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Olwing

awake

Submitted by Olwing on June 17th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
I saw my sister running through the orange groves, the black braids in her hair bouncing up and down on her back, shrieking with laughter. As she ran past me she turned and smiled, her eyes full of life. I saw my own hand lift to wave at her, then watched them return to their work. Beneath my fingers I pulled free the constricting leather lacing holding the unkempt tail of hair, began patiently to untangle the dark strands flecked with silver.

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.

blue lake

Submitted by Olwing on June 8th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
We huddle together as close as two babes in the same belly. The need is unspoken. We are Men - and whatever happened today, whatever force directed the waters - was not. We are Men, and for all our valour and our shining swords, we know when to find a fortress to shelter us from the unknown. A refuge of reality from which we can stare out at the world when it twists into an unknown shape around us. Here, no stone, nothing made by the hands of Men to seek a refuge in. Flesh then must do, and the solidity of bone, the regular familiar in and out of breathing to remind us that there is reality.

eyes

Submitted by Olwing on June 7th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
I admit, at first it un-nerved me. A tree, with eyes peering out of its bark, like two blinking knot-holes in its wood, branches moving like true limbs... and a laugh from what I suppose was a mouth. But then, I think.. a dog can blink, and laughter is no sign of intelligence. Even an adle-pated fool can laugh.

mockery

Submitted by Olwing on May 31st, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
I took him into the goblin encampment. He did well; attentive, alert, swift acting but not impatient. His lack of training in true discipline is obvious, but not a great encumberance - I warrant it is because he acts so often alone. His skill is with the bow, would that I had the strength to draw such a one as he carries. Without a shield he is forced to defend himself with a second blade. Admirable.

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.

flower

Submitted by Olwing on May 27th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Unsettling information from Godric needed my attention. I left him at the hill refuge - I judge it better for him to know nothing more. I made my way towards the ruined lakeside city, Annuminas they call it. As he said, they are there. I can almost scent them.

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.

grey

Submitted by Olwing on May 25th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary
Godric is set to help the good folk of the hillside refuge. They speak of men driven to plunder old graves by lack of food and hardship. So respect dies in the north it seems; pushed to the edge by hard times. The local folk speak of evil-enamoured men and women, moving towards the ruins of the lake-side city. Leaving Godric to work with them may reveal more of what is happening here.

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