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The search for Nimlith

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The sky was stormy, and the Elves arrived under cover of thick fog.
"This is to our advantage." Mirineth, the leader of the assembled party looked up at the rain from underneath the cover of the ancient watchtower at Gwingris. "The enemy will not be forewarned of an army assembling here."

PART TWO: Hidden Truths

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

PART TWO: Hidden Truths

Letter to Lord Mithon

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
This is a Letter

My dearest Cousin,

It has been long months since last I heard from you; but I know you reside in Imladris still.

I trust this letter reaches you, and the message it contains is taken to heart.

My wife, Malliel, and I are to journey homeward; to Caras Galadhon, where our child is to be born.

Ventris Journal, Entry Three

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
Entry: Third Dated: 16th of July Subject: Duty and Revenge We are so few in number, that a death of one of us is something we cannot take lightly. After the Sacking, there are so few of us Calthrian’s remaining I do not think we can start over again. I think of all of us, Zelderan has suffered the worst. The death of Sabrial, most of the Fifth Company, his son Ravenal…And now Athenna. *Isilorbor closes his eyes for a moment, fighting down dark clouds in his mind before carrying on*

Bree, Old Gal

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story
She had but arrived at the edge of the town yet the wave of noise and life had already rolled over the road and engulfed her breath. Temperancia almost felt the dampness causing her skin to crawl. She stood still and looked down at the town ahead: what energy, what welcome! She had just before ridiculed and forgotten her amazement as a wee girl in her first time in Bree and now she stands, dethroned, a lasting blowing wind left in its wake. The exciment. She drew near and observed: the garbage on the ground, the people and their stride. But the streets!

Anglachelm's Hall of Fire Speech

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

...I Anglachelm of Gondolin, In search of my sister and fate has ever been on my tail, had gone east some years ago. For those who were lucky to not hear the most disturbing of news, i apologise greatly now as they too will learn what happened.

My Lords and Ladies, we have been living in strange times. Neither the darkness have had a total victory on our light, nor the light of Valar could triumph over the darkness of Morgoth entirely.

Eglanel

Eglanel
Status: 
Active
Race: 
Elf

T.A. 2977 - the birth of a ranger.

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story
Rain, lots of it. The rain fell fast, hitting the ground with more strength than the usual shower. Esteldín's guard watched, whilst the rain hit there hoods, they watched and looked out for the enemy. Yet one, was inside... as something special was about to happen for him, even when it was raining. Inside the old fort, in the centre of Esteldín, a child was to be born, to a certain ranger named Amrarath, and another ranger named Glorenyth. It was a moment to remember for them both, if they could endure that moment for long enough, which they could not.

Strangers and Rangers

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story
Lieve quite often met people through playing her harp at the Pony, they noticing her standing on the podium at the back of the common room of the Pony, practising as was her custom. Often they listened for a while then merely nodded or smiled and left, occasionally they would start a conversation with her. It was in this way that she met a man dressed in black with a hood covering most of his head who came up to listen to her. She was playing one of her favourite songs and watched him as she played, intrigued.

drinking with the enemy

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

She sits. Because I tell her to sit. I am a man of passion, and dark humours boil within me now. She is wise to heed my words and do as I command.

I pour two glasses of the finest red that I have. The cut of the glasses deepen and intensify the rich colour of the wine. It is too crude to liken it to the blood of my man that she has caused to be spilt. My man, to me. To her and her ilk, just a Man.What can they know, secure within their timelessness, about what life is? About what life is, to a Man?

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