A Recurrent Theme...(a please join me, tale)

[Scarfair]

Evil has ended, you say? Broke about upon the four winds, shattered and spread to the corners of the earth, you say? Wounded and attended upon none, cut off from it's own life and hope? Would that the Wise could gain such an end to that evil, that you who dream about this tale would believe so easily...

Evil has ended, you say? Read on, O child of fantasy, and if you have never truly looked into the heart of shadow; quail not, fail not, and look hard upon that which is wrought of the shadows now...

==============================================

Arnor slept the peace of a forgotten kingdom. For though the King had come again to Gondor, his reach could only structure the lands below the northern fastness of the Ered Mithrin. What goes beyond that dark curtain of grey could only be guessed at by those Elessar sent to guard his realm. Thus the foot of the Grey Mountains became home to the hardest and toughest of the Dunedain, a people sprung from the roots of legend and hardship, a folk that only the King, himself, could call his own. And what better guardsmen could there be that shared such magnifiecent blood? Such blood will always tell, and in this time of times, in this place, of all places, such blood must pass muster, for if it fails, who knows of what else might fail?

Estren Arahael gazed from the bones of the mountains, up, to the hoar and snow covered peaks that ranged his entire horizon, squinting against the bitter wind that coldly nipped at his nose, and positively ravaged his hands.

His hands were locked about the hilts of a broadsword, his fists so long exposed to the fury of the northwind that he could not now release his hold, even if he so wished.

Were you to stand in that icy blizzard and in the dell among the foothills of the Ered Mithrin, facing Estren, a Ranger of Arnor, as he studied the white, frozen wastes of these mountains; you would see his mouth working, though at first only the howling wind would come to your ears. But soon words would be made out, as the hollow shadows of his face moved, words of anger and vengence, words that should best be thrown to the Northwind anyway...

"Sligroth! Sligraaawwwth! I COME FOR YOU!"

You would see him fall to his knees, trying to shelter a body at his feet, a body that is long past the need of shelter. Estren's brother Agron lay in the snow, cold and stiff in a pose of agony. He may have died from the cold, for the corpse was nearly unclothed, or he may have died from the ugly, gaping wound in his chest, the blood and gore frozen to black rivlets and crags on icy, alabaster skin. Either way, the name of the tool that begat this death remained on Estren's lips, a curse, a snarl, a black issue of hate, vocalized and sounded by the call for vengence for his brother's murder...

"SLIGROTH!"

[Scarfair]

Three wolves ran with the blizzard, and though they were black as night, they were as much a part of the storm as the very gales that blew the ice and the cold down upon the creatures that braved the mountains as home.

Each ran with clotted claws and bloodstained fangs, frozen marks of ambush. The death of Agron Arahael lay upon those marks of murder, and each granulet of iced blood that shook from pelt and paw would become a trace for the hated Estren to follow. Thus the wolves romped and gouged the snow as they ran, hoping to spread their murder marks where Estren would find them. For the ambush was not over yet...

A darkness settled beneath the gray, angry clouds of the storm, yet the darkness was not born of the Northwind, the darkness was born of the East and sheltered itself within an ancient dwarvish haunt that still held the spirits of anguished souls. And so the mighty Northwind suffered it's presence grudgingly, for the dark cloaked itself in the shrieks of the dead, something the Northwind listened heartily for...

And the darkness looked down to see the form of it's hated enemy, cradling his dead brother, and the darkness laughed, for the results of it's machinations had harvested sweet fruit. It marked it's murderous pups, and the trail they left...so the darkness left it's perch in the tower of Cadiric Mithrin, moving down from that age-old fastness and into the craggy and crumbled remains of the fortress once known as The Iron Ring.

Sligroth marshalled his energies, awaiting the return of his wolves, awaiting their trail to be taken up, awaiting to face his bitterest enemy...

[CardenIAntauraNauco]

Estren took the dark red backcloth his brother had wore and laid it across his body. He raised himself from the body of his beloved brother and looked toward the tower
Estren's grey eyes were filled with a mighty fury. A dangerous fury as Silgroth well knew. A fury that drove the tears from his eyes and filled him with a desire for revenge. He looked down and swore to his brother he would return.
He started down into the large flat plain that across could be seen the looming shadow of the tower and the menacing shadow of ruins below it. As he made his way across he began picking up on the prints of wolves, at first here and there but they steadily became focused and moved an obvious trail to Cardiric Mithrin.
He was relieved upon seeing the more obvious of the tracks.
They were far easier to track than the seldom paw prints. It was simple...far too simple, far to obvious, "No this cannot be right" he thought as he turned himself trail.
The northern edge of the valley was no more than 2 leagues away. As Estren ran the vast stretch he reasoned he would enter the tower from the north for he feared yet another ambush by way of the east. He ran ahead through the biting cold towards the northern mountains.
=============================================
Silgroth laughed an evil laugh and looked towards the horizon. Yet this time the ever-nearing figure had left his vision.
He saw only his wolves returning successful. T'karluk the greatest of three began his report. Kraluk and Skayluk hunched behind their greater.
"He is dead but the Elder and wiser of the two is yet alive."
Silgroth replied "So I have seen", "I saw the happening while standing on my tower,"
"However" he continued "I have lost sight of the him and because of this I ask you one more task... find him, and when you find him, kill him."
"Gladly" T'Karluk said opening his mouth to reveal his blood stained teeth
"No, You T'Karluk will stay here and keep this man from entering into this fortress with his spirit and his body in one"
Silgroth sent the lesser of the wolves Kraluk and Skayluk on patrol of the plains"
It was as Estren neared the northern range that Kraluk spotted him, he called a short summoning call to his brother and they darted towards the figure

[Scarfair]

Estren wrenched a frozen hand from the pommel of his sword and clawed the ice and snow that clung like a scab from his brow. He jerked his head up from a weary crouch against the driving wind. He would stand like a man, here, where his beloved brother met doom. He would stand like a man as he tracked the evil that had brought Agron low. And he would stand as a man when he buried his blade into the heart of the black spirit that stalked his own life's blood.

Estren blearingly studied the forest before him, choosing with a Ranger's eye the best path up the mountain. As he did, flecks and blurs of movement dashed between the trees above. Two long, lean shadows flitted along the treeline, moving directly toward him. He recognized the shapes.

'Come, then...black beasts.' Estren snarled low, and to himself, 'I've chased you from the Forodwaithe to Gundabad, 'bout time you faced the steel you have bought and paid for...' He bared his teeth like fangs, and ground his heels into the snow.

The wolves broke cover as they split, one going right, the other left. As the gloom of the storm deepened by twilight, Estren tracked the two shadows when they slid in dark motion across the snow. They vectored from two sides and closed the distance between themselves and the Ranger with alarming speed, the largest beast speeding like a lance to it's target.

The sounds of paws and snouts snuffling and pounding at the snow came to Estren's ears seconds before the muffled thump of a spring, and the exhale of expended energy signaled the leap of the leading wolf...

[CardenIAntauraNauco]

The evil black figure's legs propelled him through the air, His Fangs but inches away from the muscular neck of the mighty Duendain. Karluk anticipated the feel of flesh in his jaws that he knew so well, he instead felt the cold steal of Estren's blade. The blow ripped through the bowels of the fell creature. The shriek of the hellish hound filled the air as it's body flew backwards,torn and lifeless.

Estren turned quickly as to meet his second adversary in the same manner. He was greeted my the powerful fangs of the evil being. They ripped through his flesh and deeply sank through the muscle of his arm. His hand now bathed in blood dropped the sword from reflex. His mind swarmed as he felt the wolf release his hand and drop back. He groped for his sword, and felt the handle of his blade. It was too late, the wolf jumped and rammed its body into Estren. He fell back and saw the enormous black creature land on his chest it's empty eyes staring coldly at him.. He felt his energy leave him.
Thoughts rushed through his mind his arm racked with pain. His mind was paralyzed and his arms hung limp and powerless. A black and evil snarl escaped through the teeth of the creature. He recognized that snarl he recognized that hate. Thoughts of his brother's death came to him. His mind was flooded with revenge, his limbs filled once again with power. The laugh of his enemy was cut short as he threw his fist into the throat of his foe. The wolf gasped and fell imediately to Estren's side couging up a dark red blood. Estren took the his sword thrust it deep into the chest of is adversary.

He shouted towards the east " REMEMBER THIS SWORD SILGROTH FOR IT SHALL IN A TIME NOT FAR FROM NOW SLAY YOU AS IT HAS SLAIN YOUR FOUL CREATION" He then fell and rested on the body of the wolf. His eyed shut and he entered into a restful sleep.

[Scarfair]

The Ranger was done, then. And lo, though his strength and spirit quailed, it did not falter. The driving instincts of the Dunedain that wove hard sinews of survival into his very tendons drove him to seek the only warmth available to him. And though the gore of a Warg would cover him, so would the warmth of pelt, blood, and bone. Estren moved with almost druken stupor, for the cold now clawed it's way into his muscles and made his very bones ache atop the weeks worth of weariness they already carried. In blind motor response he lay upon the blood soaked snow, pulling the bodies of the wolves over him, in hopes that the wind and the ice that pummled the hilltops would find no purchase upon him through the long night to come.

And he dreamed...

Again, his brother Agron stood before him and his attitude was trivial, for the report of wolves upon the Ettenmoors worried neither of them.

And again he sent his brother's command to patrol the frozen banks of the Hoarwell, only this time, because he dreamed, a voice, his voice, shouted upon the air, 'No! No! It is a trap! Send an entire Cadre` of Rangers! Do not go out in recon strength! Ambush!' But of course he did not heed his own shouts, nor did his brother, and the dream played out in pace.

Estren, hard man that he was, cried then, in his dream and in his sleep. For he knew the sequence of events, he knew the panic stricken words of the messenger from his brother's command, or what was left of it. 'Wargs!' the dying Ranger coughed, 'Agron needs...aid. We tracked them to Gundbad, they...they attacked at night, pulling our pickets down. The...the Wargmaster of Angmar has cuh-c-come again! It is you, Estren! Sl-s-Sligroth wants...you...' and the Ranger died of wounds so deep and open, all wondered how one could live to even talk much less trek all the way back to his Ranger's camp.

And the dream played on. Estren took his entire command and entered the chase. During that hard week of riding and tracking they found the ravaged bodies of all the recon squad save one. Agron.

Sligroth. The Demon that killed his grandfather and burnt Fornost's northern redoubt to the ground. That night, almost thirty years ago, Sligroth, Sauron's own Huntsman, slaughtered some three-score men, women, and children in a glut of savagery that burnt like hard embers in every Dunedain's soul. As Estren's grandfather held command of the Redoubt that terrible night, so the House of Arahael became The Wargmaster's mortal enemy. And after years of hounding the adversary, vengence had not come for Arahael, but Sligroth's evil now struck with ice and fury.

Thirty Wargs, perhaps, and seven renegade Orcs ambushed his cadre in deep, drifting snow. Though he and his men fought hard for six hours of blizzard and gloomy daylight, by dusk the Orcs hit their already exhusted line and they were bested. Three of his Rangers he sent back to Arnor, wounded and with the only horses left alive. Two were still missing, they either died alone, or were still fighting desperately somewhere in these hills. Five died in the drifts beside him, slaying the Orcs. After the ambush was finally routed Estren was left alone and afoot to find his brother's fate...

And still the dream went on to it's bloody and wretched conclusion, and Estren bore it until morning only because he had to, such is the way of dreams..

[CardenIAntauraNauco]

It was half a day before the mighty warrior's eyes opened and he pulled the body of the slain from on top of his own. He focused his eyes and thought of what had happened returned to him. His mind sorted out the explanation for the severe pain in his arm.

Estren removed his sword from it's sheath as he walked towards the trees in the forest,if it could be called that, a few steps above him. He hewed from the tree four solid limbs and placed them in the area he had fought the wargs. In a short time he had gathered a nice sized bundle of kindle from the dry twigs of the trees above him.

He took from the a pair of flints and began a small fire. After he had made the fire to a suitable size. He skinned and seperated the muscles of the warg. He let the foul meat cook for some time.

He left the remnants of his fire and his slain alike. He walked toward the tower of Cardirc Mithrin. Fear was no stranger to his mind for he had faced great enemies, and had always feared them ,for fear is not uncommon in the greatest of warriors, But there was no fear in him now. There was no place for fear. Every sinew every thought was focused on one thing the death of his brother's murderer.

[Scarfair]

The daylight remained grey and cold, as though even the Sun knew it's light and warmth could not reach Estren, now. Vengence has ever been a cold anger, and the storms that revenge can brew have always lived easily without warmth. Thus the Ranger lived through the night, through the day, and even through the repulsive meal that he ate, if only for the use of the strength that such dastard meat could bring him.

The mountaintop was still covered in the dense snow-fog that left him no landmarks to recognise, yet the Ranger knew every step of his path, for it did not matter where Sligroth would flee to, Estren's cold anger and hatred would lead him even were he blind.

His right hand was sore and caked with scab, a wound garnered in the battle he fought alone. Yet still his hand grasped the hilt of his blade with unatural strength, soothing only with the thought of guiding that blade into the Wargmaster's black heart.

But rational thought came to him, as he waded in the deep, crusted snow. He could not leave his brother's body to the elements, and soon scavengers would come, looking for a grisly meal. Rather let them eat the remains of his own putrid meal of Wargmeat...

He tiredly turned and made his painful way back to the glade where Agron lay. He would build a cairn, and hack the frozen turf to a grave with his sword, if he had to.

As he broke the treeline, he was astonished to see a mound already there, as though someone had buried his dear brother in the night, even as Estren slept beneath the corpses of wolves.

'Who...?' was the only croaked and cracked word his ravaged throat would allow his lips to speak.

[Lady Midnight]

The young woman walked amongst the ruins leading her horse. Once this had been a beautiful, thriving settlement with her father's stronghold standing proud and tall on the hillside. Once she had laughed and played with the village children in the nearbye river from which the settlement took it's name. But then came that night and the tranquil calm of BainÃ*n Fidean was lost forever.

She had been back since then of course. It had been her custom to return once a year to place flowers amongst the decaying remains of her home. On one visit she had been delighted to find that some had taken root amongst the lichens and the moss, creating a new kind of beauty, almost as though life could begin again in the midst of such a tragedy.

But the wound was too deep in the girl as she continued her walk and she could think of nothing but revenge. It was what she had trained for for years. It had kept her alive. And now it was time. The girl mounted her dapple-grey horse with one thought in her mind: Silgroth would pay. With that she rode away.

(OOC now someone meet up with me somewhere please)

[Scarfair]

The young one stumbled from drifts of deep snow into the road. His wounds had stopped bleeding, the cold had done a small part in his survival by causing free blood to clot. But there just couldn't be enough blood left in him to create the strength he used to get from the wilds and onto a traveled trail...yet he did.

He saw a vision of beauty on a dappled grey horse cantering towards him, and in his dire deplenishment he believed an elven princess was come to rescue. Then he felt something give deep within him, and a long stabbing pain shot is his back, he still bled inside. He knew then, the elven princess or no, she could not rescue him. But maybe...

'Luh-Lady?' he crumbled to the trail, his hand reaching' F-fair Queen of t-the wood. I beseech thee... need a-aid...'

She reigned in, and with one look she knew the only aid she could render this soul was comfort as he died, but that wasn't his request.

'Are y-you armed? Can your blade spare it's gentle sheath? I have men trapped in a-a glade far behind me. The Wuh-Wargmaster ambushed us. I cannot fight, cannot f-flee. Ride to their aid. G-get them out! I...I...' and he died.

There had been a thought to take a time to bury this poor boy, but his words killed that thought even as his own wounds closed his lips forever. The horse reared high and bolted as she bade it so, into the forest, along the bloodtrail that opened before it. And the woman rode, a hardline in her jaw, a deadly anger in her eyes. For the name that dying man/child uttered as the cause of his suffering was a name she knew well. There was only one Wargmaster that she had ever heard of, the Gamekeeper of Sauron himself...Sligroth!

[Lady Midnight]

The woman raced to the glade then slowed her horse, keeping to a distance where she could take stock of the situation. There were several of Silgroth's evil minions nearbye and it was only a question of whether she could take them. She knew she would have to act fast to save these men. Yes she could take them! Drawing her sword she charged the creatures, hacking into them as she went.

The element of surprise was on her side as she reached the glade. Still cutting into the Wargs she enquired of the men:

"Is anyone wounded? Put them on my horse. The rest of you RUN!"

If she died that day then so be it. She would've cheated Silgroth of some victims at least.

[Scarfair]

Then Sun broke through clouds of storm and raging air. It's light shone down upon the glade and the group of figures that struggled, locked in a life and death match there.

A whirling light of consummate battle-steel shone and reflected off the sun's light in answer, for the Lady on the dappled grey horse swung a mighty, shining blade like it was an extension of her own hand. The woodcutters trapped by Sligroth's beasts met the sight of such wonder and glory with shouts of relief and gladness, for they had only seen their death in the minutes before she arrived.

And what an arrival! She jumped from her horse, her blade unlimbered and seeking, and it found a prize even before her light feet touched the ground. For as she swung from saddle, a wickest warg leapt from the snow for her throat, and she met it with thunder and steel, driving her sword's point into the skull of the wolf, her weight bearing it down. She split it's head open and pinned it to the ground.

'Ere she gained even time to look around, two more wargs were upon her, but her dappled grey had the instincts of a warhorse, and it's white hooves flashed in the new afternoon sunlight. Two more wolves fell, their brains dashed in gory grey and red upon the snow.

The woodsmen clambered to her horse, three of them each with wounds and blood. And the mighty horse bore them. The Lady held it's reins and pulled it's head close. 'Go, my beauty...' was all she said, but the dapple understood, taking the three upon it's back and fleeing for the safety of the trees.

And now the numbers would tell, for the black wargs massed in a ring, closing on the Lady, her whirling blade, and the two woodcutters left who would not run. They hefted their workmen's axes and stood three backs to back, standing off at least twenty Wargs before them.

All went silent save for the sound of snow crunched beneath boot and paw, as combatants shifted and moved for battle postions. The Lady held her sword ready and whispered to her few companions, 'We stand as defense, and they take us one by one. I never was much good at defense.' With those words, and to the wonderment and awe of the woodcutters, she charged...

[Lady Midnight]

(OOC Damn you're good Scarfair!)

The Lady charged, her long crimson hair flowing out behind her like fire and the hideous creatures fell one by one with each blow from her mighty blade. But there were many and she was only one woman. They closed in on her and for a while it seemed all was lost then suddenly, from somewhere amongst the trees , came a hail of arrows.

The Wargs fell and the Lady's hazel-brown eyes flicked monentarily towards the trees then back again as she continued hacking her way through the creatures that were left. She had hoped to see how many of their new allies were there but could see only leaves. She hoped whoever the archers were there were enough of them to put the odds back in their favour.

The Wargs too, were distracted by the arrows and several of them went off towards the trees. The Lady hoped that whoever they were they would be safe but at the same time was relieved at the diversion they had created. She and the woodsmen now had a chance.

Had it been like this that fateful night at BainÃ*n Fidean when the sky had rained down blood? She could not remember. She was just a child when it happened. A child who that night had been bestowed with an adult's responsibility. One which she did not know if she could live up to.

(OOC2 Okay that leaves the way open for Griff who expressed a wish to join us. Whenever you're ready Griff!)

[Griffin]

Jaden's hand was steady as he drew another arrow, aimed and released.

The projectile flew straight and true, straight through the throat of the first Warg.

He pulled another arrow and another, firing rapidly at the approaching Wargs. But there were too many to be taken out by just his bow. As they got nearer, Jaden drew his sword and calmed his breathing before jumping lightly into the fray. His arms moved quickly as his sword sliced through the thick hides of his opponents and he kept moving toward the glade where the main group of Wargs were.

As he approached he saw a woman with flowing crimson hair and he hurried to join her as more Wargs attacked.

[Lady Midnight]

The Lady looked once more towards the trees as she saw more Wargs fall. Would their new allies make themselves known to her? Some distance behind her the remaining woodsmen bravely fought on against the evil creatures but little good it did them. The Lady turned back as a blood-curdling cry escaped the lips of one of the woodsmen as he fell. It was too late to save him now. One solitary tear ran down her ivory fair cheek and her eyes bazed with anger and defiance as she hacked at the Wargs once more, relentlessly and without mercy. They had shown none so they deserved none.

Another movement amongst the trees attracted her attention and a handsome young Elven warrior appeared. He was magnificent, cutting the Wargs through and through until he reached her side. Together they fought, side by side, until the Wargs were no more. When it was finished the Lady turned to the Elf and said:

"You fought well. Who are you Sir?"

[Scarfair]

The Wargmaster paced along crumbled fortifications, tumbled barbalest towers, and broken sentry roads. The Iron Ring lay swaled thickly in frozen cloud, and shadows that moved within it could only be the spirits of ice and killing season. They shared the air with him, and Sligroth drew a black comfort from the shrieks of murderous frost and homicidal cold.

With the fall of The Black Hand, all the henchmen of Mordor needed comfort, searched for respite, toiled for succour. In the years since the War of the Ring, the new King in Gondor had made life for such cast-off evil a miserable proposition. For most of the lessor powers that Sauron commanded, death came swift at the hands of Elessar.

Of those lessor powers, Sligroth was counted among the strongest. Yet that strength was weak and puny compared to the power he'd gathered through the benefices of Mordor, for now he controlled nothing more than Wargs, stoats, and ravens. Gone were the days of giant spiders and fighting drakes. He no longer had the power to sway such evil, but surely there would be enough power left to him for revenge, yes?

Yes. For the Wargs of the North held their strength by cunning and stealth, going far into the heights and wastes where hunters would not, could not go. And Sauron's Huntsman knew well the places Wargs and wolves would gather. Thus he went there, and soon he'd gathered a force to be reckoned with, a force large enough and unexpected enough to foul his enemies and perhaps make the hunters into the hunted. No, he would never rule the world, never even control these mountains in which he walked, but surely he could reign over a small measure of deadly satisfaction? A few, shall we say, key murders? He nodded to himself as he walked. Yes, he could do that much.

He threw savage animals down his mountain, bade them to spread terror and death to the innocent that slept the false slumber of peace. And weeks of the terror finally paid off, for his greatest enemy moved in the hills below him, and vengence could be had very soon. Sligroth smiled wickedly and called his ravens to him. Now the very air would bear his evil to Estren, to dart and scratch at his eyes, to shadow and plot his movements, to drive him from shelter and force him no respite.

The Wargmaster paced atop the tumble-down fortress and tasted his plans again. Yes. Soon...

[Griffin]

"I am Jaden, I heard the sounds of battle and came to see what the matter was," he told the fair Lady as he surveyed the destruction they had reaped.

"Perhaps we should go deeper into the forest to ensure that there are none laying in wait for future travelers," Jaden suggested as he looked at the dead wargs.

[Lady Midnight]

The Lady looked at Jaden. She hadn't met many Elven-folk on her travels and found him intriguing. Moreover he had shown great skill in battle and she had been glad of his help.

"I thank you for your help good sir. Yes it would be wise to go further into the forest. We can ensure there are no unpleasant surprises."

She turned to the remaining woodsmen.

"You are welcome to come with us but doubtless you would wish to bury your dead first."

The woodsmen nodded and thanked her. The Lady gave a low, soft whistle and the dapple-grey horse appeared at her side. She gently stroked the horse's nose and said:

"Good girl Liath."

Then the Lady mounted and rode off into the forest with Jaden walking alongside.

After some distance the Lady gasped in horror. It was the body of a young man, brutally slain in his prime.

She had seen many such bodies of course, after all she was a warrior. But there was something about this one that cut her to the core. The Lady looked round her. There was no-one in sight. No attempt had been made to bury the body. She looked back at Jaden.

"Come help me bury him."

[Aragorn]

*I was wondering if maybe I could join, I have an ideal entrance for my character, all planned, I just need the go-ahead.*

[Feraway Hawkbriar]

And may I join too?