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Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 08, 2004 05:32
Ilmare stroked Paldor's hair away from his face gently as she smiled down at him. "You are in an inn located in a town perhaps twenty miles from where we camped," she started. "We rescued you from the orcs earlier today; or rather, Galcora and Tirgoth rescued you as Zie and I provided a distraction. And the others..." she hesitated, searching his beautiful golden eyes. "Galcora is down in the common room, I believe, and...I'm not sure where Zie and Tirgoth are. Zie did not return with us, and Tirgoth went looking for her."

Paldor was silent for a long moment, and Ilmare used that time to get herself a drink. To do so, she had to get up to get a different cup, and she winced as she accidently put too much weight on her wounded leg. Obviously favoring that leg, she walked to the cups, retrieved one, and returned to her seat beside Paldor.

((Welcome back, Gwen! It's so good to have you back among us! I think the user name thing has been going around or something...some people have been complaining on that.))
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 10, 2004 09:08
Zie thrashed almost uncontrollably, with surprising strength; it was all Tirgoth could do to keep her from hurting herself as he held her legs as firmly as he could to the table. When the arrow finally came free the two elves, who had appeared mystriously just in the nick of time, and galcora moved around rapidly administering water and bandages and medicine, all in a desperate race to save Zie's life.

When it seemed there was nothing more that she could apply, Galcora stepped back slightly. Zie seemed to wake up suddenly for a moment out of her near-death stupor, muttering:

“….Orc…city…..aid….Faro…. Where…..Paldor?”

Tirgoth quickly reassured her, "Paldor is safe, you are safe, we are in the town, the orcs are far from here, rest know."

The elves gently seemed to want them to go away, as they put Zie back to sleep, whispering calming words in elvish in her ear.

Galcora and Tirgoth stood together a little ways away, looking at Zie and hoping desperately that she was going to be allright. Tirgoth felt his eyes start to swell with tears, but he crushed them, keeping his face dry. He wrapped his arm around Galcora's shoulders, more for his own comfort than hers. He ran his fingers through her hair gently, gaze buried in her beautiful face. He took solace in the fact that whatever happened, Galcora looked in no way like leaving, and he would cherish their every precious moment on earth together. The groping hand of death, pervading through the room, stretching its clutching fingers towards the still form of Zie, awoke in him a new appreciation of life.

(Gwen. dont be sorry! I have made ALOT worse posts than that and without any good reason at all, and so have most of us. Dont sweat it!)
GwennethSindalúnë
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 14, 2004 05:01
(Ooc: Thanks everyone. It's good to be back!)

Paldor listened with rapt attention as Ilmare quickly recounted the recent events. He could hardly believe that they had somehow mounted such a daring rescue mission, risking all of their lives as they ventured into the middle of the orc camp. His heart went cold as Ilmare revealed that Zie was missing. Without realizing it, over the course of the past few days, Paldor had come to care about the intriguing stranger. Her initially rough demeanor belied a gentle and generous spirit, and he couldn't bear the thought that he might be responsible for her being hurt or even worse...he quickly shook the thoughts away. Zie was tough! She had clearly survived a great many hardships, he told himself...surely she could handle a few orc! But something in his heart told him Zie was in grave danger.

Hoisting himself up, Paldor tried to get out of bed. Ilmare, who had moved away from the bed momentarily to get some water, quickly limped back to the bed. Clearly her leg was bothering her more than she let on, Paldor thought.
"Must find Galcora! Zie needs her!" he muttered, as he began to swing his legs out from under the covers. But the minute he moved his head, a wave of nausea and dizziness overcame him, immobilizing him much more effectively than Ilmare's pleas for him to remain where he was. Grunting as he tried to push away the pain, Paldor searched the face of the woman he loved.

"Please, I need to know what happened," he said. "Please find Zie!" He knew Ilmare didn't want to leave his side, but he couldn't bear the thought of lying there helpless, not knowing what had happened to Zie, blaming himself for her putting herself in danger...
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 15, 2004 07:13
((Wow...this got long!))

"Easy, easy, melethron," Ilmare soothed, using the Elvish term for 'beloved' as she pressed him down into the mattress. "I will go down to the common room and see what they know. But only if you remain here!"

Paldor relaxed under her grip subtly, and Ilmare knew he would stay. Turning slightly, the young ranger woman grabbed her bow and used it as a cane of sorts as she hobbled out of the room.

Grabbing the handrail, Ilmare was able to walk down the stairs without wobbling too bad, a fact that pleased her greatly. Entering the common room, Ilmare stopped dead in her tracks as a strange sight met her green eyes.

A being bent over a figure lying on a table as Galcora and Tirgoth watched, Galcora nestled in Tirgoth's arms. 'Tirgoth is here,' Ilmare thought to herself as she limped forward carefully. 'That must mean his quest was successful!' she added happily as she quickened her pace.

As she neared the table, the being turned. Ilmare's eyebrow lifted as she saw the male's fair face and pointed ears. "Hiril nin," he adressed her in Elvish, "please do not interfere."

"I am not interferring," she shot back in the same language. "I merely wish to see if you tend one of my companions. Her friend is asking after her."

The elf's surprise was only visible to someone who had been around Elves quite a bit. "I did not know many humans were educated in the Grey Speech," he remarked, turning back to the figure on the table. "Look if you must, hiril nin, but do not get in my way, please."

"As you say, hir nin," Ilmare replied, hiding her automatic sarcasm. Stepping awkwardly around the table, Ilmare stood by the figure's head. Only this close could she identify Zie. The other woman was covered with blood, bruises and nicks.

Zie was awake, but Ilmare could not tell if she knew her at all. Zie murmured something that sounded like "Paldor" in her delerium. Bending close to Zie's ear, Ilmare whispered, "Paldor is safely resting upstairs. You can rest. Your mission was fulfilled."

Her own mission finished, Ilmare hobbled over to Galcora and Tirgoth. "When did you return?" she asked Tirgoth. "How in Arda did you find her?"
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 17, 2004 08:23
"I followed the tracks of the orcs, and when I was getting close, I cut around them. I never even saw an orc, but Zie was badly wounded, as you can see. I went as fast as I could, but i just arrived."
Leighlia
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 18, 2004 06:57
The strange elf straightened from where he stood over Zie after ensuring that she felt now pain and slept peacefully, and looked at the three of them. “Your talents for tending the wounded are to be commended this day my Lady.” He said as his blue eyes fell on Galcora. He stepped toward them and made a guesture of greeting. “My name is Ríon. And I am give thanks to you for saving my friend, whom I have not seen in quite some time and did not expect to see this day.” He glanced down at the sleeping form of Zie before he turned his gaze to Tirgoth and Ilmare. “How many were left, of the Orc that you fought this day?” He asked. “The villagers will need to know if there are still enough to attack the village? If there are they will need defending as these are simple people. But of it we can speak more after I have her settled.”

Saying so he gently slid his arms under Zie and picked up her limp form and carried her off toward the stairs. Once upstairs he passed by the open door of the room Paldor lay in, and glanced only once inside at the pale man that lay there before moving down the hall. He stepped into a room that a maid was just leaving and after muttering some instructions to her kicked the door shut behind him.

Several moments later the maid returned with a covered tray and what looked to be rolls of bandages for the rest of Zie’s non-life-threatening wounds. After rapping on the door she disappered inside and quickly left again.

(Ok, I feel bad, this isn't much....)
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 21, 2004 01:52
( I dont really have anything to post, i just want to ask pardon for that ridiculously, abjectly bad last post, i hate nothing more than one liners, but i had no time and no ideas. And I also wanted to ask: WHERE ARE YOU ELRIN!!!! WE NEED YOU!!!!!!!!!! I have sent her a few pms but with no response. *tear* it seems our friend has left us! I was wondering, normally do we just try to get her to post for a long long time and in the meantime live witha crippled thread? Or should i post for her? Could my sister do it? All the threads that i have been in that had people leave inexplicably just collapsed, but i really dont want that to happen with this one. plz PM me with suggestions!)
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 23, 2004 04:24
(OK, I was informed by the mods that it is against the rules for anyone else to control Elrin's character, so it looks like this thread is going to die, *tear*. I wonder if you three would like to start up a completely new thread, not necessarily related to this one, to sort of replace it. Just an idea of something to do if we cant save our beloved thread, because I have really really enjoyed writing with all of you and would like to continue. Think about it and post or PM me if you would like to.)

Edit: she also hasnt read my pms, so it seems like it may be true that she doesn't have internet access during the summer or something.
Please weigh in on whether you think we shouhld make a new thread, try to continue without her, or do nothing.

[Edited on 23/6/2004 by Caegaraneva]
GwennethSindalúnë
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 24, 2004 05:28
okay...so we can't edit her character...but can we just sort of leave her character behind? Without killing her off or controlling her in any other way? Surely that wouldn't be against the rules?! It will be a bit awkward to the story line, but surely we can figure out a way to do this?
if not, then I'm all for making a brand new thread, but I'm really partial to this one and these characters that we've spent so much time developing, ya know?
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 24, 2004 10:31
I'd really hate for this thread to die at all. I love this thread and working with y'all. Leaving Elrin's char. behind might be the best option. Maybe something else called her away and she can rejoin us when she gets back online. I dunno...I've see way too many good threads die from one vital person not writing...and it'd be awful if that happens here.
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: June 30, 2004 09:24
They sat around a campfire, near the mouth of the Entwash in a small grove of trees. All were discouraged, driven into the ground by the months of fruitless searching. Always, the orcs were one step ahead of them, dissapearing like smoke in the wind.

Tirgoth voiced what they were all thinking.

"Our efforts thus far have been fruitless. We have not been able to even find the orcs yet! It pains me to say this, but it may be that we will have more luck in the finding of the orcs if we split up, and go our seperate ways for scouting."

There. It was out in the open now, and although it broke all of their hearts to even temporarily split their felllowship, they all realized it must be done. He kept his eyes on the ground as he awaited their replies, fighting to hold back his tears.

[Edited on 1/7/2004 by Caegaraneva]
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 01, 2004 09:48
Ilmare snuck a glance at Paldor, who sat beside her. They had all remained in the small village for several days, recovering thoroughly, and for that Ilmare was grateful. She knew that she couldn't seperate herself from the others if any of them--Paldor especially--were still injuried.

Though her heart ached at the thought of seperating, especially after all they had been through together, Ilmare knew that it was the only way to cover more ground and possibly catch the orcs. Her heart burned within her to catch them and make them pay even more for what they had done to Paldor.

At last, the ranger girl cleared her throat painfully. "It is a hard thing," she admitted, her normally soft voice husky with inheld tears. "I do not like the thought of separating our company, who have traveled so far and been through so much together! But Tirgoth is right. There are very few other options avaliable to us now." Of its own accord, her hand slipped off her lap and found Paldor's as she said, "May the Valar travel with each of us on our search."
Leighlia
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 06, 2004 04:03
Excerpt from the diaries of Ziean Azůkeŧhein, as translated…

122nd day of the year of Kac’ar.

I remember…

Our group sat, disheartened around our small campfire. Long had we tracked our prey across the plains and foothills to no avail. No matter how hard we pushed ourselves or our mounts, our prey ever eluded us.

It was that night around the campfire that one of us spoke of separating with the hope of being able to cover more ground. His name, I now can no longer grasp, but his face remains clear in my mind, lit by the flames from our small fire. He was tall and broad shouldered with arms and hands of a strong workingman.

A difficult decision was before us, and it seems to me now that all other options had been exhausted. As I continue to write, new memories seem to form while others fade. Are these new memories false ones? Is my mind merely attempting to fill the gaps by following a rational and logical path of possible events? In reading back over the pages and pages that I have filled with my scrawling hand, this question seems to be the one I ask most. After so long, I become less certain of my answer.

~*~

123rd day of the year of Kac’ar.

I awoke from my dreams last night in a fit of terror and I know not why. Perhaps in setting pen to paper again my memories will flow with the ink.

It began well enough and seemed to have been inspired by my recording of my thoughts from yesterday, as I do every night. Dawn was rising and I stood amongst a group of companions as we wished each other peace, luck and heavy hearted farewells. We were to divide to search for our prey, hopefully increasing our chances, but what prey we followed and to what purpose I cannot now remember. The others, it seemed, bore the parting with more difficult than I. Promises, spoken and not, floated on the wind as each of us rode in our separate directions.

That old scar of mine, low on my side, pained me a great deal last night as I dreamt. Luckily it does not do so while I am awake, for it would hinder my ability to teach or swing my own weapons. Merasea does well with her learning and I will move her to the staff soon. Baldo is eager to begin his training with the bow and grows frustrated that I will not allow him to progress faster.

But I see that I stray. Even now my dream begins to fade. I remember following a faint trail for what seemed like more than just days. Even when awake I can feel the bone weary fatigue and irritation at not finding its source or end.

The next that I remember is being surrounded by a heavy darkness and a fear like nothing I’ve felt, even since my first battle so long ago where I lost the last of my brothers, Destel, Draken and mostly my beloved Faro. He too haunts my dreams at times, seeming to try to tell me something that I can never hear over a roaring wind that drives us apart.

My mind slips and strays from these thoughts like water through my fingers. Why can I not remember the end of my time in the Northern countries properly? What is it that drives fear into my soul to wake me in the wee hours drenched in sweat? What prey did we search for with such a passion? How many times will I write similar passages, not remembering that I’ve written it before, the same dreams, the same memories that haunt me?

When I look back over the past pages I cannot remember what memories inspired the words I put down with such care, and sometimes desperation in my efforts to keep my thoughts straight and remember. Pale skinned faces of people from the north haunt my sleep and I feel that I should know them and know them well, so why do the names of those faces elude me so? Are they real? And if so, do they still live? Would they know me if we met again? So many questions, unanswered, so many more forgotten. Some nights I fear that they will drive me mad.

~*~

Zie stood from her soft couch of soft cushions that were arranged around the floor of her tent, leaving her thick leather bound diary on the short legged table. She had written herself out for the night. So many times after filling a page or two she would feel so frustrated at the unanswered and unknown she would pick up the book and walk it to the circle of fire in the central ring of the tent city, wanting to just forget the whole mess and move on. Each time she had been prepared to drop into the flames the work that she had put into those pages over the last 4 years, but each time she held the book out she hesitated, unable to let it drop into the ash. She knew that even if the book of her fragmented memories were gone, the dreams would still come. In the end she would always just tuck it back under her arm and walked away.

The walls of her large tent were still drawn up to allow the evening breezes to drive away the heat. Servants would come soon and let them down as the sun sank to keep the desert chill out. The sun was already sinking to the horizon, bathing the sands in a red hue. The sands shifted under her feet and the wind pulled at her light clothing as she climbed to the top of the dune. With her hands clasped behind her back she stood watching the sun set, Seldom, as tonight, did she actually watch the last golden rays fade from the skies.

The stars glittered like jewels in the sky when one of her young students came to find her. Though she had heard the approach in the soft sands, she did not turn to greet them. For 3 years now she had served as a Sword Mistress to the Trajar, the wandering tribes of the south. She was one of 7 who taught the art of defense and weaponry. It was her task to teach the young, introducing them to hand fighting, sword play, archery, and stealth before they moved on to spears and horsemanship with others.

“Mistress?” It was Merasea whom they had sent tonight. “Halena says it is time and we are not to start without you.” For a long moment Zie did not move, her hands locked behind her back and her eyes still on the horizon. “Mistress?” the girl asked again softly.

“Yes, Merasea.” Was her soft reply.

“Why do you come up here each night alone?”

“To watch the sun set, of course. To watch the passing of each day gives me a few moments to settle my thoughts and gain some measure of peace that I do not get from you younglings.”

Merasea shifted her feet in the sand while gazing up at the woman that towered over her in consternation. “Mistress?” She asked again a bit timidly.

“Yes Merasea.”

“If you come to watch the sun set…why do you look to the North? Does the sun not set in the West?”
Elrin
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 06, 2004 04:05
(Hello guys, I wanted to give all of you my sincere apology for my long absence. There have been many reasons for my long absence and I apologize for not leaving a note. My laptop and computer have both aquired viruses that causes it to freeze, along with that due to a late payment, my internet connection was cut. I have gotten my laptop to work, but it is still causing troublee. There are other reasons, though some are perhaps my own fault and laziness.
I only was able to login today and I read the notes sent to me from quite a few threads.
I feel like a rat and unworthy to continue in this thread. I love this thread and would hate to see it die, I have had high hopes for it. I do not want to be the cause of the death so perhaps I should take Galcora from the thread. In all honsty I do not want to leave the thread but I cannot say how and when I will be able to post if I continue.
It is school holiday now so I would be able to post each day, but afterwards I am not sure.
Once again I apologize and say thank you, I greatly enjoyed rping with you guys.)

Elrin
GwennethSindalúnë
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 15, 2004 03:04
“Paldor! Hey, Paldor! The guard is changing!”
The voice of one of the other tower guard snapped the young man out of his reverie and back to the present moment. He was standing high atop the ramparts of the White City, ostensibly to watch the horizon for anyone who might dare to approach the gigantic bastion, but in actuality, his mind had strayed far from his duty, as it so often did of late.
“Thanks Talmin,” Paldor answered with a wave to indicate that he had heard the soldier’s call. “I’ll be right there.” Already, he could see the night guards making their way to replace their counterparts along the walls of the great city. For a moment, Talmin stared curiously at Paldor, wondering about the aura of mystery which always seemed to surround him, but the large man’s intense golden gaze quickly sped him on his way.

Paldor halfheartedly saluted the guard who climbed the steep flight of steps to the citadel walls and prepared to take over watching over this section of the city for the night. Still caught up in his own thoughts, he hesitated at the top of the steps, gazing out over the vista far beneath him. The sun was setting behind the Western range and the final golden beams of light made the tall grasses of the plains appear as if they had caught fire. Distractedly, Paldor released one of the buttons which held his leather armor in place and fingered the four long scars which ran the length of his chest. He could feel the scar tissue, coarser than the rest of his skin beneath his fingertips. For the millionth time, he wondered why his memory of the event which had caused the gashes remained so dim. In his mind, he could picture a metal claw bearing down on him, followed by searing pain, but what followed was a series of images and impressions too muddled for him to make sense of.

Sighing, Paldor pulled himself away from his reflections and quickly made his way down the steep steps, automatically staying close to the wall to avoid the unprotected edge of the stairs and the sheer drop down to the streets below. The narrow stairwells, devoid of any banister, were designed to inspire terror in anyone who might breach the highest levels of the city, but Paldor was long accustomed to the breathtaking descent and confidently navigated the series of steps until he reached street level.

Turning to the left, he made his way through the busy evening streets towards home. At this hour, the daytime merchants were closing shop, but the usual assortment of inns and eateries along with the stray performers: jugglers, storytellers and fire eaters attracted crowds of curious onlookers as long as the weather was fair. Paldor paid them little heed as he quickly cut across the main roads, and chose to use the quieter side streets for his walk home.

As he passed the Houses of Healing, Paldor paused as he so often did, and for a few moments, he laid his bare palm against the stone exterior of the building which housed the sick and dying. His mother had worked there for long years and still served as a teacher to the younger generation of healers. But it was his sister, Galcora, who now occupied the young man’s thoughts. She too had been a healer. His brow furrowed with pain as he thought of the night he had lost her: The torrential downpour and the raging river. He could still remember the terrible feeling of anguish as her slim fingers had slipped from his grasp, and she was carried away downstream by the force of the surging floodwaters. Paldor himself had barely escaped with his own life, and his family and friends had all assured him that there was nothing he could have done. Yet, he continued to feel that his sister’s death had been his fault in some way. If only he had held on tighter…if only he hadn’t let go!
Paldor rested his forehead against the cool stone of the building, drawing strength from it’s stillness. Galcora’s body had never been found, but how could anyone have survived the raging waters of the flooded river? He had asked himself the same question countless times, always to come up with the same answer: it was simply impossible. His stomach clenched as he pushed himself away from the wall and tried to brush away thoughts of his dead sister.

It was strange, he mused, how he could so vividly remember that moment with Galcora in the river, but he couldn’t recall what they were both doing there, or how they had come to find themselves on the banks of the flooded waters in the first place. Strange figures seemed to hover at the edges of his memory and he strained to focus on them, but as always, the half formed images faded away, and he was left standing in the street, with his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Groaning, Paldor forced himself to push away his troubled thoughts and continued on his way to his small apartment near the upper levels of the city. Once there, he quickly changed clothes: exchanging the leather armor of the City Guard for a plain white cotton shirt and a pair of leather trousers and matching boots. He released his long black hair from the tie which had held it at the nape of his neck during his hours of duty, leaving it to fall around his shoulders. He completed his preparations by donning a belt which held a dagger and his money pouch before returning to the streets. As always, inactivity made his mind restless, and he preferred to spend his evenings with friends or roving the endless streets of the gigantic city. As long as he was occupied, his mind remained focused on the present moment, and so he avoided staying in any one place for too long, as if somehow, he could physically escape his feverish half memories and nagging doubts.

He set off across the city, following the main thoroughfare to the lower levels which were already bathed in shadows as the final rays of the sun slipped behind the mountains. The streets in this section of the city were lit by lanterns and they flickered gently in the evening breeze. Paldor walked without any clear thought of his destination. Although this part of the city wasn’t the safest place to be after dark, few people ever approached the tall muscular man as he walked the streets with the confidence of a trained warrior. Without thinking about it, Paldor found himself next to an ancient cracked basin set against one of the inner city walls. For some reason, he was drawn to this place and often wandered here, but he couldn’t fathom why. Sometimes, when he rested on the edge of the fountain, he felt as if the shadowy figures and images that plagued his mind might actually reveal themselves to him. Tonight, he allowed himself to sit on the crumbling edge of the long empty basin and let his mind wander once more.

The flickering light from a nearby lantern cast moving shadows on the cobblestone street. They pulled at his imagination, seemingly taking on first one shape and then another. Gazing at them, Paldor was immediately caught up in the deluge of images which had plagued him all day.
In fact, he was lost so deep within the recesses of his own troubled memories, he never even heard the hooded figure as it approached…
Elrin
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 16, 2004 12:54
Voices, like fingers, ripped through the velvety blackness that filled the mind like a black hole, to dissapear into the emptiness of the forgotten, along with a stream of blurred images that made no sense or impression to and on the mind. Memories and figures of the past were hidden behind a thick blanket of fog, barricated by the roar of enraged water and trapped by a feeling of suspending force. Voices once again filtered through the shadows of the mind, but did not dissapear into the emptiness. Light shot through the darkness, forcing back the shadows and freeing the mind from the fog of sleep.

Galcora opened her eyes to see the sun shining through the cracks of the wooden shutteres in her room. Outside the voices of busy village folk could be heard, the shrieking laughter of children rose through the air and faded into the distance. The aroma of fresh bread wafted into her room from the neat little bakery next door. As Galcora lay in bed the rhythmic hammering of metal filled the room, beating in sync with her heart beat. The sound was soothing and comforting for the reasons that she knew not. But as she listened an image of a man hunched over, hammering a piece of metal infront of him came unbidden into her mind. She had seen the image many times before, yet not once had she seen the man's face.

As the image slipped from her mind she closed her eyes with a sigh before sitting up. She pulled back the thin, worn blanket from her legs and placed her bare feet on the cool wooden floor of the bare little room that she owned. She pulled on brown woolen stockings and a faded brown dress. Sliping into a comfortable and plain pair of shoes she went about brushing her hair and braiding it back. Satisfied, Galcora opened the door and stepped into the hall and down the stairs into the main room of the Red Sparrow. Already men and woman sat at the bar, some eating the stew left over from the night before, and some had their early morning drink before going out into the fields to work. A few calls of greeting was sent her way as she made her way to the kitchens. Hort, the owner of the Red Sparrow nodded in her direction as he walked to his position behind the counter.

Hort was a bald and burly man, faded scars running acros his left cheek and arms. His clothes were worn out, patched and would not ever be clean again. The kitchen was small and stuffy, an open fire roaring on the far wall, a pig on a spit already roasting slowly for the dinner that evening. Buntei, a skinny girl of 13 walked from a cooler room, two mugs of mead held in her hands. She smiled shyly at Galcora before darting out to the main room. Galcora smiled gratefully at the cook as a hot bowl of stew was placed before her along with a mug of hot cider.

As a healer, Galcora was given a room and two meals a day in exchange for her services. Farming men often came in with axe wounds and such and the woman came with their children aswell as new or hopefull mothers.
Galcora new that she had not been born in the village for images of great stone walls and crowded streets often passed through her mind's eye. She had woken up to see faces staring down at her, her limbs heavy and her head throbbing in pain. She had been told that she was found washed up by a river bank by a passing farmer. It had taken a while, but her name had come to her and she had found that she was knowledged in the areas of healing.
The village healer having grown old, was happy to have her share his duty. Accidents were not uncommon here and each day brought a new injury.

Galcora was grateful to the people for what they had given her, yet as time passed she had found herself growling troubled and restless, the faded images of her past growing more intense and urgent yet as blank as before. She enjoyed her work, yet the freedom of the fields, the wildness of the woods and forests and the shadows of the mountains pulled at something buried deep within her, overshadowed by the past. There was something that was calling her and the more she resisted the stronger the urge to leave became and the more trapped she felt amongst these simple minded people. There was something that she wanted that these people could not give her. She had thought about marrying and having children, yet she could not imagie such a future here.

Looking down at her now empty bowl Galcora sighed and swept a hand over her eyes before standing and leaving the warmth of the kitchen. A woman stood waiting patiently, a weeping boy in her arms holding, what Galcora suspected, a broken wrist. Smiling gently she greeted them.
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 16, 2004 07:40
Tirgoth lay up awake in bed, long into the shadowy hours of the night, when all the city seemed to fall silent. The silent stars and oppresive dark surrounding where the only backdrop to his tortured dreams.

He lay awake like this often, trying to escape the world of sleep and dreams so filled with visions of...her.

He lay on his back this night, and stared up at the wooden ceiling. He traced the lines, the grain, of the wood up and down, from their start above his head to the other end ofthe room, at their finished. It kept his mind occupied, warded off the heavy blanket of sleep.

But even in the grain of the wood he found more pain. The thin lines meandered and crossed, and split in two, and sometimes just tapered off into nothingness, but every one began, and ended, and was complete, and whole within itself.

Tirgoth cried in frustration as he had so many times, knowing that somehow, some way, he was not whole.

He cried himself reluctantly to sleep.

***

The shadowy world of dreams called to him, assaulting him with fragmented images, a stench of sewers mixed with adventure, a vision of orcs, stampeding down a mountain path, the feel of fangs, ripping into his arm, leaving the twitch in his muscle that lasted to this day...

And then her.

Seated by a little stream, it is dark for some reason, but for the light of lanterns...And one other light, a shaft of sun, coming in from somewhere, he never turned to look at where...and her, illuminated in its beam, like a goddess, flaxen hair waving in the sun. Her face so flawless and true, her eyes, beautifull and sparkling with happiness in the sun.

He moves to embrace her, as always, she is smiling, her lips parted slightly as she moves to meet his kiss...His arms reach around her, to pull her close, he is consumed by the need to hold her, to feel the touch of her skin...

Just as his embrace nearly touches her, just as his face is within an inch of her lips, she vanishes, and he awoke, left alone with the darkness and a pain so deep and intense, it cannot be expressed in the words of mortal pen.

He wept bitterly, there in his little room above the forge, with no one there to comfort him. He opened his eyes as he cried, and the lines in the wood ceiling mocked him.

We are whole they seemed to say, And you will never be more than a shadow. The past and the present are intertwined, neither can be true without the other. You are false, you are empty, you are alone, you are not whole, you are not whole...

Tirgoth got out of bed angrily, and stalked downstairs, pulling a piece of metal from the fire and slamming it onto the anvil, grabbing a large hammer from the wall, and slammed out his grief and frustration into the hot iron, the horror of being in love and not knowing with whom...

His salt tears sizzled as they hit the hot metal.

He pounded relentlessly, randomly, beating the metal into a random crumple, and eventually, arms throbbing, he collapsed, leaving hammer and iron sitting forgotten on the anvil.

He lay there on the cold stone floor for a long while letting the grief wash over him, until he finally fell asleep, shutting himself in a forcefully dreamless vault. He vowed to do something on the morrow.

What? He knew not yet.


[Edited on 16/7/2004 by Caegaraneva]
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 16, 2004 08:27
Ilmare sat up, displacing the covers about her as she blinked owlishly against the light. The sun was barely rising over the eastern horizon, and it was time for her to be up and about. With an inner sigh, the ranger woman got up and changed into her comfortable clothes before exiting her room.

"Good morning Ilmare," her father greeted, standing and hugging her briefly.

Ilmare smiled back, but made no reply. Her father sighed slightly, his eyes sad. She had been this way since she had returned home after a long absence. Whether she simply refused to speak, or whether she was incapable, he didn't know. Either way, he kept hoping that one morning, she would be able to reply, "Good morning Ada. How did you sleep?"

He drew her over to the breakfast table and indicated the food already there, still steaming from the oven. Ilmare smiled brightly as she sat down and neatly placed her napkin in her lap.

After breakfast, Ilmare’s father remained at the table as Ilmare cleared the table of the few dishes. “Ilmare,” he called, “we need to talk.”

Ilmare turned and raised her eyebrows, her silent way of saying, “Go ahead.”

“There is a small band of rangers heading to Minas Tirith later tonight,” her father said, propping his chin on his palms. “They will be there no more than five days, gathering information. Would you like to go with them?”

Ilmare considered that briefly. That would be hard, as she disliked being around a lot of people. But to be in the greatest city of men, even once… She nodded slowly, smiling. “Good, good,” her father grinned, clapping her on the shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~
Two days later…
~~~~~~~~~

Ilmare looked about the room she had been assigned in the inn called the Falling Tower. It was more than adequate for her needs, she decided, so she put her stuff down. She did not, however, remove the bow and quiver strapped to her back. For her evening plans, she would need them. Glancing out the window, she saw that it was almost dark enough to explore the city properly, without a million guards and escorts following her.

The other rangers, those who were older and more experienced, had made it fairly clear that she wasn’t to go exploring on her own, not for any reason. But she scorned them, thinking to herself, ‘They are neither my friends nor my father, therefore they have no right to try and lord it over me.”

Beyond all of that, she had other reasons to go exploring. Though it seemed absolutely impossible, she was sure she had been here before. ‘But would not Ada have told me if I had been here before?’ she wondered. The more she thought about it, the more it itched at her until she *had* to go see for herself.

Glancing out the window again, Ilmare saw that it was finally dark enough. Her hood came up to conceal her jade green eyes and cropped brown hair as she slipped silently out of her room, her hand going to a scar on her thigh. She could never quite remember how she had gotten this particular scar, and the thought kept slipping from her mind when she tried to focus on it.

It was the work of a moment to sneak out of the inn; the innkeeper was not particularly intelligent, and Ilmare had years of sneaking under her belt. Once she was outside, she inhaled the night air happily and started exploring.

Though she was not the only one out and about, even as late as it was, Ilmare easily avoided the guards and other people heading for their homes. Everyone had a hunched, fearful look, she noted as she slipped into the shadows of a doorway. She wondered if the new Steward, the one young King Eldarion called ‘Uncle’, had anything to do with that, before dismissing it as none of her business.

As night drew onward, she kept exploring, but now her feet seemed drawn in a certain, half-remembered direction and path. She turned down a small alley and could almost, with the flickering torches as her guide, see shadows of memory, shadows from her dreams.

Coming to the end of an alley, she entered an old courtyard of stone, with a broken fountain within it. This place…this place was familiar, or so her mind screamed with every heartbeat.

Only after she had entered the courtyard and spun in a slow circle did she notice the tall, well-muscled man sitting on the old fountain. She shied back automatically, wary of any man she did not know. He did not seem to notice her, however, and Ilmare shook her head. ‘Careless,’ she thought. ‘I could be an enemy, and then where would he be?’

As she studied him from across the courtyard, she frowned slightly, wondering why he seemed so familiar. Bending a bit, she risked being seen so she could get a look at his eyes. They were an odd shade of gold.

Memory smote her hard, sending her reeling. Many times over the last seven years, she had dreamed of a man with golden eyes and a messy mop of black hair, his features kind and faintly adoring. That was the man now sitting before her, his eyes elsewhere and his features dejected. And as she stared at him, the one memory she had fought to find for seven years came to her: his name.

“Paldor.” The name emerged as a soft whisper.
Leighlia
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 20, 2004 03:20
147th day of the year of Kac’ar.

No longer can I sleep at night without seeing either those faces that I cannot put names to or that horrible darkness that sends me into shivering sweats. The last three nights I have woken my neighbors in the night with my dreaming. Last night I had young Baldo on the ground with my elbow in his throat before I knew it was him. It is time that he moved his training to Master Kenotia in hand-to-hand defenses. This morning as I watched the sun rise (for after attacking Baldo, I could not go back to sleep) I found my gaze straying again to the North instead of the East. I have decided that I will go and talk to Den’hari, the old wise woman. Perhaps she can decipher the stars for me and tell me what it is that plagues my nights.

~*~

Zie stood leaning against the bow of the tall masted ship as she watched the gray mist part to reveal the green and brown shores ahead. Her fingers played absently with the thinly cut quartz charm that hung around her neck. When she had gone to see old Den’hari, the old woman had poured her dusts on the fire that raised much smoke and sang her calling song to the stars.

It seemed that they had sat there for hours as the old woman communed with those above before she finally turned her dark eyes to Zie again. Standing the old woman walked to her and looked up into her face for a long, silent moment. Finally she had reached up and tapped the charm disk that hung around Zie’s neck with a wrinkled finger. “Your answers lie in your past. That is where you must look, young one, and face the truth that you know in your heart of who you are.” The old woman said with a voice that sounded like old creaking leather. Den’hari chuckled as she turned away, “Listen to who I am calling young one. You’re older than I am.”

Zie had started to leave when the old woman had turned away, but stopped when she spoke of her age. Zie had never spoken to anyone about her age since she joined the Trajar, unsure of their reaction. Thankfully, no one had never asked. “What do you mean Den’hari?” she asked warily.

Den’hari did not even look up at her. “You know well enough.”

“Who else knows? Who else have you told?” Zie asked softly.

“I have told no one. Who else knows, well that depends on themselves and their own observances.” Den’hari’s tone had changed. She spoke as if to one of the small children, placatingly. When she finally looked up she stood and walked to the tall woman that stood at the entrance to her tent. Lifting her old sun-dried hands to Zie’s cheeks, (Zie hand to bend slightly for her to reach) she gazed for a moment into her eyes. “The eyes are the window to the soul. Your soul has been looking outwards for a very long time. In them I can see experiences and memories stretching back over time.”

Finally she released her and turned back to her things. “Go now. Go on.” She waved her hand at Zie to go. “You have things to see to before your journey.”

Coming out of her reverie Zie lifted the disk charm on its long cord and looked at it. It was made of two thinly cut pieces of crystal that were about three fingers wide and held together with a gold wire that was twisted in small knots around the edge. Pressed between the two disks was a single long blade of dark green grass, rolled so that it would fit between the quartz pieces.

As she walked down the gangplank and onto the causeway, she tucked the charm away and moved quickly into the crowd, adjusting the weight of the heavy pack on her back.

~*~

Nine days later found her riding across the plains toward a village of some size. Looking over the open prairies and the farmlands, her hand went back to the charm around her neck. Often since returning to the green lands of the north did her hand stray to it. When she had plucked that single blade of long grass, she had never thought to lay eyes on the rolling hills again, or see the way that the wind made the grasses wave as if it were the surface of a great green ocean.

A line of consternation seemed to have found a permanent home between her slim brows since her return. In the time she had returned she had discovered much, but each new bit of information brought a thousand more questions. In the port city she had found that King Elessar and his wife were dead and had been for quite some time, but the man from whom she had purchased her horse would not speak further on the details. Instead he spoke of the young King and the ‘respected’ Stewart Jaroth that held his place until he came of age.

Respected…but not loved, or even liked it seemed. She had stopped to see her old friends in Edoras. Certainly Lord Faramir would tell her what had happened to Aragorn and his queen. But when she had been received at King Eómer’s court, he told her some of what had transpired in the year or so after she had left for the southlands. But as she listened, she felt that some things he held back.

The queen had supposedly died in childbirth, her second child coming early. King Elessar died soon after, of grief some say, leaving behind his young son, only two seasons old. On his death bed, instead of naming Faramir as rightful Stewart of the White City, as was expected, the King named Jaroth, an obscure advisor of the court. And into his care went the young King to be.

As the King of Gondor died, Faramir took his family into hiding, but he would not tell her if an attempt had been made on his families lives. Kind Eómer was very guarded in the words that he used for the Stewart of Gondor, and spoke no word of him that could be construed as…bad.

Of all of the villages and towns she had visited since, the attitudes had been the same. No one spoke ill of the Stewart and often looked carefully around themselves when they did, as if to be sure of who was within ear shot.

Three days before she had sat beside her campfire trying to decipher what she had learned since her return and made no headway. None of it cleared away the fog in her brain or lifted the darkness from her memories. Finally she settled herself to leaving the politics to itself. There was nothing she could do on the matter. Instead she decided to begin tracking down the first of her memories that was clear before the confusion began. Each town or village that she found she began searching out its inns, searching for one that was familiar. She had thought of riding to Lorien to seek out her old friend Ríon, but she had been told that the elves had long since left these lands, and so she abandoned the thought.

As the sun was reaching its peak, Zie had finally reached the village. Riding slowly through the streets, the inhabitants stared at her, and stepped quickly out of her path. Still she wore clothing in the style of her own people. Her leggings were full and appeared as if her skirt had been tucked into her boots around her calves. But they were indeed pants that allowed her a full range of movement and the ability to ride a horse with no trouble. Her tunic and over tunic fell below her waist and was covered with a light vest that fell to her knees. The cloth was lightweight, her under tunic of a rich silk, while the rest was a cooling cotton, suitable for the desert heats. As the summer wore on she knew she would have to acquire other clothes made of wools to keep out the cold that she would no longer be accustomed to.

She had abandoned her choufa, the cloth headdress that kept the desert sun from baking your brains, on the ship. Still, she wore a scarf wrapped around her head. It was folded several times so that it did not cover all of her hair, but did cover ¾ of her ears. The midnight blue tails of the scarf hung free in the length of her free flowing hair that had been cut to hang just below her shoulder blades. On her hip she bore a long bladed scimitar of the desert people.

Easily she found the villages Inn, the Red Sparrow. After leaving her horse with a stable boy she stepped into the dark interior. The conversations in the room ceased as she entered and made her way to the bar. The tender behind the bar was a burly man with a scarred face and filthy clothing. There weren’t many people in the Inn common room. Being a farming community, it was likely most of the residents of the area were out in their fields. She leaned against the bar, her hands resting around the mug that the tender sat before her, her dark eyes watching every movement in the room as conversations began again.

Across the room near a window a young woman sat with her back to the rest of the bar. An old man sat in a chair across from her, his leg resting on a stool while the young woman seemed to be examining it, questioning him softly. Zie blinked and gave herself a shake when she found herself staring at the back of this young woman. Lifting a hand, she rubbed at the back of her neck, smoothing the feeling of the hair on her neck standing on end away and looked down into her mug of ale. Something in her memories stirred and she struggled to grasp it.


[Slighlty Edited on 24/7/2004 by Leighlia]

[Edited on 24/7/2004 by Leighlia]
GwennethSindalúnë
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 22, 2004 01:30
“Paldor…” The whisper seemed to echo throughout the small courtyard, sending a spate of shivers running down the man’s spine and instantly yanking him from his private contemplation. Before he knew what he was doing, Paldor had leaped to his feet and taken several steps toward the hooded stranger who now stood before him.

Regaining his senses, he paused, his hand automatically straying to the dagger at his side. He subtly shifted his position so that he would be ready to strike at a moment’s notice if necessary. The hooded stranger stood only a few feet away, unmoving and silent now. Paldor’s head swam. There was something about this figure that made goose bumps break out all over his body.

He strained in the flickering light to make out any details, but the cloak and hood effectively dissimulated the speaker’s identity. The voice had been slightly husky and pitched low enough that it could have belonged to either a man or a woman, Paldor mused, as he eyed the stranger warily. The figure appeared to be slight of build and a good deal shorter than himself, he observed, allowing himself to relax a notch. Certainly, in a hand to hand battle, the mysterious stranger would be at a significant size disadvantage.

For several more heartbeats which seemed to last an eternity, they stood there in the courtyard, both silent and unmoving, each one apparently waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, it was Paldor who broke the silence: “Who are you?” He demanded. He had meant the words to be a ringing challenge to this stranger who apparently knew his name, but they came out instead in so bare a whisper, he wasn’t even sure the figure had heard him. He cleared his throat to try again, but his breath caught in his throat as the hooded figure took a step toward him…
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 22, 2004 03:58
Ilmare remained still as Paldor jumped to his feet and seemed to appraise her. His eyes flicked over her from head to toe, measuring her in the expert way of an expert fighter. Though she knew he was considerably taller and wider than her, Ilmare thought she might be able to hold her own against him if she had to, though she hoped she wouldn't have to.

Her eyes examined him as the silence stretched longer. He had changed from the image she had carried in her heart for seven years. He was broader now, his hands more weapon-worn than before. He was slightly taller, his fighter's stance surer. His hand, which had flown to the dagger at his side, still remained there, ready for trouble if she caused it.

At last, Paldor asked, “Who are you?” His tone suggested he intended it to be louder and surer, but it came out in the barest of whispers, almost too long for Ilmare to hear.

She took a step toward him and tangled her fingers in the edge of her hood as she replied, "Do you not know?" Before he could answer, she slipped the hood off her brown hair and looked up at him, meeting his shocked golden eyes...
GwennethSindalúnë
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 26, 2004 05:43
Time seemed to stand still as Paldor and Ilmare stood, gazing into each other's eyes. Both were wide, their pupils dilated from the shocking rush of memories which suddenly assaulted them. Paldor felt as if his very knees might collapse beneath him as he gazed at the woman before him. Her words: "Do you not know?" still echoed in his ears, the exotic lilt of her speech betraying a slight accent. Of course he knew! He had known from the very instant he had become aware of her presence in the courtyard, he realized now. How could he not have known her? Standing before him was the woman who had haunted his dreams every single night for the past seven years. In his nighttime visions, she had remained nameless: a shadowed figure whom he forever chased through abandoned canyons and wild forests,, but whom he could never quite catch before awakening.

Afraid that this might be yet another dream, Paldor tentatively stepped forward until he was less than a foot away from the stunning woman. Carefully, his hand trembling slightly for fear she might vanish into thin air, he reached out and ever so gently traced the contours of her high cheekbokes with the tips of his fingers. As soon as his flesh made contact with hers, Paldor felt as if he had been hit by lightning. "Ilmare!" he gasped, unsure of how the name had emerged from the recesses of his own mind, but strangely certain that it belonged to the woman before him. Before he could understand what was happening, tears brimmed in his eyes, and he felt a rush of such overwhelming love there was only one thing he could do: he gathered this Ilmare in his arms and clung to her as if their very lives depended on it. "I will never let you go again," he muttered over and over as he held her tightly against his chest: "Never let you go!"
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: July 29, 2004 04:07
Long moments stretched between them as Ilmare and Paldor stared at each other. As the silence stretched on longer, Ilmare became uneasy. 'He remembers well enough,' she decided, still staring up at him. 'But has something changed? Has he fallen in love with another? Valar, it has been seven years! Could he already have married?'

As shock and startled recognition changed into hesitatant belief, Ilmare looked deeper into Paldor's eyes and knew. Love still remained, dormant, yes, but like hot coals, it was being stirred again.

He took a step toward her, fear and hope mingling in his tanned face. Ilmare understood both perfectly and waited. Slowly, as if his arm was made of stone, his arm lifted and his hand traced over her high cheekbones. Ilmare shuddered at his touch and at his gasp.

She was never quite sure how she wound up in his arms, but there she was, and she was quite content to remain there. Clinging to him like a child, she began crying, her slender body shaking with silent sobs. "Melethron," she whispered. "My Paldor. I have missed you so..." she could say no more through her tears.

In the back of her mind, she was mildly amazed that she could speak at all after seven years of silence, but she really didn't care. Finding Paldor was itself a miracle. Could not more such miracles happen?
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 08, 2004 03:49
(I'm back! YAY! I missed you guys SOO much. boy I am so excited to get back into our thread)

The next morning, Tirgoth woke up discouraged, despite having eventually gotten a couple hours of dreamless sleep. He wanted desperately to do something, anything, to try to delve up the secrets of what had happened seven years ago. Of course, he wasn't quite sure if it had been seven years ago, but that is the conclusion that he came to, because it seemed like around then, there was a gap in his memory. It had bothered him only slightly at the time, and he never thought about asking his grandfather or Carmidor about it until both had died. For it was only recently, in the past year, that his dreams and fragmented memories had truly started to torture him.

He supposed that logically the whole thing could be a figment of his imagination, that the figure of his dreams was solely that, a figure, created by his brain, desperate for meaning...

But he wouldn't and couldn't believe that. There was something so tangible about the woman of his dreams, something that made his heart race and his spine tingle, something so real and perfect he simply had to believe in it, whether or not it was the truth.

So he flung himself into his past, reaching for anything and everything that could be a clue to what had happened to him, and who the beautiful woman of his dreams was. Pervading through his thoughts was the face of his beloved.

Suddenly, he remembered his friend Paldor, one of his greatest friends ever since he was young. He couldn't seem to remember much about Paldor, and it seemed to him vaguely that their friendship had trailed off some time ago...in fact, he couldn't really remember having seen him, in at least, well...in seven years!!

That was certainly a start, he thought. He immediately started to get excited; a possibility had opened up which he hadn't considered before, that Paldor had had something to do with whatever had transpired seven years ago. He got up quickly and threw a cup of water over his head to wake himself up.

He caught his reflection in the glass. Somehow he looked…old. The years of troubled sleep, and eventually utter sleep deprivation, were getting to him. The first signs of wrinkles were showing around his eyes and his brow seemed constantly furrowed. Overall his reflection seemed weary, and haggard.

He turned away, promising to himself that this would be the end of his internal toils, and went downstairs to the shop. He threw on his coat and left, bolting the door and putting up the "closed" sign.

The waking city met his eyes as he moved from his house and shop rapidly along the narrow streets and corridors of the 5th tier till he got to the gates of the 4th, and moved through, barely tipping his hat to the guards on duty. In his haste, it wasn’t till he had traversed nearly the entire 4th tier that he realized, astonished, that he had no idea where he was going. He had completely forgotten where Paldor's home was, and even if he had remembered it was unlikely that he still lived there.

He slumped down dejectedly on a nearby bench, and nearly wept, so caught up in the bitterness of false hope. He eventually got up again, and wandered; the cold figure moving slowly, aimlessly, through the crowds, hands buried deep in his pockets, was nothing like the purposeful, excited man who had been walking a few minutes ago. He did not know where he was going, but he could not sit still, and return to contemplation, contemplation that could only inexorably lead to despair.

He did not notice it, but eventually his feet brought him to the small stall where his grandfather had had his business for so long. There was something poignant about that spot to him, even beyond the memory of the beautiful smell that used to waft from that stall.

He couldn’t place what it was, as usual, so he continued walking, once again drawn deep within himself, his feet led him, walking apparently randomly, down alleys along streets, until eventually he was all alone, in a part of the city he somehow recognized, but was unfamiliar with. He continued to walk, feeling the solitude, until he heard voices, breathless, excited, up ahead. Something struck home in his memory, and he quickened his pace till he was nearly running. Suddenly he rounded a corner, and saw the fountain…
Elrin
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 08, 2004 05:56
(ooc: sorry guys for being late. Welcome back Caegaraneva! Missed you too! Anyway sorry Leighlia for slowing you down!)

Galcora gently examined the shallow cut on the old man's leg. It was not a serious injury but Galcora thought it better for him to rest a few days, and said so to the old man.
Galcora paused in her examination when she felt eyes staring at her back. She frowned and decided to ignore the feeling as it passed, yet something in the back of her mind screamed for her to find out who the owner of the eyes were. Trying hard to concentrate she quickly cleaned and bandaged the wound, her mind not completely on her task. When she had finished, the old man's son quickly stepped over and helped the old man to his feet.

Galcora nodded absentmindedly to the two as they thanked her and left, her eyes already roaming over the tables of the inn. Her eyes led her to the bar where a woman who she had not seen here before sat. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman although Galcora could swear that she had never seen her in her life. But then again, a good deal of Galcora's life before the village was a mistery to her.

Feeling a headache coming on, Galcora turned to her supplies and searched for something to ease her mind. She walked over to the bar and asked for a mug of ale, aware that the strange woman sat not far from where she stood. As the mug was placed before her she took a quick sip before leaning against the counter, her eyes roaming freely around the room. Every now and then Galcora would find herself staring at the woman and would quickly look away. As her eyes fell on the woman again she froze as her eyes met two sharp brown ones.

(ooc: It's short and rushed, I apologise.)
Leighlia
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 10, 2004 05:23
Zie covertly watched the young woman as she moved from her patient to the bar, something about this woman rang in her memories and she grasped rather futilely at them. Suddenly the woman looked up and their eyes met, brown to gold. The sudden flash of images that poured into Zie’s memory was like a physical blow that caused her to inhale sharply.

Faces, voices, shouts, darkness and water. Lots of water, rushing in its bed and along muddy banks, water drenching them all in a torrential downpour. And screaming, someone screaming.

Her eyes still locked on those golden ones, Zie slid from her stool and took a few steps toward her. In a voice that was less than confident, but loud enough to carry across to her, a single word slipped from her lips before her mind could grasp it. “Galcora.”

Her accent was thick, made thicker from the last several years spent back amongst her own (adopted) kind. Her tongue rolled the “r” and accented the “l”. As her ears heard the name she had spoke she was uncertain as to where in her memory the name had sprung from, but it felt right. “Galcora.” She said the name a second time.


(Ok, this has got to be the shortest post I’ve ever written, but to write more at this point would be just over kill.)
GwennethSindalúnë
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 18, 2004 05:16
(Ooc: Sorry I've been absent guys...I'm in the middle of moving from Ohio to Maine! So my life is consumed with packing, etc....Ahhhhhh! I will be on and off sporadically...Sorry this is so short, guys! I'm trying to keep up with everything at once! I promise it'll be better once I'm settled in Maine.)

Paldor and the woman he had seen so many times in his dreams -Ilmare- stared at one another. Was he really awake? he wondered? His memories seemed to be swirling madly behind the familiar foggy veil which had prevented him from examining his own memories for so long. He ached to rip the veil away so that he could remember ever single detail about the breathtaking Ilmare. How could he have forgotten her name when she visited him in his dreams every single night? He seethed with frustration as his mind threatened to boil over with too many unanswered questions.

But before Paldor could begin to formulate any of his myriad of queries, he caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he swung around, placing himself protectively between Ilmare and the approaching figure. He automatically fell into a defensive stance as his eyes searched out the darkness beyond the ancient cracked basin. He could just make out a cloaked figure, and he allowed his hand to rest on the hilt of his long dagger. "Who are you!?! What business do you have here?" he called out, his deep voice echoing in the well of darkness in the alley beside the fountain. He knew from experience that ruffians seldom stayed long if challenged forcefully enough and a verbal challenge was often enough to ward off any risk of an actual physical brawl.

Still gazing out at the darkness, Paldor squinted as a figure stepped from the shadows...
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 18, 2004 04:41
((So you did decide to move to Maine...keep us informed!))

Time slipped by like water, ignored by the reunited lovers. Ilmare was aware that her legs had grown tired and they had sat down on the corner of the fountain, but aside that, she wasn't aware of time as she stared at Paldor.

Her mind raced with memories uncovered and the frustration that there was so much more that she couldn't remember.

Her lips parted to speak, what, she could never be sure, but Paldor suddenly swung around in his seat, rising quickly. Peering around him, Ilmare saw a flicker of movement in the shadows. Her eyes narrowed as she rose as well. Twisting her wrists, she released the daggers hidden under her vambraces and let the hilts fall into her hands, prepared for anything as Paldor called a challenge to the shadows.

A figure stepped from the shadows, and Ilmare had to lean a bit to see around Paldor's form, as he was head and shoulders taller than her and she couldn't look over his shoulder...
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 19, 2004 04:24
The two figures were silent for a long time, it seemed to him.

Eventually, slowly, he started to move forward, mesmerized, not knowing why or to what goal. Somehow his memories seemed closer to him than ever before, tantalizing, taunting him. There was still something obscuring a part of his brain, though, a shadowy blackness, pliant but unyielding to his most desperate attempts to break through.

Now though, he felt something behind it, and though the partition would not break, he felt a line, a thick line, splitting into many parts and becoming lost.

And the line started here. That was it, what compelled him forward; his mind, reaching, stretching for the truth, for memory, reaching out desperately to grasp that line, and draw it out of the blackness for all the world to see.

That, and something achingly familiar about the figures' faces, as they turned to him, and the spray of the fountain, and the weathered stones of the courtyard...

His mind was straining harder than it ever had, almost subconsiously, against the barrier, and the momentus energy of his striving brought him physically forward, in small, stunted steps.

But the blackness in his brain did not yield, and laughed at him with its silent, passive, strength.

He collapsed to his knees, spent, and whipsered hoarsely.

"Who are you?"

The despair of his consciousness echoed back with a bitter, painful sneer...

"Who am I?"
Elrin
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 19, 2004 11:47
Galcora could only stare into those brown eyes that stared with such intensity. A name passed the womans lips and Galcora only recognised the name as her own when the name was said again. The fog in her mind lifted somewhat, showing her blurred images, yet she could only grasp few before the images left her, thirsty for more. With the images had come a feeling of terror along with a wave of cold that seemed a distant reminder of the accident that had left her without memory.

Galcora noticed that the woman had slipped of her chair and had stepped closer to her. Galcora searched for a name, she knew this woman, yet the name evaded her desperate attempts. Instead she placed her mug on the counter and turned to the foreign woman.

"Do we know each other?" she asked in a soft voice that seemed raspy and uncertain to her ears.

What little her memories had given her about this woman, she did not know enough to let down her gaurd, yet she was filled with excitement. Perhaps now she would find some answers to her past and the events that had led her to live in a small village with no memory except her name.

"If we do, then I am afraid that your name eludes me"
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 19, 2004 05:35
As she stared at the dark-haired man that stepped from the shadows, Ilmare felt memories stirring. Half-closing her eyes, she struggled to remember where in Arda she had seen that face before. It was familiar, but not as familiar as Paldor's.

She remembered...remembered this courtyard...remembered the warm sun on her face as she wandered the White City...remembered Paldor sitting in a casually relaxed pose beside the broken fountain...remembered a woman with eyes very similiar to Paldor's...and she remembered this tall, strong blacksmith with dark hair.

Gathering her courage, Ilmare resheathed her wrist daggers and stepped around Paldor. He didn't seem to notice for a long moment as she moved forward and knelt in front of the blacksmith. Lifting his chin, she looked at him with compassion, seeing his fear and weariness. "I am Ilmare," she whispered. "He is Paldor. I know you, but I cannot remember your name."
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 20, 2004 05:28
"um, I am Tirgoth, I guess," he stuttered, trying to deal with too many things at once.

"Paldor! Ilmare...I certainly recognize you, and your name...but I don't know how...Paldor though, I remember you!"

He got up slowly, and walked to where Paldor was sitting.

"I....remember you, I think, but"-his face twisted up in anguish, as his mind came up against the blackness-"there is something missing, something, happened."

He gave no preamble, cutting straight to the point which had been torturing him all this time, and was still forefront in his mind.

"Yes, something happened, and it seems to me that I figured out, that it happened seven years ago."

Then Tirgoth was struck with the baffling collision of apparently coincidental events.

"I set out today, in fact, to find YOU, and ask you what you know about seven years ago...and now here you are...

"So what do you remember about seven years ago?"
Leighlia
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 21, 2004 08:01
Zie seemed to hesitate for a moment. She had hoped that any others from her memories would be able to spark more of her memories, or at least be able to provide some answer. But this did not seem to be the case. Zie knew not from where Galcora's name had come. It had only welled up from the depths of the darkness in her mind, but nothing else followed it.

With a voice that edged with disappointment she spoke softly. "My name is Ziean, well...in these lands I am just Zie." She did not know what else to say to her. "I am afraid my own memories are vague." She spoke weakly and unsure. "I have spent the last 2 months traveling from my home in the south to reach these lands, hoping to....well, now I am unsure. Seeing you sitting here stirred my memories, but they are still unclear. I suppose it is for clarity that I search.

I do know that I know you somehow. And my memories around you are lost in my...unclarity. Darkness, screams, water...are what I have spinning in my head when I first saw you." Her voice sort of fell off, not wanting to scare or frighten the one person that has been some link to her memories thus far.

"Your golden eyes." Zie lifted a hand and guestured to them. "Another in my memories has eyes like yours, but I do not know who he is, none of them. It is possible that perhaps I am mistaken but I do not think so."

[Edited on 25/8/2004 by Leighlia]
Vanalosswen
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: August 27, 2004 10:40
Ilmare rose when Tirgoth--and did that name evoke memories!--did and went to sit beside Paldor. Toying with her cloak, she listened as Tirgoth turned to his old friend and quizzed him about what he could remember about seven years ago.

For Ilmare herself, she could only remember a few things, but those she could remember as vividly as if they had happened yesterday. They were the stuff of her dreams for the last seven years.
Caegaraneva
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Post RE: It all started at the the white city fair
on: September 07, 2004 01:15
Kathie, are you there?? If so, please reply. Tirgoth asked Paldor a question...even if you can only think of "Paldor sat silently, dumbfounded by the stranger" (and im sure you can do better), please please please POST! next step, cattle prod. Mods, i know this is OOC but il delete it as soon as kathie answerws.
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