Strider's RP - ~!Private!~

[Strider]

For years now, more than he cared to count, to be honest, nature had been his home. He lived nature, breathed nature. Everything that he did, or just about everything, revolved around nature. From the time that he could tell the difference between animal footprints, he had lived to be outside. His parents had had a terrible time keeping the boy inside. To be sure, they nearly pulled their hair out, out of fustration. (C)
Years in the future, now, was no different. If you caught him indoors, it was a rare thing, indeed. Because he didn't like to be indoors very much. Preferred the wind playfully nipping at the hood of his cloak, the mud squishing beneath his boot. If he didn't wish to be seen, he wasn't seen. It was as simple as that, in all aspects. At times he would slink into a tavern for a drink, or something hot to heat. But that was few and far between. (C)
Only when he thought enough time had gone by, did he step into a tavern or a small store. People would stare at him, watch him as he wandered around. He looked familar to them, but who was he? That was a question that they couldn't answer, but he still tugged at their memories. Some knew him as Strider. Others knew him by the several names that he'd picked up throughout the years. Most of the time, he was called Strider. (C)
Exellent at tracking; so far he hadn't met anyone that could top him, though he wasn't trying to look for competition. If he didn't like to be around people that often, (Though he could stand it) why would he go around the few towns that he visited, looking for trouble? Didn't look for trouble, but it certainly found its way to him. Orcs. so far in his journies, were the last favorite of the creatures that he'd come across. (C)
Creatures like that he saw no use for, except to give Rangers like him work. He would be asked to clear the orcs away from a town, or out of a forest, or something like that. Which wasn't something that he minded doing; it did give him work. From time to time he would guide people on long adventures, and would lead them to a city that was quite a distance from where they were already. Those trips were seldom and few. (C)
The rest of the time he was left to entertain himself, and left to do what he wanted to do. On his own accord, he wasn't much of a talker, but that was mainly due to the years he had as a Ranger. He found that when he was quiet, and remained as unimportant as possible, he could learn quite a good deal. Not only in taverns, but in other establishments along the way. Even the Hobbits around here, could be quite interesting. (C)
Hadn't seen one of those in years, and he wasn't going to hold his breath that he was going to see another one anytime soon. They were allusive creatures, and like him, could disappear at will, be seen when they wanted to be seen, and be heard when they wished to be heard. The rest of the time you had better luck at sitting down to supper with an Orc, than you had at catching an allusive Hobbit now-a-days. (C)
Like most creatures did in some fashion or another, people 'round these parts talked, and talked quite a deal. From the shadows he picked up a few new stories or tales that he hadn't heard in years, and would quietly listen to their talk from where he was sitting. (You were more likely to find him in the shadows, smoking a pipe, then you were to find him anywhere else) And if he played his cards right, they would talk to him. (C)
Disappearing for months, or even years, at a time, didn't suit any of them. But they were good, simple folk, and didn't bother to ask him too many questions. When he came here, the owner knew what he wanted, and promptly served him. A glass of ale, some leaf for his pipe, a chair near the fire, and he was set. His father had owned that tavern before him, and the now owner had grown up with the strange and bizarre visits of Strider. (C)
People were used to him, and he to them. Never asked them for anything, and they never returned the offer. Still, though the owner knew that the Ranger must be getting on in years, he didn't look any older than 35, at the very oldest. Time seemed to have passed him by with nothing more than a jolly wave and a goodbye. But now, years after his last disappearance, he was back again. Though this time, it wasn't to cause trouble. (C)
As a rule of thumb, there were some that didn't care to have him around. But what did he care? Far be it from him to try and knock some sense into their drunken heads. Would only do that if they were the ones to push the envelope to far, and since he'd had a few nights of peace and quiet, he was looking for this night to go much the same way. Mud caked his boots, his cloak was weather-beaten, but he was here. (C)
Here to have a drink, smoke a pipe, and get out of the wind and rain for a few minutes, if he may. Nobody would object to him spending a few hours in here, if he kept out of the way, and leaved them well enough alone. A task that he, as reserved as he may be, didn't mind in complying with. They were entitled to their opinion, and he was entitled to his. Most of these people, he thought to be kind folk. There were exceptions, however. (C)
Like, for instance, the burly Hobbit in the corner. Who was getting on in years, and though he was a Hobbit, was considered old for their kind. He was over 100, at the very least, and claimed to have known Strider since he, Strider, were a boy. Hadn't been born anywhere near where that Hobbit had lived at the time, so it was a mystery to him where the Hobbit got the story from. Perhaps he was merely seeking some attention. (C)
There were other ways of getting attention, for sure, but in that Hobbits old age, he had become deaf to anyone telling him to lower his voice, or to think logically. To that he would reply, "I'm old, and I'll do as I damn well please." Surely, he wasn't going to get through to that Hobbit, anytime soon. Doubting that he himself would live long enough to change the Hobbits mind that he wasn't a Ranger, up to no good at all. (C)
That was the old Hobbits opinnion, and he was "damn well" going to stick by it. And since Strider wasn't in the mood to try and talk to the Hobbit, he would ignore him. Walking in the rain was yet another habit that he had enjoyed doing throughout the years. But it had been a decade, give or take a year, since he had dropped by this tavern. His travels had taken him away from this land, and he'd only recently returned to it. (C)
Rain drops that fell on his cloak appeared to merely roll off, as though they were apologizing for landing on his cloak, and would kindly deposit themselves somewhere else. Though his cloak was clean, his boots were covered, completely caked, in mud. His boots were rather old, and he'd grown fond of them. They were comfortable, and many times had he sat by a fire throughout the night, fixing a patch here, or a hole there. (C)
Fixing this, and fixing that, to make it last to the very last available second. It was something that he was used to. When you lived on the lands like he did, you were custom to things going wrong. Getting dirty, tracking your own meals, crossing paths that you yourself had gone over so many times you'd almost been tempted to name each blade of grass that popped up every spring. Time itself seemed to float and twinkle in his eyes. (C)
His cloak was of Elven make, as was his pipe, and his boots. How do you think they've lasted as long as they have? Recently he'd traveled with Elves, and though the trip had taken longer than it had, when you add distractions and other journies along the way, he'd been in the presence of intelligent creatures for a few years. Now he would have to get used to the simple folk, once again. Reminding himself to behave, he approached the tavern and inn. (C)

[Strider]

Lifting his comfortably gloved hand to lay ontop of the doorknob, forming his fingers around the knob, turning it clockwise, and at the same time, pushing the door in. The door creaked and groaned as it was forced, to open againts the harsh wind and rain. But it opened, more silently for him than it had for others, without further objection. What he saw didn't surprise him, nor amaze him. It was what he'd been expecting, to the last detail. (C)
Folks, people, Dwarves, Hobbits, and other creatures alike, were scattered 'round the room. A long table ran down the middle of the room, with other circular tables and chairs crammed in the small parlor room. A haze of smoke hung in the air, as though it were lazily waving him in. Things had slowed down rather quickly, in the decade that he'd been missing from here. Young men were now grown, and like their own parents and family. (C)
Had a family, at what he, Strider, thought to be a very young age. But he wasn't here to make or pass judgements, and he didn't express his thoughts to the young men, and other creatures, that were occupying the tables. The few that recognized him stared at him curiously for a bit, before their manners returned to them, and their eyes were lowered back to their drinks, or they turned to enter the conversation at their table once again. (C)
Brief nods were given to him, along with a few calls of his name, (They'd always called him Strider) others waved their hand for a second to him. All of this he nodded back, or shook a person's hand or two. But they knew he was a lone creature, and liked to be away from the mass crowd. Could be quite content in the corner, at the edges of the crowd, listening to their talk, and commenting when somebody would ask him for his input. (C)
Answering when spoken to, the entire time working his way to his favorite chair. Seeing the layer of dust made him think that the chair hadn't been used in ages, and the owner gave him a cloth to wipe the chair off with. Thanking him in his quiet voice, keeping his cloak on his body, as was another one of his customs. They'd rarely seen his face, and for the younger men in the room, it was harder for them to remember his apperance. (C)
They'd only been boys and teenagers, the last time that they'd seen him. The older folk remembered him more clearly, and those were the ones that gave him a wave, or acknowledged him. For every person that didn't think of him as strange, merely a Ranger, there were quite a few more that didn't want him in this establishment, or him even in the town. They regarded Rangers, and "folk" like him, to be strange and untrustworthy. (C)
If that's what they wanted to think, he wasn't going to try and stop them from thinking that. In the past they had been drunken enough to attempt to follow him, but the fact that he was a Ranger had slipped their minds for the time being. On that particular time he had given them the slip, back tracked, and been the one to follow them. After a while of slander, stumbling, and looking through bushes for him, they'd given up. (C)
Much to his own relief. His trips and adventures were dangerous enough for the likes of a Ranger, and most of the time he passed through a town, or by one, without being seen. For he could go unseen, and unheard, if he wished. Creatures had fallen by his blade, and he would think no further to continue doing so. The owner took the hankerchief away, and left Strider to get Strider's usual glass of ale, and his usual leaf for his pipe. (C)
Which pleased him, as taverns around these parts of the land were seldom to have the leaf that was his favorite to smoke. The plant didn't grow very much around here; the grounds were too rocky and illnourished for that kind of plant to grow very well. But since the owner had other customers that liked to smoke the leaf, he would pay the fee to buy it in bulks from Wilderland, a small village close to a large creek, far away. (C)
Granted it was expensive, but his business was doing well, and always had in the past generations, and he could afford to pay that kind of money out. Strider carried money around with him, but only when he knew that he would have to pass through a town, or would think it best to carry it. It had saved his neck several times, and since the owner was being nice, he would tip him with what money he would have left, after paying. (C)
Looks were being given his way, but he was as used to this as he was to slipping out of the public's eye for years at a time. Paying them as much attention as you would a spider a mile away from you. Hoisting his muddy boots on the other chair of his table, resting them there for the few minutes he would be staying here. A shower, or a warm bath, sounded nice, and an idea was beginning to force its way into his mind. (C)
Suppose that he stayed the night in this tavern and inn? Would it be safe? Would people bother him, as they had the last time that he'd attempted to stay in a tavern? That had been at least 26-years ago, but the memory was still fresh in his mind. But the idea, though it sounded promising, was dismissed a few moments after it'd come to form in his mind. He was a Ranger, he belonged in the wilderness, under the stars. (C)
Under the stars and the moon, and under the sun as well, was where he belonged. But it had been fun to play with the idea for a moment, just to amuse himself and his tired mind. He would leave this place in a few hours, and would begin his journey to Wilderland. Unsure of what his purpose was for going to Wilderland. It was inbetween jobs, which gave him the time to wander around at his own pace, on his own time. (C)
Reasons weren't something that he needed to have right now. While waiting for somebody else to call on his services, he would travel at his own leisure, and would take his time in doing it. When somebody would ask about him, or ask for him, he would make the travel to see what they wanted. If they offered him a job, it was fine. And even if they didn't, it was still fine. Living on the land was something else he was accustomed to. (C)
Nature was the one thing that he knew he could count on, to be calm and serene one minute, to a storm with howling wind and painful rain. Though it was beautiful, it was nothing something to be taken for granted, or treated badly. Things that he'd never done, in his memory. Jobs were jobs, they came and they went. He was paid, and paid well, but it wasn't the end of the world if he went a few months without one. It gave him more time. (C)
More time to explore, to go over lands that he knew well. To sleep under the stars, to meet new people and learn from them the knowledge that they were willing to share. Had fond memories from his trips, some he'd like to forget. Since he couldn't forget them, he'd learned to deal with them. Lowering his face from the lamp light that was filling the entire room. Keeping quiet, waiting for the looks to stop, along with the whispers as well. (C)

[Strider]

Tapping the side of his pipe along the edge of the ash tray infront of him, getting whatever burned-up leaf out of the pipe, that had somehow managed to find a way to remain in there for a while longer. His pipe, which had belonged to somebody else, long before he'd even been thought of, was just the right size for his fingers, and had always sat rather well with him. It was rare that Strider, as strange as he was, sat down for a smoke. (C)
Puffing away in silence, in his own little remote corner, deeply imbedded in his own thoughts, letting them whisk him away as though he were airborn on the back of an eagle itself. Silence began to ebb away, when the talk began once again. From here he could see the entire room, from the crowd centered at the long table, to the stragglers hanging around the edges, and like him, staying in the corners, wishing to remain unseen. (C)
If they wanted to remain unseen, then perhaps they should come up with another way to be so? They weren't trying to deflect attention from themselves very well; but he could hardly blame them. If he could have his guess at it, and chances were that he would, he would guess that they were in some sort of trouble, where either running from something or had ran from something, and were new at this game. (C)
Games were easy to play, as people well know, if you know how to play them. A bit of advice had been given to him years ago, Don't play a game, unless you're sure that you can win it. They were playing a game that they didn't know much about, and didn't know one way or the other if they were going to win it. This was how Strider thought about things, about people like that. They were playing a sort of risky game. (C)
Far be it from him to judge other people, their pasts, or what they're really about. Judging was rather risky in itself, even when you set it apart from The Game. Judgements had been few for him; along with advice. You could never be sure that if what you were telling that person was going to help them in some way, or if you were only making things worse. It wasn't an easy thing to tell, but sometimes you didn't have much of a choice. (C)
Talk floated through the air, some of it catching his attention, some of it not. Either way, he listened occassinally, only speaking once when somebody asked him a question directly. A split second he'd thought about not answering, but with the group clustered at the table watching him, he couldn't continue to pretend that he hadn't heard what had been asked of him. Briefly gave them an answer, satisfying them into another conversation. (C)
Indirectly taking the spot light off of him, whether or not they realized it. For that he was glad; because in the rare times that he came to taverns and inns like this, he liked to sit in silence, smoke his pipe, and get warmed up, before he braved the conditions outside the warm tavern for yet another evening. Even at his age now it was hard for him to sleep on a bed of any sorts. He was much more comfortable on the floor, or the ground. (C)
With all appearances, it looked as though he'd closed his eyes. His eyelids were lowered enough to make it look like it, but in reality he was still keeping tabs on the people and listening to their talk. It wasn't of much importance to him, but he was still going to be polite and not interupt. Letting his thoughts wander around on their own free will, where they pleased. A couple of hours had passed by this point. He'd only stay a few minutes more. (C)
Feeling the minutes slip by, that he, at the time, didn't wish to leave him. This night had gone rather well, with the exceptions of a thing or two. But it wasn't something that had annoyed him too much, or that had made him regret that he'd come here. It was nice to sit in a tavern again, and he'd have to do it again sometime soon, providing that he wasn't off on another job, or exploring through the lands he knew so well. (C)
Lands that he'd grown to love with the aid of years. Like fine wine, it continued to grow better with age. The land was constantly changing, and it gave him new things to learn, or new paths to travel down. New people or creatures to meet, and rare experiences that he would not have gotten anywhere else, or at any other time in his life. It had been more than just luck, that he'd been where he'd been, seen what he had seen. (C)
Done what he had done. It couldn't just be luck, because that was merely nothing better than boring. Liked to picture that Fate had her hand in it as well, and that she would check in on him from time to time, and, seeing that at that particular time he was not busy, would give him something new to see, or to travel to. His life was one travel, one mile after another. And he wouldn't trade it in for anything in the entire world. (C)
Even what was beyond this world, to the treasures in the next world, he was quite content with his life. It had not gone perfectly smoothly, but not a whole lot did. It wasn't something that you could predict, nor that you could control. When you learned to accept that, and let it be, your life went a hell of a lot easier than it had before. That was a lesson that he'd learned years ago, and still thought about at moments like this. (C)
But the time to leave was upon him, though the wind and rain had not let up. And judging from the looks of the clouds, the force of the wind, and how the rain was falling, it would be a storm that would probably pass by rather quickly. Quickly enough, in his eyes, but not quick enough, for those around here that didn't care for the rain. If there was no water in this world, there would be no life here. Most of the time, they didn't think like that. (C)
Rising up from his chair, tipping the cup up to his mouth, draining the last of the drink into his mouth. The tender had filled his Elven-made cantine for him, with fresh, cold water, and was thanked for it, like he had been thanked for the other things that he had provided Strider with. The owner, aka the tender, had no issues with Strider visiting his tavern. The man was nice enough, ever disrespectful. His opinion mattered, in the end. (C)
Leaving what remained of the leaf with the owner, incase one of his other rare customers came by, asking for some of it to smoke. Had never been greedy in his life, and had never taken more than what he needed. His sword lay in a sheath attached to his belt beneath his cloak, so nobody had seen it so far. They weren't too concerned with him now that they knew he was leaving. With a nod to the tender, he stepped out the door. (C)
Out into the wind and the rain. Many would wonder how he could stand it, others would remind those wondering that he was a Ranger, and accustomed to such weather. His boots were covered with fresh mud while he walked the distance down the road, leaving the road after he'd gone down the crest of the hill, and was sure that faces pressed againts the tavern window could no longer mischievously follow his path of direction. (C)
Quite a distance he walked, a brief let up in the rain telling him that the storm was winding down to its last breath; it had not much longer to go. Eventually stepping off of the road into the woods, disappearing out of sight, sound, and mind, like he wished to, and had been an expert at for more years than most of that crowd had been alive. Fading into the darkness, stepping into what he called home. Gone until he wanted to reappear again.

[Strider]

Grimly, his task was set before him. It had been laid there ever since he had agreed to meet 2 Hobbits on the outskirts of Rivendell, to lead them back to the Shire, where their home was. On both ways it would be a long journey, and though these parts had calmed down since the time of the Ring, it was still not yet safe to wander through certain parts. His course would take him directly from one danger into another. (C)
Danger wasn't something that he was worried about for himself; it was the Hobbits that he would worry about, once he reached Rivendell. But the task infront of him was a hard one. He had to travel along the edge of the winding Road, which skidded againts the edges of the marshes and the swamps. Along with jagged sides of rock and dirt on both sides of him. It was a good place to get ambushed, and many had. (C)
Orcs and the likes of creatures like that still wandered around here, half-crazed with no master to follow now. Many of them were now being hunted, and it was an accomplishment everyday that they managed to keep out of the hunter's eye. He had many reasons why he wanted to take the dangerous course that he was taking. One of them, aside from reaching the hobbits, was to help the other Rangers in their pursuit. (C)
Knew the trails and paths and forests, and the land, better than most Rangers and indeed better than any orc. Following Strider into the woods was a good way to get yourself lost, or killed. Didn't stop the other creatures in these strange lands from getting their meals. Two people had already tried to follow him into the forest, and they'd never been seen, or heard from, again. Did that tell you something? Hoped that it did. (C)
Regretfully, with taking the trails and paths that he was going to take, he was going to have to walk a few days through the marsh and swamps. It was difficult to pick your way around the puddles and not go crazy from the gnats that swarmed around your head and bit at every avaliable patch of skin. It was even harder to come out of those marshes and swamps with your boots dry. But if he had done it before, he could do it again. (C)
Meeting the Hobbits on the outskirts of Rivendell was merely another job that he had agreed to take. That was the closest they could meet him at, their letter had said. They had journied far, now that they were allowed to, and would wait there for him. He'd sent word back that that was fine, and that he'd be cutting off loops on the main Road, by cutting straight across through marsh and mud, which would cut days off of his trip. (C)
Not waiting for word back from them, he had left the town of Bree, and was now on the 5th day of his trip. He slept little in the first 5 days, though his bones were weary, along with his heart. This land was all grey, and along with the rain, it made it a very gloomy place to travel through. Tried to keep his spirits a little higher by humming the songs of old that he knew. Certain lands that he passed, he stopped singing, and just kept going. (C)
Because it wasn't wise to sing songs of old, in troll country, and other dangerous parts on his journey. Soon enough he would have to cross over the road, to get to the land on the other side. By the next day he would have had to do it another time, and possibly a third, if things didn't go as planned. Always expect, the unexpected. Even at his age he liked to think on that phrase and wonder from time to time. (C)
Rubbing his eyes wearily with the front of his balled-up fists, keeping a yawn from being too loud. Though he knew that he'd slept a few hours, (And he knew that by judging from the position of the rising sun) it felt as though he'd just closed his eyes for a few seconds, at the most. But he had a deadline to keep. He had less than a week to make the rest of the journey, and that would mean, for him, many sleepless nights under the stars. (C)
Could do without sleep, and he'd learned from years of being a Ranger to keep his thoughts and emotions masked from the rest of the general population. The few friends he had aqquired over the years were the only ones who would see him smile from time to time, always telling him that he was too serious. For now he pushed those thoughts away and focused his attention on the land mark that he could see from where he was. Weathertop. (C)
Reaching Weathertop would give him the chance to have a good look around him, and help him decide which course he was going to take after that. Wearily he spent the day picking his way through the marshes, eventually watching as the marshes fell behind him, revealing a long path that twisted and turned its way to Weathertop. The path disappeared down into the trees, and came out again wind up a steep hill. (C)
Didn't stop for much that day, only pausing when the pain in his feet was too much for even him to bear. This was tough country to go through, and even though he was in pain, and was feeling weary of the heart and mind, he would do it all over again in a heart beat. This was the kind of life, that though it had it's up and downs, it was well worth it to him. Finally, on the evening of the 6th day, he stopped to make camp. (C)
Lowering himself down onto the ground, not even bothering to make a fire. That required too much effort, and quite frankly, right now, he didn't have that kind of strength inside of him to find the twigs and branches and such that he would need to start the fire. If there were others with him he would not have been so lazy, but since it was just him, he would not dwell on it too long. Before long he had closed his eyes, and fallen asleep. (C)
His dreams were strange, but, then again, they always were. He saw a sort of mist infront of his eyes in the dream, and when he tried to push it away, he would feel something sting his hands. Suddenly rearing infront of him was the king of the Ringwraiths, leering its head down at him, whispering in that cold and menancing voice, "Where is Baggins? We want Baggins! Come back with us, Baggins!" (C)
Just a silly dream, or it should have been. The time of the Ring was over, and so was the worry that had gone with it. The Ringwraiths were long gone, as was their master. But these nightmares would still plague him from time to time, especially when he was over-tired and needed sleep more than anything else. Waking up from the nightmare proved to be something else all together, waking up to find himself drenched in sweat. (C)
Calming himself down by keeping his hands busy. First of all, he needed to find a stream, to refill his cantine. It was getting low, and sitting in the darkness before dawn, he drained the last of the cold water from his cantine. Looking for a stream, or a creek, gave him something to do. Lifting his body up off of the ground, picking his way through the trees that stood on the side of the path, following the signs he saw to the river. (C)
Glancing back and forth, up and down the river, before his eyes lowered to watch the cantine fill with water. Scooping his hands into the water, washing them the best that he could. The water was ice cold, and it certainly woke him up, when he washed his face with the ice cool water. Feeling refreshed he picked up his cantine, and took the same course he had taken to reach the river, his skin pink from the coldness of the water. (C)
Strapping the cantine back to his belt, where the sheath of his sword also rested. Laying fingers on the hilt made him feel better, more safe. It had slain many orcs, and other less desireable creatures like that, and it would slay many more. He felt grieved at heart, but was not ready to give up on his journey just yet. This was the way of the life of a Ranger, and he had long ago learned to accept it, and to not try to fight it. (C)

[Strider]

More time passed, at least another day or so of walking, before he made it to Weathertop. From where he had stood just a day ago, he had guessed that if he went straight, which was the best path at the time, and didn't stop very often, he would be at Weathertop before the next evening. Many miles were behind him in the time of a little over a week that he'd been journeying. Longed to rest for a few days, but he could not. (C)
There were things to do, people to see, and Hobbits to lead. They were counting on him, and he would not let them down if he could help it. If he kept going on like this, he could beat the hobbits there by a day or two. Knowing himself to be a day or so ahead of what he had orginally planned, which would give him ample time to catch up on his rest. But these weren't the kinds of lands that you rested on for very long at all. (C)
It wasn't wise to stay here any longer than you had to. This country had always been dangerous; many peculiar creatures and beings lived in these hills. Rarely lit a fire, in fear of attracting attention to himself. The less people knew where he was going, the better. Winding paths he had taken, sometimes going out of his way to avoid being seen by the main road, or by the towering hills that rose on both sides of him. (C)
Being seen was one of his biggest fears, but it was a risk that he loved to take. If you couldn't handle this kind of life, then you best not be a Ranger. Very few people could handle living off of the land as his kind did, and he didn't advise it unless you knew what you were doing. Didn't get to meet his friends on the road very often, if that gave you any indication how often you met people on the road, or in the lands, such as this. (C)
From what he could see, the best path would be to climb up to Weathertop on the north side. Climbing up that way left you less exposed to the winding road in the distance, and it faced you away from the hills that rose far into the sky. It was never a good idea to sit around on Weathertop for long, since the evilness of the time of the Ring was still fading from the borders. His hand had touched much, and had tainted too many. (C)
Every person or land that He had tainted would take years to shake off His shackles. This land would be restored to what it had been in the past, but that would be many years in the future before that would happen. Until then it was unsafe for even Rangers such as he, to not be using the main Road, and to be taking off into the woods, just to cut off some miles on his trip. Every mile that he cut off brought him one mile closer to Rivendell. (C)
Keeping himself going to the top of Weatherop just thinking about the warmness of the beds in the House of Elrond. Elves had departed over the Sea; he knew that to be true. But there were many that had stayed behind, to see through yet another age of this land, and were still keeping Rivendell running. They would welcome him and the Hobbits in for the night, and would not turn the weary-hearted, such as Strider, away from them. (C)
Why he'd agreed to lead the Hobbits back to the Shire, he still wasn't quite sure. Could it be that he missed his Hobbit friends? That could be one of the reasons why. But on the way back they would stick to the main road, and only leave it to camp in the bushes and trees on the side of the road at night. He would let them light fires, if they were careful about it. The journey back to the Shire would take twice as long, but it would be safer. (C)
Picking himself up from the dead grass that looked so inviting to him, refusing to stop now. Couldn't let himself sleep now, he still had a good distance to go. Peering over the edge of Weathertop, looking around in all directions. In the distance to the east he could see a pack of Orcs picking their way further into the mountains, but people on horseback, and some running, were pursuing them with a vengence. Probably Rangers. (C)
One less thing for him to worry about; knowing that his friends had those Orcs under control. But he knew that he had stayed on Weathertop for far too long, he'd wasted too much time thinking about all of these things, when he should have been trying to make good time. Unsure now if he was going to beat the Hobbits to Rivendell, if he kept wasting time like this. Climbing carefully down the way he had come from Weatherop. (C)
Landing silently on the ground, wrapping his fingers 'round the hilt of his sword. Sweeping his eyes from one direction to another, searching for a sign of something that was following him. Had that feeling that he was being watched, but as keen as his eyes were, he couldn't see a thing. It was too dangerous to stay in this spot now, he knew that. Gathering up his cloak as quicky as he could, he swung it over his shoulders, pulling it around him. (C)
Departing from the base of Weathertop as quickly as his long legs would carry him. The feeling that he was being followed, even though he had left Weathertop, was still haunting him, gnawing at the edge of his mind. He had been here before, when the Ringwraith had attacked Frodo and their party. The feeling wasn't as bad as it had been then, but he still felt that some creature was following his progress, for whatever reason. (C)
Hoping to lose them if he stepped off of the main path, his eyes narrowed upon the part in the road where he would have to cross, to make it to the other side, where he could cut off another loop in the road, and take some more minutes off of his time. Looking behind him, his eyes gazing up the road, and then down it. Didn't see anybody, or anything, so he quickly crossed the road, and dove into the brush and woods on the other side. (C)
Heard something that didn't make him feel any better; the noise of something following the same path that he'd taken. This thing didn't care who heard him, as long as it followed the tall and dark-haired human. This orc had been without meat for days, surviving on what it could find in the mountains, and now in these towering hills. The orc didn't know who he was following, all he wanted was the meat that the human had. (C)
Plunging from thicket to thicket, his footsteps light, making very little noise. Doing his best to keep ahead of his enemy, who was now taking more care in attempting to be quiet, thinking that Strider was not yet onto him, and that he would snag him before the stupid human realized what was going on. If it had been anybody else the orc would have had his meal by now. But now that he was following Strider, it would not be so easy. (C)
Wasn't going to make it easy to follow him. From where he was going he could see the crossing of the river to get to Rivendell. It would take him another hour or two, after traveling for over a day with this orc behind him, to make it to the bend in the river. After he crossed the bridge, he would not have to worry about the orc. But it was getting to that bridge, that was going to be hard. Maybe he could lose him on the trail? (C)

[Strider]

Crossing his fingers that he would be able to lose the orc, but he wasn't going to waste money on that. Orcs could be a little smart when it came to getting their meals, but it wasn't very often that they were smart enough to remember the plan. This orc had probably been following him since he had reached the base of Weathertop, and that had been over a day ago. Just how hungry was this orc? (C)
Wasn't going to stick around long enougn to find that one out. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, ducking along a path, allowing the orc to pick up on his scent and the trails that he left behind. Doubling over, by taking two paths that would take him behind the orc, leaving no trace of where he'd been for the orc to find. The orc became confused, which he believed to be its constant state. Sniffing and haunting along the path for him. (C)
Judging from the sun it was a few hours past noon, and in a few more hours, the sun was going to set. Wasn't going to be the one to have an orc chasing him for the second night in a row, he was just too weary for that. The orc may find his path again, it may not. He had covered his tracks expertly, and it would be hard indeed for any creature, even other orcs, to find him again. For now he stayed behind the orc, watching his progress. (C)
Coming to a stop near a tree that Strider had passed, when he'd left an open trail for the orc. The orc was fustrated by now, and howled with rage, but soon realized that making a noise like that had been a mistake. Silencing himself with mutters, growls, and hisses. He'd passed by that tree 3 times now, and it was obvious to even the slow-witted like him that he was being lead around in circles. He was being toyed with. (C)
From the shadows Strider was watching him, a small smile lifting his lips. His eyes lit up, faintly, when he would smile kindly or laugh. And this was one of those times where it was hard for even him to keep a straight face. Stepping out of the shadows and the safety of the trees, calling out the orc, who stood a few hundred feet infront of him. "Did you lose yourself, Orc? Were you looking for me, or another Ranger that looks like me?" (C)
Holding his sword innocently behind his back as the orc turned, snarling, towards him. Strider's cloak was flowing down his back, preventing the orc from seeing the sword that he held behind him. Unable to wait for another minute for his meal, the orc began charging at Strider. The sight of the orc was enough to make people cry out in alarm. Indeed the orc was close, and it was probably crazy for him to stand waiting around for it. (C)
Not moving his eyes from the slits of the orcs, everything feeling like it were moving in slow motion. In a flash he'd taken the sword out from behind his back, the orc too much in a rage to stop now. He ran gut-first into the move, so swift were the movements of Strider, that the orc had not had time to stop. Impaling the orc on his sword, stepping back a pace from the orc, sliding his sword out of the gut of the orc, his grey eyes glittering. (C)
Giving the orc a minute or two to understand what had happened to him, the orcs head lowered as it touched the wound going through his stomach. You could look in the hole, and see out the other side, it was so wide and gaping. Swinging his sword through the air, cutting through the orcs neck. For a moment the orcs body swayed back and forth, before falling backwards, the head rolling on the grass at Strider's feet. Such a waste. (C)
Shaking his head sadly at the orc's head on the ground. If only orcs weren't so damned stupid, they wouldn't be hated like they were. Well, they probably would still be hated for their mean natured ways, but not as badly, if they weren't as stupid as they were. Bending down near the orc to use a piece of its shirt to clean the orc blood off of his beloved sword, not wanting the hated beasts blood on his sword any longer than it had been. (C)
Dropping the edge of the fabric back down to its dead owner, looking at the bridge that he could see in the distance. There was the bridge over the river Loudwater, which he needed to past to climb the steep hill that rose up to Rivendell. Stopping once on his journey towards the river when he smelt the fragrance that the scent of athelas' leaves gave off. Picking only as many as he needed, storing the healing herb in his pockets. (C)
Going on from the path he'd taken off of the road, to get the athelas. Pausing more times than he would have allowed himself in the day before, with the orc chasing after him. Would have killed the orc before, if there had been a safe place to stop. The woods had been the best bet to lose the orc, and he had decided to take that course, rather than stand and fight with the blasted creature. Perhaps his way would prove to be the best. (C)
Only time would tell. Rubbing his eyes again; he was feeling tired. The one thought that kept him going was Rivendell, and if it had not been for that lovely land, he would lay down where he was now standing, and sleep until the weariness left his mind and body. That was not a luxury that he could afford right now. It would do him good to reach Rivendell before the Hobbits did. If he did that, he had a day or so to catch up on his rest. (C)
Forcing himself to go on, despite how tired he was feeling. Taking sips from his cantine every few minutes, eating what roots and vegetables that he could find in the wild. Treating himself when he stopped before dark to hunt for a rabbit, and spent the night with a fire going, cooking the rabbit and eating his fill. Making sure to put out the fire with water, and to cover it with dirt. Not willing to take the risk of a fire starting, and spreading. (C)
After allowing himself to spend that night in the woods, he went back to the task at hand, and that was: Reach Rivendell, without coming across another mindless orc. Sliding his sword back into the sheath that hung faithfully by his side, giving himself another minute to catch his breath. Before stepping back onto the road, walking as quickly as he could towards the bridge over Loudwater, which would lead him into the arms of Rivendell. (C)
Another hour lead him to the bridge, and looking across the bridge, he saw a steep bank that lead up a ways, before it revealed the city that he wanted most to see. The Hobbits would know that he was here, word would be given to them. Besides, if they didn't see him waiting, they would more likely go to Rivendell for him, to wait a few days, at the most. They knew him to be the best tracker and hunter, and would rely on him through the journey. (C)
Relying on him for many things. To guide them safely along the road, and through woods and marshes and swamps and rocky land as well. When they reached the outskirts of the Shire they would no longer need his help, they knew the Shire, and the outskirts of it, as well as they knew their own names. They simply needed help with reaching it. Climbing the steep bank, winding his way to the front gate of Rivendell, which opened for him. (C)
Greeting those who came to see him, shaking hands and giving small pats on the backs. Yes, the Elves would let the Hobbits know that Strider was waiting inside for them. The first part of his long journey was over. As soon as he had washed and had something to eat, he was shown to a room. Wearily sitting on the edge of the bed, which felt soft as a feather to him, after the last few weeks of sleeping on the hard ground. (C)
Liked sleeping on the ground, and living off of the land. But he did need this break. Falling asleep as soon as he layed his head on the pillow and his eyes closed. An Elf coming in shortly after to cover him up, thinking to himself how weary his face looked. Was, but his heart and spirit were better. From the moment he'd closed his eyes he had entered a dream, wrapped up in warm blankets, finally safe inside the walls of Rivendell.

[Strider]

Feeling the warm, breeze upon his face brought a small smile to his lips. It had been several days since he had entered Rivendell, and though he was tempted to stay, he knew that he had to leave soon. Reports were coming back to Rivendell that were concerning him.Orcs were swarming away from the depths or Mordor still. Many of them had lost their minds, unsure of what to do, now that their master really was dead. (C)
Gathering what information he could, he learned that the orcs were sticking together, thinking that the safety in numbers trick would work this time. Though the riders of Rohan had taken care of many of the orcs, they could not take care of all of them. There was simply too many of them. Most of the orcs would go over the fields of Rohan into the south, and wouldn't bother to stick around. Others, were causing trouble and death. (C)
Killing people as they tended their herds in the fields, setting the homes scattered around Rohan on fire. They were asking for his help to get rid of them. Legolas had already killed quite a few near the Old Forest, and whatever orcs he hadn't killed had run into the heart of the forest itself, so there was no guessing there: They were dead. Though Legolas was swift, he could not run from the Old Forest to Rohan in a night. (C)
Needing his friends help more than ever, but he would have to do without it this time. It didn't sound very appealing to him, but he didn't have much choice left, either. He said he would help, and he intended to help them, the best that he could. Every orc that he could slay was one less orc that was tramping and destroying the beautiful fields of Rohan. Orcs were trouble enough on their own, let alone in group, traveling together. (C)
Knealing on the ground, his legs bent at the knee as he stooped down and thought about the orcs that he would be pursuing. Uruk-Hai were what most of them were called, orcs made in the mines of Isengard by Saruman, the traitor to the Council. Now that he was dead, as well, they had no master to listen to, and that suited them just fine. They were attempting to go back to Isengard, and to go back to the mines. What then? (C)
Probably to try and make some more of themselves in the mines. Or to make some terrible creature, like the creature that they had come across in the Moria mines. That made people of all size and shape tremble, and it wasn't a thought that settled well with him. Whatever he felt he kept masked from the rest of those around him, to spare their feelings. They had enough to worry about as it is. They didn't need more. (C)
But his plan was to cut the Uruk-Hai off, along with the help of a few more riders of Rohan, and to stop them from reaching the corner of the fields of Rohan, which would lead them to the road that scurted the Ent forest, and took them to Isengard. The orcs had a good head start, but they were still going to try and stop them. When the orcs were caught and killed they would be burned, as the Rohan warriors wished, as a warning to other orcs. (C)
That may come to the fields of Rohan. There they would see the clear warning: The heads of the Uruk-Hai on the tips of spears, thrusted into the ground, for all to see. Hopefully the orcs would see the signs and would turn back, that was the plan. But if they didn't, Strider might yet again be called on to help them. Folks were still jumpy and untrusting since Sauron had fallen. And it wasn't something that he could blame them for. (C)
Folks that had had their homes burned down by the hateful orcs were moved closer to the city of Rohan itself, to narrow the danger of it happening again. His horse Shadow was off in the fields, grazing with the mighty horses of Rohan, to boost his ego a little more. Chuckling to himself, lowering his head, looking down upon the tracks of the Uruk-Hai, that had been shown to him just a few hours ago. The orcs were a great distance ahead. (C)
Lowering himself down onto his stomach on the grass, pressing his ear to the grass. His sensative ears heard the trampling of many orcs as they defiled the fields of Rohan, running as though they were in a great need of something, or as though they were in danger. Standing back, gazing off into the east, catching a small sight of the orcs as they ran on, making a bee line for the edge of Rohan, and closer to their old home: Isengard. (C)
Cutting them off was going to prove to be the hardest. Orcs could run for many leagues, and put much distance between themselves and their enemies, if they were being purused. They did not tire easily, and would not stop for hardly anything. Even if one of their own kind was killed, they would either eat him and continue, or would just ignore his body and not stop. That was their way. More concerned with themselves than others. (C)
A habit that wasn't liked by any of the Rohans, or by himselves. They would treat the land like they did everything else; without care. They would burn, trample, and destroy. And he could not turn away from them, when they needed his help this badly. He had already said he would help, and he would do just that, even if it could cost him his life, or Shadow's life. Sighing as he sat upon the grass, the tall grass concealing him from sight. (C)
For the time being, at least. You wouldn't be able to see him if you simply looked around. With his cloak from Lorien he was nearly invisible as it is, and with the grass taller than his head when he was sitting down, you would probably have to step on him to see him. Closing his eyes in thought, listening to the sounds of the field and everything around him. The land was troubled from the orcs trampling over it's once peaceful plains. (C)
But he wasn't going to get anything done if he simply sat where he was, and continued to think about all of the things that the orcs had done. They had a good head start, but he was a Ranger, and he could catch up to them if he wished to. And now was one of those times where he had to. Rising up onto his feet once again, his eyes could now longer find the orcs. Cursing himself for wasting precious, and valuable, time. (C)
Darting over the grass, his feet carrying him across the fields. Pausing only when he would come across tracks that were only a few hours old. A plan was already forming in his mind, of how he was going to cut them off, and get to the edge of the land of Rohan before they did. He would have to duck into the Fangorn forest, skirt along the paths that had been forgotten by man and trees. That would cut many leagues off of his trip. (C)
Fangorn forest was still regarded as many as old and strange, and nobody he knew would think twice of entering the forest. The trees of the forest were older than the fields of Rohan, and didn't take kindly to people walking along their roots, stepping on their fallen twigs, and making a mess of matters. But because of the last time he had been in the forest, he was hoping that it would remember him, and would let him pass, unhindered. (C)
Crossing his fingers and wishing for luck that his hope wasn't in vain. That the forest really would allow him to pass. He would find no Ents in the forest. They would remain hidden until they wished to be seen again. Picking up his pack, slinging it over his shoulder, running on. Swift like a deer were his feet while he ran, stopping so he could press his ears to the grass, and listen to the trample of the orcs feet as they ran on. (C)
Coming to the outskirts of the Fangorn first, gazing into it with a little worry. The forest, he knew, hated orcs with a passion, and was still very picky about letting people through it's forests safely. Touching the bark of the tree closest to him, bowing his head in tribute to the tree. The tree quivered with a happiness that he could feel to the tips of his toes. The forest would let him pass through unhurt. As long as he respected all within it. (C)

[Strider]

Being more than glad to do as the forest wished, he entered the forest through a break in the line of trees that ran along the edges of the Rohan field. The trees groaning as they made room for him to slip on by, croaching close together once more when he was in the forest. There were a few reasons why he wanted to go through the forest of Fangorn, and the trees were one of them. With the covers of the trees, the Uruk-Hai would not see him. (C)
And if they couldn't see him, they might not go as fast as they were currently running. They knew Strider's name and feared him; he'd been given a gift from the Lord of Rivendell, and the Elves were their enemies. They feared him also because of the ferocity that their ancestors had seen in his eyes, before they were slain. These orcs had no master to relay messages back to. So they were free to destroy and roam as they wished. (C)
Not for long. When he caught up to them he would slay each and every single one of them, until either they were all dead, or he was brought down. Hoping in his head as well that the Riders of Rohan got to the edge of their land shortly after he did, so he would not have to face a band of orcs on his own. He didn't have the swift bow of Legolas, or the strong axe of Gimli. He had Andurli, Flame of the West. And that would have to do for now. (C)
Crossing a small stream which ran along the pebbles and rock below it, to sing below the roots of the trees, and to sing to anybody that would enjoy it. Here he refilled his cantine, and took many sips of the cool, refreshing water, that made him feel a little more eased at heart. Time was pressing him, and if he were merely wandering around the forest of Fangorn, he would have taken more time to listen to the songs of the old forest. (C)
Time wasn't something that he had much to spare of, however. Thinking again of what the orcs had done he stood back up, and took the paths that he knew. Coming across some that he had not traveled on in many years, and he had to guess, and use his memory to the best of its ability. If a path felt wrong to him, he would skip it, and look to the other paths that lay infront of him. Whichever of them felt right, he would take. (C)
Looking out from between a small gap from between a pair of older trees that sat on the edge of the field, trying to see the orcs, if they were ahead of him. The Uruk-Hai were running as though Sauron himself had returned in human form and was whipping at the back of their legs. He could not see them, which meant that they were still a great distance ahead of him. But going into the forest had saved him a great deal of time. (C)
If he wanted to cut them off, however, he was going to have to waste less time thinking about the forest and all of the old tales that went with it, and focus on the task at hand. Thinking again of what the Uruk-Hai had done to the innocent people of Rohan. It still angered him greatly, for he could see not the sense in doing deeds like that. Didn't orcs have any sense between right and wrong? Not the Uruk-Hai, made by the traitor Saruman. (C)
Nor any races of the orcs that he knew cared one way or the other, only caring for a piece of meat and destroying whatever they came across. Plunging further into the forest, keeping to the paths that ran along the edges of the trees. Not even a squirrel could squeeze between the trees if they did not wish it so. Keeping the one task that he had in mind, in the very front of his mind. To slay the Uruk-Hai, and make them pay for what they had done. (C)
Stopping when his body was telling him that it needed a rest. It had run many leagues, at least 10, and he wasn't going to get any further if he didn't allow himself a moment to rest. Leaning the middle of his back to an older tree, closing his eyes. A cool breeze wafting across his face as the tree moved it's branches so the breeze coming from the fields could reach his face. Rubbing the bark of the tree to thank it, the breeze cooling him down. (C)
Worry was gnawing at him again, rearing its ugly face at him, as though it were trying to tell him something. There may be more deaths of people before the orcs were tracked down and killed, but his main concern was to stop them from getting any further than the fields of Rohan. Some Chieftains still remained among the Uruk-Hai, and they would figure out how to make more orcs. And he feared that it would not take them long. (C)
Fear was just another emotion that was playing with him. He was afraid that somebody else may get killed, and that he may be too late. His break had been too long, he had wasted too much time. With another pat to the tree trunk he darted back through the woods, running along the path as quickly as his feet would carry him. The more he ran the more his fear grew, and he was wary to find out if his fears were true, or if they were worries. (C)
Getting close enough to the edges of the field that he didn't need to use the cover of the trees again. Thanking the forest again for allowing him within its walls, squeezing out of a small space that the trees made avaliable for him to leave through. Whispering another thanks in Elven to the fair trees, and setting off again. While he ran he took a sip or two from his cantine, or his flask, so he would have the energy to keep going, and not stop. (C)
And if by chance he died from exhaustion, before he could reach the end of the Rohan fields, his spirit would fight on in his body's place, until all the Uruk-Hai, and the other orcs among them of different breeds, were dead. This he promised himself. Dropping to the ground at the top of a hill that peeked suddenly, before it rolled gently on again into the lush fields. The orcs were pausing ahead of him, looking around, like they were worried. (C)
They should be. Thinking that only to himself, not even daring to whisper it to himself. The orcs had sharp ears and noses, and as long as he stayed down wind of them, he would be able to catch up to them. But he would once again have to take to the Fangorn Forest, and come out a few miles ahead. Huddling his ear close to the ground, picking up quickly on the noises that the orcs made as they made camp and complained. (C)
The Uruk-Hai were not tired, they could run for many more miles before their legs grew weary. But the weaker orcs that were travelling with them was just as tired as the Uruk-Hai were not, and demanded a rest. Enough of them had complained that the Uruk-Hai had given in, and had allowed them a few minutes break, an hour at the most. The smarter ones knew that the Ranger and Rohan's were not too far behind them. They knew it well. (C)
Crawling through the grass back down the fringe of the small hill, pushing his body to its feet only when he was sure that he would not be spotted. Skidding over to the forest, wrapping his cloak of Lorien around his shoulders, and going on when he was back into the forest. The trees were surprised to see him again; but they would not ask questions now. A sense of urgency was shining in his grey eyes, and they did not hinder his hunt. (C)

[Strider]

Hunting for the orcs that elluded being killed and captured. Hunting the orcs that had slain innocent women, men, and children. Killing children was the lowest, in his eyes, that you could sink, and he would not stand for vile creatures like that to be walking on any land pure and fair. The Rohan had not reached the end of their land yet, but they also had horses, and would reach it before he did. He must get to their aid quickly. (C)
Barely making imprints with his boots along the path of the forest, though it was long over-grown with grass and tree roots. Trees retreating their roots as far as they could go, so he would not trip or fall over them. That would take precious seconds off of his time, and he couldn't let that happen. Later he would return to the forest and thank it with many songs in Elven tongue, and would plant a new tree here, to thank the forest. (C)
Whispering among the trees let him know that the trees were spreading the words about the orcs. The trees surronding him shaking and trembling with anger at the mere mention of the nasty word orcs. They hated the orcs more than Aragorn did, and he was only hunting them down. His purposes for hunting them was different than the trees hatred of them. But they both hated the orcs for what they had done in the past. (C)
Killing, burning, and degrading the land that they walked upon. The forest had suffered many losses because of them. Many of their own friends and relatives had been hacked down and used for firewood, in their presence, no less. But that was where their reasons for hating the orcs parted ways. He had seen the orcs kill for many years before they had dared to enter Fangorn Forest. And his hatred ran a little deeper than the trees hatred. (C)
At the end of the day, it didn't really matter who hated who the most. What did matter was that the orcs got what was coming to them, and what they knew was coming to them. Finding paths that he had forgotten in the latter years, going down those paths to take a few minutes off of his trip. It had been a long day, and the sun was preparing to set in the west. In total, he had traveled about 20 leagues today. (C)
More than enough for one person, but not nearly enough for a Ranger. Breathing in the scent of the forest and the land, feeling a little more refreshed after he took another drink from a small stream that ran down a hill to his left. Again he touched the trees, and again they let him through. His calculations had been correct; he was at the edge of the land of Rohan, and the orcs were a mile or two behind him, carrying torches and marching. (C)
Not trying to be discreet in anyway; they obivously didn't give a hoot if they were seen or not. They were too confident, that was their problem. They were too confident that they could slip past a few men on horseback, and a Ranger, who they believed to still be some distance behind them. Isengard wasn't that far away anymore, only a few more leagues at the most, and there they would live and rebuild their kind again. Or so they thought. (C)
Gazing to the line of orcs as they carried their torches and stomped the grass flat below their feet. The Rohan were close, he could sense that. Slipping the hood of his cloak over his hair and to conceal his glimmering grey eyes, that were glimmering with pure anger. Here he would wait for the Rohan, until they were able to join him. His cloak allowing him to blend into the back ground he waited, watching the orcs creep closer and closer. (C)
Creeping closer to where he was standing to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. He heard the sound of hooves before he saw them, and turning his head proved him to be right. The Riders of Rohan swept up, unnoticed, behind the orcs, their spears flying through the air. One after the another the orcs fell, a few of them fleeing through the dark fields, Aragorn waiting for them to get close enough, for him to slay and burn. (C)
Just a little bit closer, and he would have them right where he wanted them. Anduril glittered againts the moon light as his sword was drawn, the orcs, and one Chieftain attempting to skid to a halt when the saw the Flame of the West being drawn infront of them. But due to the mud and their hurry, they weren't able to stop themselves in time. Impaling his sword through one Uruk-Hai's middle, swinging at another. (C)
Cutting off the orcs head at the neck. The orcs were afraid of the sword, it had been forged again in Rivendell by Elrond, an Elf. Elves were their enemies, and their weapons would hurt them more than a normal human's would. Grinding his teeth together, running his sword through the orcs that ran his way, tripping one or two when they tried to run around him. The orcs didn't manage to get any serious or potentinally deadly hits on him. (C)
Only a few scratches, and one bruise on his arm, would he get out of this fight. Two of the Riders coming up to him on their horses, calling out orders in their own tongue. The bodies of the orcs that Aragorn had slain being dragged back to where the big pile was, where they would all be burned. The leader switched to Common Tongue, which all of them in this party spoke, "How did you get here before us? We have horses, and you have feet." (C)
Grimly nodding to them, his grey eyes hard set. "I had to go into the forest of Fangorn to beat you Rohans here. The forest let me pass without any tricks or hatred towards me. Unlike the orcs, I was not foolish enough to raise my sword to the trees or to burn anything down. I took shortcuts and paths, and decided to wait here for you." Drawing his explanation to a close as they turned to watch the pile burn, the Rohan wasting nothing. (C)
Even using the heads to put on the tips of the spears, that they shoved deep into the ground, and set in a circle around the pile. A warning, a silent one, to any other vile creature that would dare to threaten their land or their people again. They would attempt again, but they would not make it to Isengard. The Rohan, along with Strider from time to time, would be keeping a closer eye on that vile land of Isengard. Or what was left of it. (C)
"Let us hope that at least the Uruk-Hai do not step foot on our land again." Sheathing his sword again, keeping his hand laid upon the hilt of the sword. This was one of the few things that he still had left the Elves, especially Elrond, had given him, and he would not give it up for anybody. Especially not a dirty, nasty orc, like these ones had been. Getting some comfort in the fact that he was watching them burn. It helped a little. (C)
Removing his eyes from the fire as the leader of the group spoke to him again, speaking in their own language. Strider spoke many languages, some he had forgotten he could speak, but he remembered Rohan. "Thank you for coming to our aid. You are welcome to follow us back to our house, and to eat and drink with us." Unsure if he wanted to do that, or if he wanted to curl up in the fields of Rohan, close his eyes, and sleep. (C)
Debating with himself, before he sent them on their way, with many thanks and promises to visit their halls and homes soon. They sped off into the night on their horses, every last orc that had been trudging through their fields were currently dead and burning, and would not bother or harm anybody again. But there was always that chance that it could happen again, that they would be back. It made him feel uneasy, but it was a possibility. (C)
Cloaking himself once more, slipping into the darkness as the Riders of Rohan had done on their horses. The cloak of Lorien fading to match the color of the land about him, the hood concealing his sharp grey eyes from the sight of many. Concealed from sight he made sure to leave no footprints behind, or any sign that he'd been there. Fading from sight and from sound as he disappeared into the night, wrapped up in the colors of the dark.

[Strider]

Role Playing Games:11 is voice enabled
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tifa_lockheart515, caseytki, agataqxonkljbmnsqvhzhaobwcmh, under_pilot24, saint_toreh, kane633, TroubledPrayer, aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka, [e-mail], zara_hayat86, the_always_optimistic, rheagpa, vaelix2005, a_tuch_my_b00bz_p3fg, the_last_kashaku, nin_scroll_samurai, boundxandxused
the_always_optimistic leaves
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, I'll find you! =D
TroubledPrayer For once, he was riding towards the tavern on his horse. The horse had been missing for the last few weeks, roaming through the fields of Rohan, with the other wild horses, that no man or beast alive could tame. Sensing that Strider needed him, his horse had ran the distance that would have taken any other horse a week, and had done it in as little as 3-days, from what he could understand. Holding onto the reigns as he rode. (C)
maverickferam enters
sora_destiny_drifter enters
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, Not you. o.O
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, <.<;
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, -Doesn't bother adding to that.-
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, xD
maverickferam leaves
sora_destiny_drifter leaves
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, Yeah right. >.>;
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, I'll have Genji banish you to another realm.
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, Very. =D
gothicnick15 enters
TroubledPrayer Wind rippling the dark cloak around his figure, as he bent forward on the saddle, silently urging Brego onwards. The horse was wary from traveling so hard and so long, to reach the master that needed him most. Soon Strider would give him rest. He would rent another tavern room for a few nights, put Brego in a nice, clean, stall, and give him food and hay to lay on. Things that he felt the horse was yearning for, but wouldn't say so. (C)
flamenco_of_blood enters
vaelix2005 says, wow.....people are like sooooooooooooooo good at this too
flamenco_of_blood leaves
gothicnick15 says, *walks in queitly with long blck hair dressed in a blck hoody and blck goth pants and a dagger and a sword at my hand
vaelix2005 says, you cant do that))
gothic_demon_of_hellish_fire enters
vaelix2005 says, cant play my chara))
gothic_demon_of_hellish_fire says, *a tall blonde haried boy walks in*
choas_cloud15 enters
unrespectful_sesshomaru enters
vaelix2005 says, ~dies~
gothicnick15 says, *walks to table and my hoodie off wearing a lowcut pentagram shirt
vaelix2005 says,
hyrthirgiln enters
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka says, -Hops to another room to find entertainment.-
aijoubukai_wakai_boutenka leaves
vaelix2005 says, no no...just f ucking around
gothicnick15 says, ~sits dwn at a vacant table
vaelix2005 says, anyways...im headed down to the cafe to grab some dinner
sedeke999 enters
sarahbabiix33 enters
unrespectful_sesshomaru leaves
TroubledPrayer Grateful for the help that he got from the horse. Rarely felt the need for company of people or animals alike, but his heart held a soft spot for the horse, who had saved him more than once in the past, and would more than likely repeat in the future. It was handy to have a horse around. It got him places quicker, and riding an animal he trusted at times made him think that possibly animals were the only things that could be trusted. (C)
gothicnick15 says, *looks at vaelix then looks away quickly
beauty_alexis2005 enters
TroubledPrayer Thought that rather sad and a little on the pathetic side, but he wasn't going to express his thoughts and concerns to anybody else but him, and maybe Brego. But the horse already could sense, or make a pretty good guess to what Strider was thinking, and most of the time didn't need Strider to express his concerns. He already knew what they were, and not even the threat of death could drag the secrets from the heart of the horse. (C)
hyrthirgiln leaves
childish_philosophy enters
indomitusofolrox enters
akashadarknight enters
thexroyalxhighness enters
thexroyalxhighness leaves
vincent_valentine_the_reaper enters
gothicnick15 leaves
gothicnick15 enters
indomitusofolrox leaves
astrid_darkstalker enters
playmechz enters
gothicnick15 says, *walks back in holdong my dagger in my hand with the blade covered in blood
gothicnick15 says, **holding
astrid_darkstalker says, *As she walks into the tavern her dark purple hair is up in a messy bun held by a bone-like pin her body covered by her cloak her boots tapping gently as she wondered over to the and asks the tender for a wine she takes her wine and sits at a table alone in the shadows leaning back in the chair she puts her feet up on the table her cloak falling away from her legs reveling her pistols strapped to her thighs and her short black skirt she takes something from out of a pouch putting it into her mouth before sipping on her wine as she scans the tavern with her deep purple eyes*
demona_the_feared_one16 enters
vincent_valentine_the_reaper says, *stabs intro because knowing vincent is a common thing now. sits in corner cowering from his horid excuse*
demona_the_feared_one16 says, *A girl with long ghostly blond white hair, pale white skin, and a gentle figure ran through the forest near by. She was wearing a torn up princess dress. she also had mulitple cuts and bruises all over her body. She ran into the tavern stopping to look around. On her neck was a locket on the back if you were to look at was the definition of her name which she had forgotten. "Memory-the visions which are of our past replayed in our mind to only be stopped by time itself." She walked in casually and sat down.*
gothic_demon_of_hellish_fire says, *stares at saphira*
gothicnick15 says, *wipes my dagger clean
sanjithechefofthestrawhatpirates enters
inunotaishous_assistant_shadow enters
astrid_darkstalker says, *Lokks back at Choas then goes back to drinking her wine* .........
inunotaishous_assistant_shadow leaves
astrid_darkstalker says, *looks
vampyress_beauty enters
gothicnick15 says, *sits dwn at a tree
[e-mail] enters
johnlewiscurry2000 enters
TroubledPrayer Which was one of the reasons why he trusted this horse with his life. It had been a long ride so far, he'd met Brego about halfway, and had been riding him back ever since. When the weather got a little colder, Brego would head back to some warm land, unless Strider asked him to stay. And that meant that, since he would not hold Brego back, he would have to travel through the winter on foot. But for now he was content to be riding him. (C)
demona_the_feared_one16 says, *looks at him* "I am not little I am........not sure what I am."
astrid_darkstalker says, *Disregards the paper* ........
gothicnick15 says, *looks over at the forgotten one
vincent_valentine_the_reaper says, *runs his left metallic hand over the sniper CR holstered to his side* "yes... stupid humans... go about yer lives... let the hidden sleep...." *he whispers to himself in a cold dark tone thinking that the vampyres like himself should not have problems from these mere humans*
childish_philosophy leaves
gothicnick15 says, no one knows who they are including me funny im 600 yrs old
gothic_demon_of_hellish_fire says, *warps into a tree*
TroubledPrayer Continuing to think about what he was going to do when he reached the tavern. Like he had done a few nights ago, he would sit down, smoke his pipe, and watch the room from under the hood of his cloak. It was cool enough inside the tavern to keep the cloak on, and hardly anybody would think it strange that he didn't take it off, whenever they saw him. It would be a lot more often, if he could stay around here, through the winter. (C)
zara_hayat86 leaves
demona_the_feared_one16 says, The thing is I don't even know my own name or where I came from. Do I have a family. Did they love me?
gothicnick15 says, *pulls out a pck of ciggerettes
demona_the_feared_one16 says, *pauses* Am I worthless and all alone?
gothicnick15 says, same here
astrid_darkstalker says, *Nods taking her boots off of the table* Go ahead My names Astrid
gothicnick15 says, i cnt remeber anything
TroubledPrayer Didn't like to think of spending a winter in a place where it would be harsh. And he especially when he thought that he would have to travel the many miles without a horse. But if he had to, he would, like he had done years before, and he wouldn't complain to anybody about it. Tightening his fingers around the reigns, keeping his body bent forward. Squinting his eyes against the rush of the wind, as Brego continued to run on. (C)
vampyress_beauty leaves
papa_grande89 enters
fairelvenlady600 enters
TroubledPrayer Looking forward to a hopefully warm tavern, a pipe full of tobacco, and the thought of Brego put up in an equally as nice stall, where he would be warm for the rest of the night, until Strider took him out for a ride. The horse and the man were as one during the duration of their ride. The tavern came into sight, the timeless blue eyes glittering at the sight of the warm light in the windows. Already could he feel the warmth from the fire. (C)
papa_grande89 leaves
astrid_darkstalker says, *she nods* sometimes I wish I wasnt...
vaginal_relief enters
gothicnick15 leaves
gothicnick15 enters
demona_the_feared_one16 says, The thing is I want to remember weather good or bad I want to know the........truth at least.
vincent_valentine_the_reaper says, *sighs and stands up letting his long crimson cape drape across the gruond below himself. he looks about letting his long raven hair veil his face hiding his long vampyric fangs. his pale face torn by the long jagged scars of life. he looks about with his cold grey eyes and sighs lightly as he lowers his head leaning back against the wall*
gothicnick15 says, ...
gothicnick15 says, my son is the only thing i remeber
gothicnick15 says, he was 2
TroubledPrayer Halting as he reached the tavern, sliding off of the saddle. Lifted his chin, looking up at the tavern, most of his face covered by the hood of his cloak. The only part of him that was visable was his nose, and even that sight was brief, for he lowered his face in the next moment. Leading Brego, gripping the reigns around his fingers, over to the stable boy, whom he gave the reigns to, with the promise that the horse would be looked after. (C)
beauty_alexis2005 enters
TroubledPrayer Gold helped in the transaction and understanding of what Strider wanted done for the horse. Fresh food and water, and some hay for the horse to keep warm on, and the taking care of Brego's teeth and hooves. With that out of the way, he crossed the small lawn to the path that lead up to the door of the tavern, grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and stepped into the tavern, warmth from the many fires washing over him like warm bath water.

[Strider]

lilly_the_cute_catgirl enters
lilly_the_cute_catgirl leaves
astrid_darkstalker says, *she shakes her head* No you are not please, stay I could use the companey
vincent_valentine_the_reaper says, (mabey he's done... dumbass...)
demona_the_feared_one16 says, I did have a dream once more like a nightmare I drank the blood of all my family members even though I couldn't tell what they look like I knew it was them. Then everyone one started hating me and trying............to kill me.
moshortmama enters
gothicnick15 says, *looks at forgotten
gothicnick15 says, u mind if i sit with u
vaginal_relief leaves
moshortmama leaves
tito_goold2002 leaves
gothic_demon_of_hellish_fire says, im bored
angeleyes4us200 enters
vincent_valentine_the_reaper says, (nightmare... please stop being noobish and use something to tell us your ooc)
astrid_darkstalker says, *smiles gently back and sips her wine*
gothicnick15 says, *pulls out a photo of my dead son and husband
demona_the_feared_one16 says, Sure go right on ahead if you like.
gothicnick15 says, this is the only thing i have to remeber them by
vincent_valentine_the_reaper says, (like she said)
naraka6 enters
vincent_valentine_the_reaper says, (opps sorry)
timmywithacam enters
TroubledPrayer Sighing quietly to himself with relief, with the warmth against his face. It had been starting to get chilly outside, and he hadn't been the only one that was starting to feel it, either. Brego was feeling the cold and the tiredness more than he was, and he had good reason to. Granted, he had thanked Brego many times, hoping that the horse would know how sincere he was being. And the horse did, so he didn't worry about it after that. (C)
naraka6 leaves
gothicnick15 says, walks over to the gaurd
demona_the_feared_one16 says, Was she pretty and in love with you? Did you love her?
wlopez9000 enters
gothicnick15 says, im vampire i will take her
wlopez9000 leaves
woundering_soul_lost_to_all enters
TroubledPrayer Lowering the dark green hood from his head, allowing it to drop onto his back. Revealing his long hair and quiet blue eyes. Would keep to himself while he was here. Wouldn't volunteer to start a conversation, or be in one, for that matter. If he could be left to himself, perfectly alone, to smoke his pipe and to sit near the fire, possibly with a nice, warm drink, he would feel perfectly content. Usually people left him alone, and happy to do so. (C)
pr0j3c7_v says, This wasn't some fairy-tale being, he wasn't no demon sent from the depths of a so-called Hell. No deity of any sorts raised the likes of him with bull poopie magic, or spells, from a book of necromancy. No. He wasn't. He was a bastard creation, of genetics and mutation by military and government powers, concealed from the public. A freak show, cells combined with other cells and science, the specific creation of his DNA makeup too complicated for most people to begin to understand..Vi slipped into the tavern, far away from the reaches of the Central Government and beings that exsist in Sector 12. The man clad in black slid from the enterance towards the neareset available table under the said dim-lights, and sat. He hated cliches, though he was really more of a walking contradiction. <C>
demona_the_feared_one16 says, oh really that's sad.
dart_the_dragoon_02 leaves
TroubledPrayer Crossing his gloved fingers that history would repeat itself, as he was hoping that it would. Pulling one glove off after another, storing them in the pocket that was located inside of his cloak, and would be hard for someone to get a hold of, without him noticing. Hanging on his side, by a sheath attached to his belt neatly, was Anduril, or as some other people knew it, the Flame of the West. It was his prized posession, other than Brego. (C)
woundering_soul_lost_to_all . o O ( any one wanan rp im me for details simi or one liners ok )
gothicnick15 leaves
gothicnick15 enters
alyssajliwk leaves
TroubledPrayer That was just a given. It was something that Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell had given to him, for all the work that he had done in the time of the Ring. And now that Elrond had gone to the West, it was one of the only things he had left to remember the kind Lord by, that had been almost a father to him as he had been growing up, even after his mother had died. Shifting his restless eyes over the people in the tavern, feeling a little uneasy. (C)
demona_the_feared_one16 says, I wander.........if I am that much worth to anyone? *stares down at her hands. She stands up when she starts to look up at the stars.* Pretty aren't they?
jnnythehomicidalmaniac enters
gothicnick15 says, *smiles showing my fangs
demona_the_feared_one16 says, You sure?
TroubledPrayer But why should he? The people here seemed normal enough. Normal enough for him to sit among and to smoke among. There were already many people and couples that were smoking something or another, and they probably wouldn't mind if he followed suit, and puffed on his pipe for an hour or two. Sliding the hood of his cloak, once again, over his head, concealing most his face from sight and from temptation, to find out who he was. (C)
pr0j3c7_v says, Clad in all black, heavy boots and long over-coat, that he had stolen from a man a few days ago. Weapons, armed to the teeth as it were, with guns, knives, and explosives, along with a verity of martial arts and a lack of morality when it came to human life. What the fornicate did he care about life? That wasn't in his genetic makeup. Folding the coat down behind him, he sat and propped the elbows upon the table, eyeing the light population from behind a heavy viel of darkness that were his shades. Light pale arms, dotted along up the vein by injection marks. The less the people, the better, and fornicate the fornicateers that bothered him. <E POP. Yeah, I know what my profile picture is..>
constancefj enters
constancefj leaves
astrid_darkstalker says, *shakes her head* No you have done nothing wrong please dont think you have
demona_the_feared_one16 says, *She starts looking at all of her cuts and bruises on her body.*
TroubledPrayer Needed that like he needed another hole in his head, and he'd already had plenty of creatures and people try to do that one, so another attempt was not needed at the moment. Beneath his hood he chewed on just the inside of his lip, while he stood there. Remembering that he was probably blocking the way for people to come inside, he stepped to the side, and weaved his way through the tables and chairs to the fireplace and chair. (C)
gothicnick15 leaves
gothicnick15 enters
gothicnick15 says, im not a guy for one
demona_the_feared_one16 says, Don't remember.
TroubledPrayer Hoping to reach it before somebody else did, knowing that people probably had looked his way once or twice since he had come inside. Coming to the chair without any delays, and sitting down in it, adjusting his cloak while he sat down. His back leaning back, so his back and shoulderblades rested comfortably against the back of the chair, and he could once again sit infront of the fire, and enjoy its warmth in peace and quiet. (C)
gothicnick15 says, im a girl
TroubledPrayer In a few minutes time he would pull out his pipe. But until then, he was going to stay here, and watch the tavern from his chair. The side of which was facing the tavern, but the rest gave him a good look on the tavern. It was impossible to see the entire tavern, wherever you sat. There would always be someone or something in the way, and the tavern wasn't built so you could see it if you sat in the perfect place. Which was good, in many ways. (C)
gothicnick15 says, *looks a dread
gothicnick15 says, its okay
demona_the_feared_one16 says, It's okay.
jnnythehomicidalmaniac says, The door slammed open and a very disturbed looking man entered the room, headphones blaring ode to joy. He was dressed in a black and white striped shirt and tight black pants. Goth boots with steel tips were on his feet and his black hair was disheveled. He looked around once and sat down, clutching two daggers in his hand for his life
TroubledPrayer Even if others wouldn't agree with him on that. He wasn't on this earth to please others all of the time. He did his job as a Ranger, whether or not it was appreciated by the people that he was protecting. He had many memories and nice nicknames from his past adventures, and the names he still answered to to this day. Sometimes it was nice to be appreciated. Sometimes it was nice to left to your own thoughts, in your own little space. (C)
gothicnick15 says, *takes my hair dwn and lets it fall to my hips
astrid_darkstalker says, *shaking her head gently she sighs* .... *thinking* "I can never get things right...."
seiken_chan enters
TroubledPrayer What he was doing now, sitting here near a fire that was nicely being kept up, feeling his toes and limbs warm up under the tender caress of the flames. This was nice, he had to admit. Yawning from his chair, he glanced over to the door, and then to the stairs. Would he rent a room? He would. Waving the tender over to him, keeping his voice low as he gave the tender the gold for a room, and the tender, in turn, gave him a key. (C)
bulma_the_hentai_sciencist enters
dreamboy9090 leaves
gothicnick15 says, *walks over to dread
astrid_darkstalker says, *she hugs back gently* It's ok....
TroubledPrayer Getting told what room number was his, and the tender being told how long he was going to be staying for, which was going to be for a few days. Looking back at the room while the tender went back to the bar, to take orders and to fill them. Holding the key tightly in his gloved hand, wrapping his fingers around it, squeezing the metal against the glove. For a change, he'd be sleeping in a nice bed, and not some cold, hard ground in the wilderness.
seiken_chan leaves
demona_the_feared_one16 says, *Suddenly some mysterious male voice says.* "My dear forgotten Princess." *Out steps a man with short silver hair with red highlights and dark dark red eyes. He smiled snisterly. She looks at him and screams.*
bulma_the_hentai_sciencist leaves
gothicnick15 leaves
gothicnick15 enters
jnnythehomicidalmaniac says, He watched Dread, shifting his gaze between each of the people in the room.
pr0j3c7_v says, "Stupid cunts...." Vi grumbled, and shifted in his chair, reaching behind him and removing a small container, inside was water. To hell with buying something from this crap-shack, he was here to simply rest. Yes, even a genetic mutation needed rest. It was a bit different, better, as opposed to having to fight most of the times when he went somewhere, even if he -did- start it. Some of the *fornicates* in here thought they were indeed some badass, armed with a few weapons, and sociopath looks. Vi didn't care, he was the true arrogant misanthrope, and he knew it. fornicate the bastards that thought otherwise. That was the way it was done, and it would always be done. Removing a small vile from his pocket, Vi dropped two blue droplettes into the water and than began to drink profoundly, downing the<C>
navigator_of_the_strawhat_crew leaves
pr0j3c7_v says, Water like it was his last drink . "Rations getting low..." Vi mumbled, bringing his gaze back up from behind his shades and drink, towards the crowd, searching the perfect target. <E>
demona_the_feared_one16 says, Him. *points at the man infront of her.* He is what I was running from I remember now.
seiken_chan a female koga enters as she walks in silently, her wolf tail sways,ears twitches and she wears clothes similiar to koga,She sighs a bit not sensing inuyasha cause she wanted to kill him so she leans against the tree yawning thinking wondering why she was a wolf demon just like koga but she's waiting on Koga against the tree grabbing her sword silently. (pop)
total_sports_chick256 enters
gothicnick15 says, *stopes and turns around
gothicnick15 says, *walks away swinging my hips gracefully
gothicnick15 says, yes it would be
TroubledPrayer Getting up from his chair, his sword moving against his leg as he walked, he made his way towards the stairs. Walking up them, he disappeared from the main room of the tavern. Blending him into the background as his cloak did, he was not seen by the people who might have come up and down the stairs at the same time as he did. Going down the hall to the end of the hallway, where his room was located. Putting the key in the hole. (C)
total_sports_chick256 says, hey
gothicnick15 says, i soppose
total_sports_chick256 says, ty
pr0j3c7_v leaves
TroubledPrayer Turning the key, and entering the room. Locked the door behind him, putting a chair under the doorknob, just in case. Pulled his cloak off of him by the clasp around his neck, tossing it on the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed he pulled his boots off, setting them near the bed, incase he had to get them on in a hurry. Pulling the cloak over him he curled up on the bed, the key to the room in his pocket. Blending into the bed by the cloak. (C)
ironfists_of_shinra enters
demona_the_feared_one16 says, I remember you Blood your the one who killed...........my father!!
ironfists_of_shinra leaves
gothicnick15 leaves
gothicnick15 enters
astrid_darkstalker leaves
TroubledPrayer Closing his eyes, he fell asleep shortly afterwards. Hidden thanks to his cloak, with the door guarded by the chair and both of the locks on the door locked. Hair dipping into his face, he looked older than what he really was on the outside, which was about 35. Felt safe in the tavern room, dreams over washing him like the gentle waves of the oceans through time. Here he would sleep until the early morning, and here he would be content.
seiken_chan watches the people leaning against the bartop as she enters.