cast out. Your purpose is forsaken by The Five.
But no more.
Do as I say, and regain your place.
Head south, to Shaman's Rock,
Where My Children have strayed.
The stars on this day will guide you,
While the sun and moon cross paths.”

The Grand Flame and the other torches are rising... higher, and higher... brighter, and brighter...

“Go and seek your pride, Fox.
Before you face The Man of Skill again,
You must enter Shaman's Rock,
Where the treasure of nature is hidden.
Return it to your hand where it now rightfully belongs,
And I will make you the instrument of my cleansing flames.”

The torches are so bright in the sky now... I cannot peer at the brilliance of this marvelous sight!
And the voice booms one last time.

“There, you will be enlightened,
Once you have skulked in the darkness,
But soon you will be a pillar of flame,
To burn away the sins of mortal kind,
And illuminate the glory that is your birthright.
It is your destiny, Red Wizard,
For I have said so.
You have six hours.
Go, and claim your true powers,
Courtesy of me, The Lord of Gifts.”



The day has vanquished the horrible night. My hands... I can see my hands, now.
I am whole again. My fleshly human form.
I see that I have been put to bed—not in straw or cushion though.
It is a hard bed of rock, barely large enough for me. Dwarven make.
It must have been chiseled here long ago, and now are amid ruins.

My head hurts so much! I feel like a cave troll bashed my skull in.
There is vomit everywhere on the side of this stone of rest.
My robes and staff have been ruined not.
The sky is aglow with brilliance.
The sun and moon are clashing against one-another in the sky.
Durin's Day?
I can see the stars as clear as crystals in the sky.
Yes, yes! Everything is exact! The torches are up there!
I must observe these stars and leave immediately for Shaman's Rock.

And what to my surprise should there be,
Than what looks like a bundle of torn leaves beside me.
No... they aren't torn. They are wrapped neatly with the weaving skill of a spider.
There's a glass button keeping the leaves together.
And a set of pastries inside.
I do not know what good this meager pick-me-up will do,
But it may ease this awful sourness in my stomach.

I must away!
This Lord of Gifts compels me...
I know not what he speaks for,
But perhaps my answers will be there in that deserted peak.
The Goblins that live in these Misty Mountains may be masterless,
But I must take care lest they spot me on my way.
I must hurry. There is little time.
Valar Guide Me!

Walküre

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #18 am: 11. Okt 2017, 15:17 »
Festus the Red, you shall now abandon the borders of these miraculous woods, which are an oasis of light and safety, in the midst of what is uncertain and even cryptic to fathom. I salute you and your deeds from afar, hoping in good will and confidence that you have much more to give to this world which grows chill. You have heard it, haven't you? The rumble of storm approaching my domain; menacing clouds of hatred. Our odious enemy sends his worst to challenge my right and my law. I shall not step back or even accept the prospect of defeat. During this war and now still, all who are good and decent have battled which is not, with enormous fatigue and unspeakable toil. Everyone has a part and foremost task to fulfil, my lovely fox of fiery soul. You have one too. And you will accomplish that, for of this prediction I am certain. You crave redemption and admittance among the other noble wizards, sent from across the other shore, beyond the very roundness of this very world of ours. World that we love and for which I shall give my all.

Let us therefore brace ourselves to our mission of imperative sort. Fate calls you and guides your destiny unto the mysterious South of these lands. There, the ultimate challenge is awaiting you and your presence is thus required. Required and demanded, by the utmost Good of Middle-earth, which is our all-powerful master and commander. The goal of all that we desire and hope for. Pray for me and I shall for you too. Me meeting you has rekindled my spirit again, I confess, for each of us is the craftsman of our own future. Let us leave aside past faults and ancient flaws. We are given now the chance to mend and fix what is broken. To mend this world and save the course of things which is to be. This we are to do in unity and in the refusal ever to be intimidated by what is up to us to do. Unto our triumph over the Evil and over the tentacles of fear that for too long have choked the Free People of the earth. You need not doubt your skills, for anything of necessary note you were endowed with. When will wants, you may do the impossible and the door is always left ajar. Hence, my blessing to you. I send my love and greatest trust.

Prior to my departure from the shores, mortal and grey, we shall see each other one more time still. Or, what if the benevolence of the Powers had another design for you? You might be given permission to leave with us, with the divine consent, sailing to the shires which death or somber withering have never known.

Isaac632

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #19 am: 11. Okt 2017, 18:25 »
There is little time on Durin's Day, when the sun and moon combine and the stars shine like candles in the sky.
Despite the soreness of my body, I press on bravely; my staff is my third leg, and my hood will shield my eyes.
I remember all of these constellations from the textbooks I was told to read. These stars go this way. Those stars go that way.
This will be a long stride, through these cold places in the sky.
I put my faith in the starts to steer me along, the torches who will show the path before my eyes.
The ceiling of the world is a map for me to read. I will go this way. I then go that way.

Here the place is!
Shaman's Rock... A large pillar inscribed with runes and hieroglyphs glows in the horizon.
And there is a thick grove of trees surrounding it, but its glow shines through.
I shall stop here to rest and meditate, to rest my mind and investigate the place.

And now, as I sit and think, the stone starts to crumble before my eyes to reveal its boon.
Ah, so here is the treasure gifted to me.
A ring must have been hidden within this rock several generations ago,
Not any ordinary ring, but an enchanted jewelry of masterful craftsmanship.
I have heard of these before, Saruman had taught me about great sorcerers who could bind powers to these precious objects.
What could this one do for me? There is but one way to find out.

Warmth. Warmth and heat. It burns! It burns my skin! AAH!
Get off! Get off! I can't get it off!
This is the most painful ring I have ever worn!
It shines, it glows, it shrinks and grows,
And onto my finger it binds itself with the burning of a white forge.
With all of my might, the ring is still stuck to me,
As though it has a will of its own to incinerate and vaporize.
Now on my hand, the burning stops.
We are one! As though a union of two parts of one soul,
I now possess this piece on my body, never to lose it.
I dare say... it must have been forged with me in mind, since the beginning.

… I am not alone here. I can suddenly hear the breath of a dozen stalkers in the trees around me.
Rotten, subterranean smells.
Goblins! They have waited here to ambush me.
Begone, you spidery fiends!
… Oh dear! I didn't expect to do that.
I wanted to scare them away with sparks, but every tree at Shaman's Rock has suddenly burst into flames.
They're all dead now, but I must get out of here before other goblins see the smoke and are drawn near.

This powerful ring... I like it. It's... strangely in sync with my will, like a doppelganger.
There is a sort of mystical magical presence within it that I can feel in my mind.
Much like the voice of that awful ghost from Cirith Ungol,
Only... it's me. My inner self, coming to life, and becoming my guide.
And now I feel also the presence of many, many other people in the recesses of my mind.
Egads! This is no ordinary work of sub-par enchanting. It is a ring forged of students of a student of Aule, the Great Smith!
Countless ones have been made before the legendary rings of Middle Earth, scattered across this world.
I can faintly feel the presence of other ring-bearers.
Something is wrong. I feel one calling for aid.
And I feel another one calling for death.
Northwards, I faintly hear the sounds of war drums and siege machines...
… Galadriel!

Into my beastly form I go, for there is little time, and I must make haste beyond haste.
My robes and staff dissipate in favor of swift paws and a tail for balance.
I can still feel the burning from my ring coursing throughout my body,
No longer as a hostile flame, but now an energy to give my legs strength!
The hunt begins! I can smell steel and smoke to the north of here nearby Lothlorien.
The excitement gives even greater speed to my stride,
I may never tire at this rate.
Even my foxlike disguise has been... greatly empowered.
Scarcely have I been able to keep up with other wild foxes before,
And yet I must be running at a speed that I cannot comprehend.
Galadriel... I can feel her more strongly now.
Her ring and mine are starting to communicate to one another through some unknown rift.
I'm not going to make it in time.
I must call out to her!
I howl as loud as I can, in hope that her ears are reached by the sounds of an unlikely ally,
Come from mountains cold and ancient, with renewed vigor and strength.
Hold out the enemy, My Dear Galadriel!
Festus, the Red, is returning to your realm.

What's this? There's chaos out there. There is a swarming sea of brawling beasts out here in this field.
Just beyond the World Tree, which is belching smoke and steam.
I must have a closer look.

Warriors! Hired ones. Not very friendly. These ones have been gathered by a fell hand's command.
This is the largest fight I have seen in a while, nowhere near as great as any of the skirmishes I've seen between the barbarians and horsemen of Rohan and Dunland.
Orcs, ghouls, zombies, wolves;
All as innumerable as the sand grains of the sea shore.
I feel the presence of two ring-bearers here.
Galadriel, no doubt.
And another one... familiar, and horrifying.
Could it be the one? He whom I faced at the keep of Cirith Ungol?
Even more powerfully than ever, do I feel him,
And so does he feel me, just as strongly.
I feel as though I know him now, this nemesis of mine.
… Not just any ancient king. A legend! A conqueror from the lands of Angmar.
… Murazor!
Dreadful Murazor, the Witch-King of Angmar,
I can see him searching for me once again. His steed has turned—it's coming right for me!

“Ah, so The Fox shows his face.”

No... No! Not again! The voice in my head has returned!
His awful screech has pierced my ears again.
It has struck me like a storm front.
My clever disguise has been stripped from me with terror.
A posse of the Angmarhim immediately make for me, The Wizard, to be halted by the Witch-King's command.
He wishes to face me alone...
Time has slowed—all noise has become deafened to me.
The sight of every soldier fighting around me has become blurred and greyed.
Once again, I cannot move. The Nazgul approaches on-foot.
He speaks to me in my mind, my eyes cannot look away from him.

“I see you have found Your Ring, as our master has preordained.
Yes, feel it cling to your flesh, Festus.
Let its power flow through your body, like a torrent of heat.
But even this will not save you.
In desperation to come to her rescue,
You have sprinted only to your doom.”

I need to get up. I need to snap out of this, but I can't move.
I must fight back. It can't end like this.
The Morgul Blade is drawn,
Poisoned with the wailing souls of the damned.
Closer, and closer, he comes. Taunting me!
I am even more powerless than last time. Frozen with dread.
Immobilized with my true weakness.
Despair.

“You made a fine duelist when last we met.
This time, I show you the difference between your power and mine.
It has been a pleasure to bear witness to your abilities,
But now it is time for you to be one like us.
You will make a fine servant, molded in my image.
Die for me now, and forsake your mortal body.”

Suddenly I hear the thundering of stags, and the horn of the Noldor.
Immediately, the trance is broken, as Murazor's attention is drawn away.
And now I move in to strike, my furious defiance setting my body on fire.
We duel once more, as elk-riders from Mirkwood fight their way to my rescue.
I will not let you defeat me, ancient shadow!
You may seize my courage, but you will not have my soul!

On tattered wings, the Witch-King flees the onslaught,
Hissing at me, and promising that we would once again meet.
Here, there comes soldiers from Rivendell, from Mirkwood, from Fangorn and Lorien,
And men of the Dunedain rangers.
The Elves and their allies are fully gathered to the defense of their homelands.
Even some of the dwarves appear to have showed up for the fight,
In a celebration of Durin's Day, they have come to fight evil in his honor.
And so have I also been called to battle,
For the safety of the innocent, I must come to Galadriel's aid.

My body is on fire!
It hurts, and yet it gives me such strength!
It is time to let the power of my wild heart loose.
Even grander than before have my spells become.
Man, orc, and wight have all become wary of me,
As I conjure a multitude of blades of flame,
And a storm of smoke grows in the battlefield,
Blinding the eyes of my enemies, and suffocating their lungs.
The elves have already laid waste to the enemy's siege machines,
Their elks and skin changers have crushed a multitude.
But though they seek to fight alongside me,
They are wary of me, and keep their distance.

Its My Ring.
They found out that I've found my ring.
Everyone around me is becoming so afraid.
Fight on! We must fight on, and be rid of these servants of evil.
I am becoming angrier and angrier as the storm of war grows stronger.

Now what is happening?!
The elves are fleeing the scene, into the trees,
And so are the Angmarhim retreating away from the fortress.
The arrows of the trees raining down upon them, thinning their numbers.
But as a last act of mockery,
I behold the orcs dragging away the corpses of the dead.
Gnarled, torn, bloated bodies slain in battle, they are now being dragged through rock and mud,
Shredding and cutting on the rocks and scrap armor,
To be reanimated by wicked powers back in the mountains of Arnor,
Where Murazor rules supreme.
Everyone is fleeing, except for me.
Why?

Now, to my eyes appears the greatest of mockeries.
There staggers a jeering orc, carrying the spoils of war.
A bundle of innocent foxes, over his shoulder,
Bloodied and bruised to death during the onslaught.
One of many amicable creatures of Lorien who have been hunted down by their merciless enemy,
And slain for sport, to be eaten by rotten creatures,
Their bones to become powder for alchemy,
And their pelts to become leather for shields of battle.
Who could justify such senseless evil or violence,
Against such beautiful creatures, who know not their right paws from their left?
It makes my blood boil.
I shake and shiver with rage, at the sight of this wickedness.
The free people and the denizens of nature have done nothing to deserve a genocide.
I will not stand for it! How many times have these monsters gotten away with such abominable acts?
The flames of my body rise, and rise—I feel dreadful burning pain throughout my entire body,
Screaming with fury and indignation,
I now run to these deserters!

My rage is all-consuming!
Power overwhelming!
I condemn these traitors of nature, these products of Morgoth, these mockeries of all that is good.
Burn to ashes!
Fall to pieces and evaporate!
Barrage after barrage, I continuously throw my anger at them,
My fury made manifest in blazing light and smoke that blots out the stars.
Walls of red and yellow trap the remaining besiegers,
And even great monsters of the mountains melt away in a sea of death.
The Angmarhim panic and perish,
They have no hope of leaving here alive.
I will not let them escape to Carn Dum,
To come back with reanimated dead to add to their ranks.
My indignation is final.

At last, I deliver their final doom.
Releasing the full force of My Ring, a brilliant eruption breaks from the ground.
Fires from the ground and sky converge—Flames from the underworld and the heavens collide,
In a detonation of legendary proportions.
I put all of my anger into this final moment,
Let the world be awed by my return,
Festus, the Red Wizard.
The pillar of flame shines with the brilliance of the sun,
A monolith of burning light, bright as the breaking dawn.
The flames and smoke rise higher, and higher, like a tower of endless height.
And so the sphere of destruction has vanquished the Witch-King's wicked forces.
Nothing remains but ashes, dust, and scorched earth.
May these evil minions be erased for good, never again to be rebuilt by necromancy.

… I did it...
… I actually vaporized an entire army, fielded by one of the most wicked rulers of history.
This entire place has become a desolate, dry wasteland just beyond a rich realm of life and lush grass.
The smoke dissipates in the wind. The sun and moon separate. The stars disappear.
It is finished.
I cannot believe my eyes! Here there once was a multitude of soldiers,
And now the place is an empty field for nature to once again take back,
And make fruitful with grass and wildlife for another age.
Fire: Power in nature's rawest of form,
Fire, to turn flesh into dust,
To feed the hungry ground, and nourish the soil.
I now understand the merit of my affinity,
That the Loremasters do not.
For fire is the essence of light and heat,
The energy of life.
Perhaps I need not to join the Elves in their studies.
I have achieved a power of my own with which to fight against the evils of the world.
And to cleanse the lands of sin and imperfections.

Yes... Now I know what I must do!
I make for Isengard at last,
To face off against one who claims to be greater and wiser than myself!
Long has he thought me unfit to join his league in the defense of the Free Peoples.
A pompous dotard, of great power and wisdom and equally great pride and arrogance,
Whom I used to idolize as my role model.
Once I humble him, he may receive me once again!
At long last, I will have a purpose again in this world.
Finally, I will study the secret arts of magic,
With his defeat at my hands, I will be free to pursue my dreams!

… My Ring speaks to me. I must hurry.
I can feel two or three other ring-bearers in the back of my mind. They are afraid. They are shocked and disturbed.
Never mind Murazor, who has fled the scene of battle.
I need to make for Isengard.
There will be ample time for me to rest on my journey there.
It took me much of my power and energy to vanquish Angmar's forces.
I should not stay here, lest someone comes for me to interrupt my new plans.
I shall prove myself to Saruman, the White,
To redeem myself in his eyes, and be found useful again,
And I will become his greatest student. Who knows? Maybe I can come with him on his various missions throughout Middle-Earth to be at his aid!
… But... Even as I now go... I feel a sense of dreadful worry from around me.
The feeling as though I am being hunted.
I can faintly recognize their faces...
… Galadriel... I can see her! I can see her looking across the empty battlefield trying to find me.
And... a wizard. Dark are his clothes, and long is his beard.
… No ring do I know what Gandalf Carries... How so does he sense me, then?

No! I will not allow you to stop me!
If either of them seek me out, they will have to catch me first!
It is my lifelong dream to be honored and blessed among the divine,
To walk among the angels and gods of goodness and peace and love!
I will not be held prisoner in Middle-Earth,
Where my fleshly body shall wither and die meaninglessly,
And my soul descend to a void in the underworld.
Back into the skin of a fox, I change!
I flee! I fly ever faster!
You will not hold me back.
No-one will!

Walküre

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #20 am: 14. Okt 2017, 22:32 »
The clash

Valour of old, awake! At the grim hour courage has been summoned, and the Lady accepted such imperative challenge,
She came forth as the Elven Queen she is, composure of the ancient sort and resolution firm, for she was adamant in the guarding of her sunny domain,
Defeat was no option or alternative worthy of mention, lest doom were over all that by the holy touch of light was made,
How could truce be found via the means of sword and menace, signing a treaty of death without glory or wit?

The regency of Lórien was to give its utmost best, in order to fend off whom the just defender should always battle, who is the impious assailant, governed by ruthless thirst for blood,
Lesser minions, thrown in the heat of harsh war, with the sole objective in mind that is for us all the least guise of demise,
Raw servants, bred and forged, stain of felonies and many past faults,
They were of the immortal kind once, like lost tales record, blessed by innocence and love, until preys they had become in the hands of whom is cause of all which is wrong and which from piety detaches.

Nay, evil intelligence behind your mere tricks, it was not enough to bend the Lady's will and climb over of triumph the peaks,
Your obscure devices were simply rendered useless, for fool is the one who on the devilry of science and industry relies,
Seeking for wood to reduce into ashes and for slaves to exploit in all sorts of malicious deeds, as from the Ring of Isengard fell smoke we beheld, which was in truth a cry of pain and somber request, because trees were made to suffer and ever-sensitive to be, those who silently observe and live, an existence of testimony as old sentinels that the burden of toil never detest,
The broad green of this grey world, despised by darkness and often mauled by its fangs, it is instead preserved within the rule of justice and love,
You shall see, odious foes, the grudge of nature and of the whole earth, this is what you are to contest, for murder rectified will be and ultimate vengeance we predict as last outcome of eventful days.

Hers is a soil of gold, untainted and never-altered in the course of centuries, evidence of majesty that still persists among gloomy shades,
It's the domain of the Queen, renowned for her locks, memory forbidden to the most of how Arda used to be in antiquity, not bare nostalgia nor grievous remorse,
The mightiest Elda, of the Third Age, disenchanted shires, now grown weary, she's thus the beacon of hope which its very last radiance to Middle-earth has yet to gift,
Behold her, the Princess of Kôr, eight millennia she made lit and joyful, and secure any guest was within her reign,
The ultimate act of might of hers, she's yet to perform that and annals shall recall this day in glory, as glorious as the indomitable will to aid the Good's cause.

She is to make her way to that cursed hill,
Dwelling of sorcery and foul arts, it is a gaol in which many lives their tragic twilight saw,
The lair which the Dark Lord sheltered, when he first appeared as phantom to seek a newer scope for return,
Those ghoulish stones shall crumble and wail, dismembered and severed in wrath, upon the ladyship of Galadriel the gates of the eerie fortress down are to be torn, in akin manner of the brightest gem which is counted among the Eldar, but the fate of Men she had eventually chosen, after a legendary quest of extraordinary peril, when an erstwhile stronghold of Sauron by the sung incantation of Lúthien was equally conquered.

Ranks and ranks of hideous creatures were annihilated by the charging of Lórien's gallant host, as skilled warriors took down that multitude of evil with the most decisive resolution and incredible firmness. The Silver Lord of the woods breached the lines of his foes and commenced the just slaughter that had to take place. It had to befall, while the forces of the good side were striving and suffering in other places, at the resistant gate of the Lonely Mountain and under the strong marble of the Sentinel-city of Gondor, which is a lone shrine of hope against thick ashes and fires infuriating on the horizon, beyond such dreadful chain of hills and sharp rocks; the hazardous ways that lead to Mordor, fell heart of the Enemy and realm of tyranny. Thus, the flames of war reached the fine earldom of the Golden Wood. Blood ran through grass and soft ground, at the edge of those bewitched forests. It was all a mess of howls and gore. Dead remnants lying solitary as plain reflection of the conflict. That was gruesome experience and spectacle to behold. Yet, the valiant guardians of the millenary domain had not flinched nor faltered. Henceforth, victory was near and close.

The tales of the battle were made richer and longer by the lucky intervention of Festus the Red. Wavering temper, yet fiery will. His spells of fire brought death and sorrow for the opponents, and his prowess grew and was made livelier via the usage of an uncanny ring. It is perhaps one of the Rings of Power that of much trouble were authors in this world. Their nature is deceptive and treacherous their final goal, apart from the hidden Three. To the Wise they had been entrusted; three mighty figures of an ancient past of bliss. Sensing that a Ring was near, the Lady opted for direct combat: while her Ring was impenetrable shield for any blade or venomous spear, the sole gesture and flick of her hands were waves of energy and bright lightning in a night without many stars, rumbling as thunder and vicious weather, that was the fury of the Princess of Kôr, assuming a dreadful fashion in the time of urgency and foremost need. Then, the horrid foes realised that doom was upon them and the chance to flee they therefore seized. Yet, once they were about to cross the river, full of corpses and desolate ghouls, the Lady had already headed thither too. She spoke words of condemnation and the very river she summoned at her behest; the spirit of those waters raged and its course became a stormy juggernaut that none could halt, for the Orcs had dared throw in its water all sorts of filth and deceased beings. Moved by the Queen's decree, the river drowned all those filthy beasts and that was just retribution for anything which had thitherto tormented the ways of blue and ponds.

A word of wisdom

''Fiery friend of ours, Festus the Red, hearken to me, your Lady who dwells in the core of the enchanted green. May you hear this word of wisdom of mine. You are after sham plans and designs. Phoney advices you have paid attention to, alas, of a bogus benefactor who proclaims to act for your good. The one-time White Wizard is no more, for he's thus a beggar covered in shame and regret. A new white Istar has just taken the guidance of our war in his sacred hands. Can't you perceive what is befalling in the South? Men of diverse kingdoms are chanting in joy, because the Tyrant was vanquished and is finally gone. The Ruling Ring was undone in the fire from whence it had emerged. The other artefacts of that sort are soon to undergo the same destiny; this is an inexorable consequence, my buoyant ally, in that all Rings were crafted through the same general art, of which Sauron was disgraceful inventor and doer. My Ring is to vanish and fate, in equal terms. Hither, where we have come in far eras before, we shall face decay. Only, a possibility for immortal beings rests still available: the Valar left the door ajar...

Festus, follow me. And the chief of your order and the kind Lord of the Valley. We're due to abandon these grey shores, sailing to the realm of the Archangels of the World. We shall voyage whither, where naught dies and all lives in endless eternity under the skies of Eä. You can join our journey, if you desire. If you long for blessings and merriment without end, you ought to elect our path. And I shall speak in the old tongue again; the tongue of Aman and Valinórë itself. Our home and definitive harbour of happiness.''

Eldamar, thee I shall behold again,
Thy green hills, treasure carved in the wall, in which the fortunes of my House began,
I am certain, the dawn of my life thou hast fashioned, I wonder,
To the primeval seat of the Powers' throne, I shall go yonder.
« Letzte Änderung: 15. Okt 2017, 04:13 von Walküre »