((I will try to update the story as much as possible – but in small portions ;) This will mean that I will also bump into old RP storys of Laurelin. I will try my best to keep it short, interesting and not the least – I will try to be as correct as my memory grants me on the people, the times and other happenings that has its place in the story – but created by others.
Hope you all bare with me… :P ))
Thunder and lightning roams the skies, and the rain almost falls sideways from the strong storm winds.
The wind hits Arangilas little shack, making sounds that easily could be mistaken for growling, moaning and howling from creatures of nature – as if they were stuck in a trap, understanding that their last hour has come. And they can do nothing else but to wait for the inevitable…
Arangilas sits in his chair in front of the fireplace. In one hand he has a glass of red wine, in the other he holds his lit pipe. A thin but warm elven-made blanket is stretched over his body.
His eyes are fixed on the flames. They almost look like dancing concubines… temptresses… Like the ones he has seen many times on his travels… Louring their prey into their cages with a promise of lust and ecstasy…
He knows all to well to get drawn into their web of illusions…
But still… the dancing flames before him – draws him into the same kind of trance…
A trance where all the memories from passed times finds him.
Sometimes comforting him…
Sometimes haunting him…
He takes a sip of his wine - never shifting his gaze from the flames - not even blinking…
A slight knock on the door snaps him out of his trance and brings him back to reality.
He calmly gets up. He knows who it is. He has been waiting for this man.
He opens the door just as the thunder rolls and a lightning bolt strikes somewhere over the hills in the horizon.
The flash of light gives the whole sky a bright white glow, contouring the cloaked man on the front steps.
The man takes of his hood. His face hardened by weather and wind from years on the roads.
Arangilas lets his eyes rest on the mans face for a few seconds,
without expressing any emotions…
Then suddenly the two of them both burst out in heartfelt laughter and embraces each other in a welcoming tight lock of arms.
“It is good to see you, my old friend” the man says as he gives Arangilas a good tight squeeze.
Arangilas smiles widely at his friend and nods in agreement
“It has been to long, Guren linna cened len, Gwandor vell. Please come inside”
(Guren linna cened len, Gwandor vell = Sindarin: my heart sings to see you, beloved brother/associate)
Arangilas sidesteps and lets the man come in from the rain.
The man lets his eyes wander the small shack that Arangilas now uses as home and smirks.
“This is truly a little different from the house you used to have in Ered Luin, Berinsael” (Berinsael is a nickname given to Arangilas by this man = Sindarin; Berin = Brave / Sael = Wise)
The man chuckles as he continues to study the worn down shack.
Arangilas pours some wine into a clean glass and hands it to his friend.
“Well, my friend… These are different times. And I have no need for that big cold place anymore…”
Arangilas points his friends wet cloak and points at a thick spike of a nail on the wall.
“Hang your cloak there friend and come sit by the fire. We have much to discuss and a lot of catching up to do”
The man nods with a smile and places his wine on the table, then hangs his cloak on the spike.
His arms are bare from the shoulders and down – showing a few scars and a big tattoo on his left underarm depicting a dragon spitting fire on a shielded and armoured man – making his last stand towards the great beast.
On the underside of his right arm though, is a peculiar little tattoo.
Arangilas knows this tattoo and its meaning well… he has one of his own on the underside of his right arm.
The same place as his visitor.
He lets his finger run over the little ornament, lost in thoughts for a second…
The man smiles and points at Arangilas tattoo.
“Do you remember the day we got those, Berinsael?”
Arangilas minds starts to travel back to that particular day.
First to be returning to Bree and to be starting the task of reforming the knights.
And also… This was the day he first met her…
“I sure do, Gwandor vell. It was a joyous day indeed…”
((To be continued))
