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04/19/2024 01:11 PM
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|No Birdsong in Fangorn|
The world of Arda was one that others might call a world of fantasy, of elves, dwarves, hobbits, goblins, wizards and orcs, the promise that such a world actually existed seemed to be minuscule at best and impossible at worst for those who did not travel far from their home. But it was perhaps the world of imagination that was the most likely possible, especially within the vast expanse of space and time. With seemingly infinite worlds beyond the stars one could potentially meet anything, so who was to say that our own dreams were not a reality somewhere in that infinite?
Lesley Surin stood on the hilltop near the hut in which she lived, she had chosen this place for it's expansive foraging potential and the river conveniently ran nearby. She had hoped some time ago that there she might figure out the cure for her ailing world, the illness that had claimed many took hold with fever and cough, and it seemed it affected everything that breathed air. She had retreated to the mountains to seek the remedy and found it in the flower simbelmyne, but when she had searched for others to cure... it was too late. Many were gone or past saving, and Lesley wandered the long roads of many realms and towns only to find that she was the soul survivor. That fate should play such a cruel trick on her seemed surreal and she often thought for some time that she was in a bad dream, or that she had somehow done something to anger the Valar, the gods of her world, to condemn her to this last bit of torture.
The only thing that kept her going was the efforts to preserve her world's history, especially in that of her father's kin. She was a dwelf, half of dwarf and of elf blood, daughter of a renown dwarf craftsman Narvi and granddaughter of the elven lord Celebrimbor. Her beliefs in the halls of Mandos as an afterlife and the prospect of Durin some day waking once more from his slumber to rekindle the line of dwarven folk spurred her on to try and document, bury and honor anyone and everyone she came across, be they dwarf, elf or hobbit kind. This, of course, seemed a futile effort, a mere dent could not be made by a single person, but though it seemed an impossible task, she took it on, her survivor's guilt compelling her towards the work that gave her a purpose as an amends to her failure to her world.
The horizon seemed red in the dusk of evening, she was searching for something to eat, some plant matter of some sort, as there was no animal life left, there was not even a birdsong to hear. Surprisingly the plants were not affected by this ailment that hung over Middle-Earth, and she was able to find some wild garlic and mushrooms. Carrying them in a basket she paused in her step, about to make her way home when something caught her eye. What she could only surmise as a piece of the horizon's painting falling from the sky was actually a shuttle, she was unaware that beyond the stars someone had taken an interest in her lonely world, and that they had some trouble transporting to the surface of the Mithril riddled planet, for even the small craft seemed to struggle with the pull of the metal's field. As the shuttle came down at a great speed to disappear behind the trees of Fangorn Forest she stared with wide eyes, uncertain what magic had suddenly come to play. Is this the awakening of Durin? She thought to herself as she startled and began to run towards the forest, her curiosity and the need to help governing over her caution as she made her way to the place she last saw the vessel.
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04/03/2024 03:15 PM
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|Comfrey and Chamomile|
[TW: Blood, Death]
Comfrey, known to grow in pastures and fields this plant is a good remedy for scratches, wounds and even broken bones when used well. The field that stretched before the young lady waved it's greeting in the sway of the grass that stood to her waist, and she did not yet know that the herb she sought for today would become such a necessity very soon. Picking up her feet Lesley, aged fifteen with long brown hair and a sage green kirtle dress and white apron, moved through the field, her eyes scanning the rustle of green and grassy beige for any signs of the purple that usually adorned the plant. She was also looking for chamomile, for her father Narvi had been sleeping less and less due to his cough, and she had hoped that the chamomile along with the honey and ginger would help restore him. Walking over the grassy knolls of the large field she began to see the flowers she had been searching for, the deep royal color attached to the short stems and wide and fuzzy leaves made her grin in accomplishment as she knelt down and gathered the plant carefully. No chamomile, sadly, but she would try again the next day.
On her way back with her basket in hand Lesley looked up at the mountain's peeks, or what she could see of them, she was close to them and the trees began to block the majestic view of the Misty Mountains, her eyes squinted in the approaching dusk as they then cast down at the stillness of Mirrormere, though traversed greatly by many travelers as of late she felt an odd and lonely eeriness about the place, the still waters and lack of wind within the great bowl-like landscape always was strange to her. The only things she really liked were the doors and the holly trees, from which she picked it's leaves and berries often for the apothecary, for they were short enough to gather from at this point in time. Stopping to do so Lesley smiled as she surveyed the vibrant color of the evergreen, eventually stepping into the door (that now was often open with the guards nearby) with a handful of the plant.
"Nana, I'm sorry but I couldn't find chamomile. Perhaps the lavender will do him some good tonight." Lesley called out as she entered the healing house, moving towards the counter where she could lay out the herbs and begin the drying process. From the hall an elf appeared with auburn hair, her beauty was what most called exquisite, as the daughter of the Lord of Eregion, the Lady Miriel had a countenance that held both kind elegance and firm authority. Her features flickered with a concern as she heard this news, though she quickly hid this from her daughter as she neared Lesley with a gentle smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "You did what you could, my dear. Lavender may well help him too." She said in a gentle and assuring tone as she moved to find some twine for her daughter's herbs, Lesley glanced up as she gathered the comfrey into a bundle, and soon with her mother's help tied it and hung it up on the rafter above the counter just beyond the young girl's reach.
It was then that they heard noise from the halls just outside of the door of the healing house, both their expressions sharpened in curiosity and concern as the pained yelling and shuffling of feet grew near. "Lesley, find a pillow and bandages." Miriel urged as Lesley hoped down from her seat on the counter and dashed towards the long shelves in the back of the room, gathering the bandages before making her way to the next room for a pillow. As she did this she could hear her mother meeting with the dwarves that had entered the sanctuary of healing, listening to her mother's efforts to calm the injured one down as she tried to tend to them. As Lesley pulled out a pillow from the closet she heard a deep baritone cry out in a desperate plea. "Brother, now is not the time for bitterness! You're wounded!"
"Get away from me! I'd rather die than be in debt to an elf!" Lesley heard the agonized voice counter as there was shuffling and yells of pain, she heard glass breaking and a loud thud and Lesley quickly ran to the main room. There the young girl stopped frozen for some moments, her eyes welled up as she saw the crimson tapestry on the floor as her mother lay in labored breath, a knife on the floor and the two brothers wrestling with the injured dwarf to subdue his rage. "Nana!"
Lesley dropped the pillow and knelt down beside Miriel, her eyes shimmered in unshed tears as her own breaths quickened in panic, her thoughts desperately grasping at what she could do to save her mother. Glancing towards the rafters she stood and dashed to the counter, climbing on top of it to reach the comfrey. Her fingers barely reached it as she managed to clasp a few of the leaves and flower buds in her hand, her fist clenched around the meager gather as she jumped down from the counter and returned to her mother's side. "Nana?... Nana, say something." Her hand pressed the now bruised and crumpled herb into the wound as her voice shook, a frenzied attempt to staunch the blood under her palm as she trembled. A she did so she felt a palm cup her cheek, Lesley's shimmering eyes looked up to her mother's as Miriel's paling expression held similar tears of grief, unable to hide her concern for her daughter even as her words were an effort to calm her.
"Don't be frightened, sellig. You're a strong girl." Miriel murmured quietly as she stared up at her daughter in love and admiration, the lady's breath hitched softly as Lesley felt her world slipping away from her grasp. "Nana, please-.... please..." Lesley's voice suddenly held the tone of a small child, her cheeks damp as she begged and shook her head, her features grimaced as her mother's features grew still and the hand that held her cheek so tenderly now fell to the wound on her chest. As the halls outside the healing house gathered with concerned dwarves they could hear the echoes of the young girl's crying, the stone meeting the sounds of agony with relentless indifference as the halls lost their healer and the lady devoted to their people's well-being.
Sitting at the closed gates Lesley stared at the stones that sat at the foot of the holly trees, her expression held the grief that it had a year ago when you father Narvi passed away by his illness and heartbreak, the impact his wife's death had on him was too much to bear. Looking to the engraved stones that sat near the roots of each tree Lesley felt a breeze for the first time in Mirrormere, but the rustling of the branches gave little comfort as she sat. Her heart unable to quite accept the loss even now, and yet despite this she couldn't bring herself to hate the dwarves, her lovely father's kin, though she had every right to. The memory of him forbade it, too in love with his teachings and her home to turn from it. But in this moment, faced with the absence of both of whom she loved most, she realized she could never face the wrath of a dwarf, knowing that the expression she might see, the one her mother must have seen just before her passing, was one that would be too difficult on her spirit to behold.
She would therefore keep her lineage safe, like the necklace she wore, hidden underneath her tunic. As she gazed at the gravestones that sat so peacefully Lesley murmured her goodbyes in both Khuzdul and Sindarin before she stood from the rocky ground, her bag on her shoulder as she stepped away, only pausing for a final glance before she then walked along the water's edge and towards the westward paths.
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03/28/2024 11:27 PM
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|Rules|
Perhaps they can be described as guidelines or just information as to how I write. You might find some of these too difficult to abide, in which case I won't feel injured if you decide to leave, I understand everyone is different. With that said, I ask for respect and understanding as I endeavor to offer the same. Anything less and I ask you to bow out now. Let us get on with it.
Firstly, my health makes it so that my time on here may be phases of obsessive constance or some bouts of absence, I understand if it's too trying but I ask for patience. I do my best.
Lesley is by no means impervious, and I should hope that that is a feature, not a flaw, at least when it comes to writing a good storyline. I don't wish for anyone to seek out to obliterate my character, but I don't oppose to a good battle when the story calls for one either. On that note, I don't like God-Mode, if you're to battle with me, don't make it so that you snap your fingers and I'm gone, such a plot has little appeal to me, let us both have something to work with. I don't mind a powerful foe, but let's be reasonable. Besides, I like to seek friends that I can stand beside rather than stand against.
Either messages or comments will do for our writing, it is up to you. But be warned, I am better at keeping track of what I owe if they are through messages, so if you feel I may have lost you in the pile of parchment on my desk, I don't mind a message reminding me. But I am not one to rush, so I hope you'll be understanding.
If you've seen my headline you'll know that I am Multi-Ship/LI, this means that I don't keep to a linear storyline. Not every storyline I make will then be translated to others I am writing or have written. Good on you if you're that skilled, sadly I must work around that. This also means that I might develope more than one romantic storyline in other writings. This isn't Tinder, neither I nor my character are yours if our characters happen to become romantically connected, these are stories and I don't believe in nailing down characters as if it's a dating app. In our story Lesley is faithful unless somehow we both write it otherwise, but that is for our story. None of the others are connected to it. If you have an issue with this, please let me know ahead of time so that we might avoid misunderstanding. With that said, I'm not one to dive into a romantic attachment either, I want it to develop in the story, and I'm not eager to try for this with everyone I meet.
I am by no means a Tolkien expert (though those who have seen my living space in real life might argue otherwise), I don't know every detail, I've not seen Rings of Power (yet) and considering that Tolkien made a total of 15 languages for Middle-Earth I would dare say it will be a long time before I become close to well versed in the world. I hope you'll be patient with me and kindly correct me if I make any mistakes. Sindarin and Khuzdul are difficult languages to learn, the later especially considering it's so secret, so I appreciate any constructive help given.
I like to read, so I appreciate whatever you can give me in length when it comes to our writing. I may not ask you to describe the trees as painfully detailed as Tolkien does, but please give me something to bounce off of. I don't want you to feel too burdened by our storyline or feel that you are overwhelmed, there are times when I can't muster as many sentences as I would like, so I am understanding if you suddenly have a hard time meeting my energy, I don't expect you to. Just do your best, and I'll do the same.
Don't tell me who I can or cannot be friends with. You'd be surprised how quick people are willing to just cut someone off at the word of one person without getting the full story, but I can assure you, I am certainly not one of them. If you're concerned for my well-being and have evidence to the accusation, I can understand bringing it up, but don't be surprised if I take it with a heavy grain of salt. I'm here as an adult to write and have fun, not relive the drama of my highschool days.
I suppose that is it for the present. Please let me know if you have questions.
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03/27/2024 09:57 PM
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|Unveiled Mask|
 "Lesley Surin... I confess, I nearly missed the connection, Lesley is such a common name, don't you think? You must feel at home with..those companions of yours down there."
King Thranduil's greeting to the woman was hardly such, he felt he was above such formalities to others even if he held the standard to those who dared speak to him. Lesley Surin and the company of Thorin Oakenshield had been taken captive by the elves of the Woodland Realm after their skirmish with giant and poisonous spiders, the children of Ungoliant had weakened the company considerably so the poor dwarves had little fight left to give to the elves. Lesley, being the only woman of the company, was feeling her nerves at their greatest standing in front of the King of Mirkwood, who had summoned her to come from her captive place to the throne room. It had been what she had dreaded most of all when she had realized they had trespassed onto elven ground, she had practically buried herself within the shadows in the back of her cage, but it had done nothing to prevent being recognized, she could only hope that the company that sat in their own prison cells had not been told of her origins.
Thranduil looked over to Lesley, his expression that of snide and obvious amusement while still obtaining the grace and elegance he was so used to showing in his regal status. Coming down the stairs as he stood from his chair he stared at the huntress with almost a curiosity to his eyes, studying her for a moment before speaking again as if he had expected an answer from her that didn't come. "Hm, just as stubborn as ever, I see. I personally am glad to see it, though foolish it may be. It just strengthens my opinion of them. Your dear dwarven 'King' has no notion to relent my gems to me, and for that he has condemned his little band of dwarves to my prison, possibly for the rest of their lives, but you.... You, Lesley, are not of their kind, not lost to their ways. I can help you."
To Lesley, Thranduil's intentions were clear, to let her go under the pretext that she help him gain the jewels back from Erebor, without knowledge of the mountain he had no hope to safely claim them should the dragon be still alive. And without Thorin to stop her Thranduil hoped that she might sneak into the halls and find the gems, but Lesley's eyes fixed on the elven king with an almost sickening glare, finally finding her voice as she spoke to him with a deep and menacing tone. "I am of their kind enough to acknowledge your treachery, Thranduil. You'll not have me as your servant, not for my breath of life." To this answer the king blinked his shining eyes with an heir of surprise and curiosity. "You would deny your kind for the sake of the creatures that sit in the dungeons below?"
"I would deny you for a cup of water when I've had two before. You who betrayed my people, my home. You denied them safety and aid, I deny you my help and my trust." Lesley sneered with these words as if to spit them at him, to which Thranduil almost gave a chuckle of amusement before approaching the maiden again. Standing close he reached his hand upwards towards her face, Lesley made to strike it away but the guards close by were quick to restrain her. Thranduil paused, a grin on his pale and long features evident that he knew, the others below had yet to discover...
"I wonder what your cherished company thinks of having you in their little quest. How they must feel promising a share of their treasure to you, one of what they despise the most." In these whispered words Thranduil brushed her hair back, admiring the pointed ear that was hidden. He stood back with his shoulders high, his voice stronger with a raised chin. "You're of our kind, Lesley. You cannot hide it forever, and those fools will abandon you for the gold and riches you desire to gain." His voice held a menacing slyness, and Lesley was unaware that their conversation was overheard by the leader of the company, by the Elvenking's design.
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