Brigands

He lay on his back. His eyes would have been staring at the sky, if he could have opened them. One was already a swollen mess, mind-numbing pain shooting from it that he was sure he was blind. The other eye he could open just a crack, though he could not make out much of anything. His whole body ached and burnt with pain. He tried to focus his thoughts away from the pain to listen to the Men’s harsh voices and understand what they were arguing about. 

Fumbling with the key in his left hand, Jexson knocked aside the offer of help from the straw-head, Wolfrun, and all but forced the door. It swung open with a soft creak. He headed for his chair by the table, thinking if Wolfrun and Davion were not with him, he would have just collapsed on his bed. 

(Warning: Group violence against individuals.)

Naraal had led Captain Greenfield to the side-street tavern with the fewest cockroaches. He knew the Prancing Pony would probably be better accommodation, but there was also the matter of discretion. 

Not that Greenfield seemed in any way discreet.

 ( Hounds and Hobbits, by Parnard  to read about Guy's rescue.)

Days had passed since tidying of the brigand encampment had begun. Daphne worked at whatever pace she felt like keeping, but it was still nice to have something to do beyond pacing her little cabin with her mind churning over her predicament.

It is said that the first of us awoke late at night, under skies of unclouded stars, and the stars were their earliest memory. They loved all of Arda, but were ever moved most in heart by the stars, and the hours of twilight and morrow-dim.(1) 

So it is said. So I have found among most of our kind. 

It took us nigh an hour to ride to the place near Tighfield. A high dark ridge was to our right, like a shadow looming against the starlit sky. The air was cool and fresh, with just a small promise of rain and a far off hint of fire. All was still, save from the occasional hoot of an owl. Some distance ahead and off to the right, a few lanterns could be spotted, twinkling like far lesser stars in the windows of some of the Halfling’s homes.

Parnard Teludarion is a wood elf from the Greenwood. Little more than a child in his six hundred and fifty years compared to we two First Age Noldor, yet he is our mutual friend and ally. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for with curiosity, wit and eloquence. Though seemingly trained in the ways of combat I am uncertain if it is according to his people’s way, as he eschews a bow and knife (save for eating) and instead uses a longsword, Steel-Thorn, made for him by Estarfin.