~ A Long Road to Mushrooms is a story being played out in the past in one of the Knigth's Forum RP threats. This is only my input ~
Zargodon gave a quick glance across from him as Ramield and Vearra spoke, behind them Jorla – the wild woman - rode in her still and contemplative way. There was nothing to be said now, he thought as they made their way through the gates of Hookworth. His village. The hush of preparation, of tasks done and deeds to be accomplished filled him with a deathly silence.
It was for quite some time that they rode in that manner, only his thoughts kept him company, none though that he felt he could share. He's had dreams, disturbing ones, dreams of a evil rising from the East – a dark and ominous shape, a vile and bloodthirsty grotesque abomination rose from the lands. They were always dreaded and feared dreams. Dreams of darkness and slaughter, of elven and Man blood spilled in unimaginable battelfield. The dreams has haunted him for a while now. But dreams were all they were, weren't they? His eyes cast darkly down at his old steed as he placed the dagger Brywyn gave him back into its sheath. He will miss her, but she's right, the knights need her now more then ever after Beongarn left.
Patting Gelanas on his old mane, his thoughts now inevitably turn back home, as it always seemed to do in the end. Oh how he missed the Havens, he missed his people – the laughter and the song, the feasts and the revelry. What he would not give to be able to return to the halls of his fathers. Mithlond stood far to the West, safe and secure. Or so they thought. But the danger is there, he can feel it.
Heaving a sigh, the elf looked up and gave Ramield a faint and quick smile. Much past between them without words it seemed. Both of them caught up in this world of Men; both of them not fleeing West.
He almost couldn't help but laugh as he thinks back at Brywyn, and what she must have thought about all this initially. But truly, Ramield and Vearra knew more about what awaits their mission.
He's a good scout and practiced with his bow, but it is more the knowledge of Vearra that this relies upon, not him. Jorla, though, on the other hand, he doesn't trust that well. That day she arrived in Hookworth – brazen and load, disrespectful and obnoxious – has left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. However, he trust Brywyn's wisdom, always will.
“Ramield?”, he called her riding beside him. “Do we still need to fetch any more supplies in Town? I'm a bit weary to go there with all our horses laden with our gear, but there might be a few things that needs to be acquired. What do you think?” he asked.
Before she could answer, a small smile crossed his lips. A bird, might be the same sparrow from before, was following their course up in the air. Never will that seize to amaze him, the avian flight of the skies. Looking down, he shakes his head dismissively. “Sorry, carry on”
