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Rangers

oasis

Submitted by Olwing on July 13th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
I wake to the nagging of my bladder. I ask it, is this really necessary. Like an insisting child, it keeps returning to my conciousness. But I am so relaxed. In the charmed circle of the fire, nestled in the furs, I am finally warm. The thought of deliberately leaving this nest ... but no... there it is again.

burnt man and that helm giffer

Submitted by Steora on July 12th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

All mornin' He has me there in the word-hoard. Questions, over an' over, as if I aint already told Him all I was rememberin'. Least i got a drink of His wine. so now I know what Gyth gets.

Chronicle link: 
The King's Man and the Faithful

The oncoming storm

Submitted by Filrean on July 10th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
They stood together overlooking the valley that housed the stronghold of Esteldin, her hand resting on his as they spoke of what was to be, of the hunt that must now happen and of how Filrean would be of help to him, despite not being able to go along on the hunt.

kinswoman

Submitted by Olwing on July 6th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
We met a kinswoman of his in the pass. A fortunate encounter, he was unsure where the nomads were camped. She directed us down to the part- frozen lake, over a trail of ice-encased slithering stones. A broken arm itching to happen.

first night

Submitted by Olwing on July 2nd, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
I am alive. Snow is not so bad. My first night, my first snow. Wolves in the wind, but nothing to truly disturb us. We camp in the high pass, on the snow itself. It is wetter than I thought, sticks to branches, falls with a heavy plop from the trees. The movement of the occasional bird sends it falling, like a rain of droppings, white and sticky.

choices

Submitted by Olwing on June 13th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
Preparations to be made. I left him scouring the refuge for whatever can be spared or bartered for. It is better so - I trust his judgement - what do I know about snow? Time too, for him to reflect upon the choice he has made ... or his victory... however he may see it.

salt

Submitted by Olwing on June 10th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Oaths, vows, given-words, bindings. What is a true Man without them? They prove us, like yeast in the bread, we rise or fall without them. Shape us, like hard hands chipping stone, revealling the form hidden within. We do not know what we will become when we take them, how they will grow us -or stunt us.

Would he take an oath to Gondor? I told him to consider his response carefully. Was being oathsworn to Gondor a price he would pay to accompany me ? - for I will not risk a thing that is not mine.

biscuit

Submitted by Olwing on May 28th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
I woke this morning with my face on a twice-baked biscuit. He must have gone before dawn, leaving them beside me. Too close. The day is clear and bright, thin whisps of cloud high above me. A day to move on into the hills. Last night before I slept I resolved to do so, get away from the compelling, befuddling lake. I need to see more of the hills, to take what I gained from my questions and relate it to the land. Up high perhaps my mind will be clearer - a test too then - to see if this lady of his is real, if her powers are bound to water.

dance

Submitted by Olwing on May 26th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
Three days, three nights here at the lake. We are like slow-moving dancers in a new unlearned figure. We meet together then move apart, him to whatever he does here, me to duty; but in each circling one is still while the other leaves and returns. Then, reformed, we sit and talk and the stars or sun shift across the sky seen and unseen, sensed but unknown.

roast 'em, boil 'em, stick 'em in a stew ...

Submitted by Steora on May 26th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
a fat coney! And ... a bag of silver pennies! A good day, a fine day, a wit-filled day! I come up over Archet seein' to the snares, and there is the helm-man and three slouchy shady folk. Heh... I dursn't realise he was one o' a gang a theives. They'm standing around, spyin' on the village. Stupid stonelendings, nothin' in Archet worth havin'. Iffen there were ... I'd've sold it back to 'em.
Chronicle link: 
The King's Man and the Faithful

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