A New Season

Summer was coming.  The wet rains of spring were slowly giving way to warm winds coming from the west.  The water in the rivers and streams was running warmer.  Artem could see the vibrant flora and fauna of this part of the Wilderlands changing before his eyes.  Season change was important to the elvish people.  Their immortality led to an affinity for experiencing external change.  The elves had a saying that translated roughly to the common tongue of man:

"If one is patient, the world will change for you"

Artem always disliked that expression, he felt as if it was symbolic of the apathy and isolationism of the elvish people.  In his travels he had begun to appreciate it's deeper meaning.  He began to experience the change that is so hard to see in the elvish realm.  He could see his companions age before his eyes.  He could see the children of the Woodsmen taking their first steps.  He could see the change brought to these lands by Beorn and the tiny Easterly Inn.

He could also see the growing shadow.

If he was patient enough, would the world turn to light or to shadow?

He slowed his pace a bit so the hobbit and dwarf would not grow weary.  The Beorning, Beran always kept a steady pace without complaint.  Artem had grown fascinated with the Thane.  He had never had a human friend before.  He was solemn and honorable, but had a zeal for life reminiscent of the hobbit.  Meeting such individuals of the child races almost made his own race seem even more cold and distant.....if nor for Irime.

They had just set out on their journey to accompany her to the west.  She smiled and spoke softly.  She was warm and smelled of lilacs.  Artem was enamored with her.  He tried to avoid staring at her, but found that a hopeless venture.

Why had she selected them to accompany her west?  Surely Legolas and the elvish warriors would have been a more capable force to protect her?  Where was she going?  Artem knew that she was far too elusive to find out her destination and motives with direct questions.  He could only hope that she would reveal more as they walked this road together.  Until then, he was content to enjoy the view.

Who is Watching?

How could a lowly human brigand like Valtar have obtained an object of such evil?  Everything else fell in line with what Elladan had grown to know of humans.  There existed a significant portion of the race who would squander what little mortal life they were afforded on petty squabbles over territory or some long past slight.  Valtar supposed himself the true king of Dale.  The veracity of his claim to the human city did not interest Elladan in the slightest.  The human was a savage and a slaver.  The two arrows he sent through the petty tyrant's throat were well spent to rid the Wilderlands of his cruelty.

The morally ambiguous tale of Odrik, a lost soul who slew a fellow man responsible for attacking a woman...that made sense to Elladan.  Human passion burns quickly and red hot like a torch.  Odrik's flight from the village for a new life, made sense.  His capture by Valtar's henchmen, plausible.  Odrik's bargaining for his life by selling out his own kin was morally reprehensible, yet still fell in line with what Elladan had grown to know about the reasoning of humans.  All of these things were explainable.

It was the severed head.  The sunken black eyes, the stretched skin and the gaping mouth.  The eyes...the hideous eyes.  They haunted his thoughts and disturbed his meditations.  They were filled with shadow and blackness.  He had heard stories of undead agents of the Shadow using such things to communicate.  But how did it end up in a chest in Valtar's tent?  Valtar was a petty bandit lord.  He was no servant of the Shadow.  Or was he?  Were the whispers of a necromancer to the south more than mere tales?  Did Valtar merely stumble upon it and keep it as a prize or was there more?

Once again the vision of those eyes ensnared his thoughts.   The hollow, sunken black eyes.

These thoughts raced through Elladan's mind as he was sitting cross legged in the grass under an oak tree, full of the green leaves of summer.  Suddenly he felt as if he were falling backwards into a bottomless abyss.  Everything went to black.

"You have seen the darkness and it haunts you, yes?"

The voice was Irime's.  He could hear the concern in her softly spoken words.  For the first time since he had left Valtar's tent his mind was focused on a different set of eyes, the lovely chestnut brown eyes of Irime.

"Yes, I saw it.  I cannot clear my mind of it.  What does it mean?  How did that fall into the possession of a human bandit?"  Elladan asked the vision.

"Lord Thranduil, suspects much, but knows little for certain.  We are all sensing a growing darkness to the south.  Orcs and men are being used as pawns in servitude to the Shadow.  You must investigate, Elladan.  The others must not know that you serve as Lord Thranduil's agent.  The Shadow must be kept unaware of the fact that the eyes of Mirkwood and Lorien are transfixed upon it."

"I will do my best, my lady." he replied with solemn conviction.

"I know you will Elladan.  Keep safe.  You have more allies than you know" she replied.

As suddenly as the vision of Irime came, it passed just as quickly.  Once again Elladan was sitting alone under the oak tree.

He opened his eyes to study the beauty of the Wilderlands in the throes of summer for only a moment.  Such beauty needs protection, he thought to himself.

He rose to find his companions.  He found solace in their company.  The newest addition, the Beorning human known as Beran, was honorable and capable.  Elladan felt comfort in knowing that one more blade was at his side as they faced the looming dangers ahead.

Ranging the Wilds

The air was getting colder.  Steam rose off the wet moss on the trees and hung low over the shallow brooks to the east.  He sat perched on a limb around fifteen feet off of the forest floor.  He had been studying its tracks and the shallow scrapes it had made during the pre-rut season to mark the boundaries of its range.  Elladan knew it would only be a matter of moments before it passed through this close group of pines again.  Nature is wild, but predictably wild he thought to himself.

Suddenly he heard the gentle fall of hooves on the bed of pine needles blanketing the forest floor below him.  It was a large buck, majestic and tall.  Without making a sound he aimed his bow and let loose an arrow.  The point pierced the heart of the stag and it dropped instantly, with minimal pain and suffering.

The lithe elf dropped from the tree above and quickly dressed the animal.  He took care to save the hide as well as the meat.  Within moments he had his prize strapped to his back and was running at full speed through the dense woods.

The events of the fall raced through his mind.  The caravan, the rescue of the hobbit maid and their flight from the Goblin King.  Wicked enemies would not soon forget such a grievous slight to their perverted sense of honor.  Elladan did not believe they had seen the last of that goblin band.

His traveling companion, Podo, had been smitten with the feisty hobbit maiden they had rescued.  Elladan wondered if he might soon be losing his charmed little friend to a life of marriage and comfort?  He certainly did not begrudge Podo his happiness.  They had seen dark things and places in their short time together.  The shadow seemed to grow stronger with each step further away from their homelands, though there were pockets of vibrant life such as the quaint Easterly Inn.  Elladan also found hope in the settlements of the Woodmen.  The Beornings to their north were gruff and secretive people, but the Woodmen to the south were more open.  They were more pragmatic about life in the Wilderlands.

He continued his brisk run through the trees until he came close to their edge.  A clearing was ahead.  He had approached a settlement of the Woodmen.  Their small wood and stone dwellings had chimneys billowing warm grey smoke from their hearthfires.  Elladan smiled a bit.  He raced into the center of the group of homes undetected and hung the deer from a small rack.  It would mean food and warmth for these people.

Suddenly he heard movement behind him.  He turned quickly and saw a small child peering at him from behind a pile of firewood.  The boy was no more than 6 years old.  The boy waved at him quickly and then hid low behind the wood pile.  Elladan pulled a small wooden flute from his pack and placed it on top of the firewood.  He could see a small, wooden toy sword tied to the belt of the little boy.

"Good morning brave warrior" Elladan whispered to the child, who was still hiding behind the woodpile.

After a moment, the boy peered up over the edge of the woodpile, but the tall Elf was gone.

Brandishing a dagger in a shaking hand

How had he been so foolish?  In the midst of the battle, his keen elvish senses had failed him.  The tiny hobbit maiden who had so valiantly come to his aid had been swept away into a hidden underground tunnel by the foul creatures.  The image of her stepping out from the pile of crates and brandishing that small dagger to fend off an approaching goblin...a goblin seeking not her, but who was approaching to disrupt his own arrows...

Elladan hung his head a bit and sighed.

"Hobbits will never cease to amaze me" he thought in silence to himself.  For it was Podo who had tried to shame him for killing a goblin of the very same band who they had captured and forced to tell them of the goblin lair.  Shame over killing an irredeemable creature who had captured your own kin?  Elladan sometimes worried that he would never understand the child races.

The three companions sat hidden in tall brush.  They rested from the previous night's battle and watched the entrance to the goblin lair, looking for patterns in the patrols or a moment to make their stealthy entrance.  It would be difficult with the dwarf, whose zeal for taking the head of an orc might disrupt their plans at any moment.  For there were not just goblins in this cave, but also large orcs.  He had slain several that night.  They were strong orcs, who refused to fall from a single arrow.

The captured goblin had warned them of a cave troll guarding the goblin king.  A cave troll?  How would their small party take on a fearsome cave troll.  This was a plan that seemed doomed from the onset.  The only thing that forced Elladan on was the image of the hobbit maiden brandishing that dagger in a shaking hand.

"Onward" he thought.  "Today the goblins of the Wilderlands will know fear in their own lair."

Light from a fire

The first arrow flew as true as any he had ever shot.  The razor sharp point struck home in the foul creature's chest and slowed in its flight, but passed through the monster.  Any living creature would have dropped.  It was then that Elladan recognized their foe.  This was the undead legacy of a human long since passed.  It's soul, filled with shadow, had returned to haunt the place of his death.  It was a Barrow Wight.  Elladan shouted out to his companions:

"It is a Wight, a creature of the shadow!"

The thick, grey fog summoned by the creature had encircled the camp and was closing in all around them.

Elladan spied the dwarf readying his axe.  He flashed to a memory of a song taught to the elven children.  Like most of the songs of the elves, it was sung with purpose.

"When the lifeless ones rise from the shadow

the darkness resists the spear and the arrow

to drive a Barrow Wight from this land

use the light from a burning brand"

"Braegin, it fears the fire!" Elladan shouted.  The dwarf quickly turned to the campfire and hoisted a burning timber aloft as he would a mighty great-axe.  He smashed it down into the shoulder of the advancing creature.

The fire stunned the Wight for a moment.  It paused and emitted a blood curdling scream of pain and hatred.

Elladan used the precious second to pull an arrow from his quiver and swing it through the campfire, setting it ablaze.

He quickly nocked the arrow and aimed for the glowing skull of the Wight.  The flaming arrow found it's home in the eye socket of the foul creature.  It shrieked hideously and in a sound similar to a small clap of thunder, it collapsed upon itself in a green mist and vanished.

A Gift...

The cool morning dew sparkled like gem stones strewn across the open glade.  The young elf had left the comforts of the Easterly Inn early this morning to find a spot in the woods to meditate.  He enjoyed the company of the dwarf, humans and hobbits, but felt a comforting solace in the wild that helped to settle his mind.

He found a open spot of grass under a large and ancient oak tree and sat down.  Elladan closed his eyes and cleared his mind.  He traced his steps backwards in time through his memories, taking time to reflect upon each thought and experience since his last meditation.  His mind was not so easily put at rest of late.  The words of Irime haunted him.  He felt the growing darkness looming over his small party.  He had no doubt that the seemingly magical serendipity that destiny afforded the hobbit would see him through this journey, but the future of the elderly human and his young son troubled the elf.  They had slowed them down.  Elladan knew the humans could not make the return trip to Esgaroth alone and their paths would soon split off from his own.

He slightly shook his head to settle his thoughts again.

Suddenly he felt a soothing brush against his ear and Irime's soft words spoke to him in his trance.

"Do not be afraid Elladan.  Though the darkness is strong, there is more to your story than you know."

He could almost feel the soft dark curls of her hair against his skin.

"When you awake look to your pack.  A gift from Lord Thranduil.  May it protect the light within you."

Suddenly his eyes opened and the soft morning light of the green glade filled his view once again.

He reached down into his pack and spied a package wrapped in soft elven fabric.  He slowly opened the wrapping and the glint of metal shone in the light coming through the branches and leaves of the oak tree.

He held aloft a mail shirt of pure mithril silver.  It was as light as silk and stronger than the sturdiest human steel.  The shirt was embellished with tiny oak leaf shaped mithril scales and ancient elvish runes.  This was a precious gift.

As Elladan removed his worn leather corslet and donned the shirt he felt both protected and at the same time apprehensive of what may lay ahead that Lord Thranduil would bestow such a gift upon him.

The lonely lullaby

Baldor the merchant wept quietly through the night and into the morning.  His son, Belgo, cradled the elderly man's head in his lap and tried to re-assure him that he was safe now.  The man's physical wounds would heal, but the potent waters of King Thranduil's glade had brought back memories of the razing of the human city of Dale and the death of Baldor's wife.

"Humans have such powerful emotions", Elladan reflected, as he sat in the lush green grass of the glade.  The cries of the old man had broken the trance of his meditation several times during the night.  Baldor had cried out for his wife, and wept as he re-lived her dying in his arms.

"The shadow of Smaug will darken these lands for for an age" Elladan mused.

He tried to clear his head of these dark thoughts, though even in a beautiful elven glade, he found he could not keep his mind from turning to dark places.

The words of Irime haunted him.  For Thranduil's Steward to take notice of his journey and warn him of the darkness ahead was an ominous sign.  The shadow's reach was encroaching from the South.  He could feel it.  The men and dwarves of these lands had taken solace in the defeat of Smaug and the goblin rabble at the Battle of Five Armies.  Elladan feared that these small victories were merely a diversion.

Once in his travels he had seen the spires of Dol Guldur.  The darkness haunted his thoughts for weeks.  He could feel the shadow encroaching northward from that foul place.  Was that the danger of which Irime had warned him?  How could he and his companions, burdened by a wounded old man and his young son, take on a danger that troubled one such as Irime?

Elladan shook his head abruptly to clear his mind.  It was then that he noticed one of the butterflies from the night before had remained in the glade.  It must have become separated from the others.  Elladan's sharp elven ears could hear the lullaby of the creature, though when separated from the sheer numbers of the horde, it's magic was diminished.  The lone voice served only to soothe the troubled young elf.  He extended a hand and the butterfly landed on his outstretched finger tip.  Elladan gently placed it on the soft elven fabric of his cloak.  He concentrated on the beautiful sound of the butterfly's lullaby and felt calm, if only for a moment.

A bit of peace of mind

"Hobbit leaf is a curious thing..." thought Elladan, as he sat at the perimeter of camp, staring off into the black forest surrounding them.

"...it affords a bit of peace of mind even in the darkest surroundings."

The idea of smoking on watch would be unthinkable amongst his fellow elves.  The light from the pipe eroded his ability to see into the darkness, but was meaningless in comparison to the roaring camp fire warming the sleeping hobbit and dwarves.  The smell of the pipe weed might give away his location, if not for the loud snoring of the the dwarves.

Who would have imagined an orphaned elf camping with three dwarves and a hobbit?  Surrounded by vines determined to snuff the breath out of you, stalked by black crows with piercing eyes and besieged by the foul Mewlips, Elladan felt better than he had in a decade or more.  His brethren in Thranduil's court would look upon his companions with disgust.  They wouldn't see the fierce determination and battle prowess of the younger dwarf.  They would look past the charisma and vibrant life in the hobbit.  The elves were wrong.  There was life and adventure outside of the Mirkwood realm.  The elves had become haughty and complacent in their halls.  To them it was enough to keep the Shadow at bay in a never ending battle of attrition.  They had lost their connection to this world in their isolation.

"I will travel these lands as Artem, smoking its leaf, drinking it's wine and slaying the servants of the Shadow where ever I may find them."

Artem smiled and took another long draw of the Longbottom leaf from his pipe.  He exhaled rings of smoke, which floated up into the dark trees and caused the malevolent crows to chatter above him.

Artem Character Sheet

Elladan of the Mirkwood Realm (aka Artem)

Culture: Elf of Mirkwood

Standard of Living: Martial

Cultural Blessing: Folk of the Dusk

Background: Noble Blood

Calling: Warden

Shadow Weakness: Lure of Power

Specialties: Fire Making, Mirkwood Lore, Shadow Lore

Distinctive Features: Quick of Hearing, Swift

Body: 4 (7) Heart: 4 (6) Wits: 6 (7)

Hair: Black

Eyes: Grey

Height: 6'2"

--Common Skills--

Awe: 3             Inspire: 0       Persuade: 0

Athletics: 3      Travel: 2        Stealth: 3 

Awareness: 3   Insight: 0        Search: 0 

Explore: 1        Healing: 2       Hunting: 3 

Song: 3            Courtesy: 0     Riddle: 0 

Craft: 0            Battle: 2         Lore: 3 

--Weapon Skills--

Bow: 4      Sword: 1       Dagger: 1

Rewards:  Woodland Bow

                Cunning Make (Mithril Shirt)

Virtues:    Stinging Arrow

                  Confidence

--Gear--

Bow            Dmg: 5    Edge: 10   Inj: 14    Enc: 1

Dagger        Dmg: 3    Edge: G    Inj: 12    Enc: 0

Mithril Shirt            Enc: 10

Helm                        Enc: 6

Buckler                    Enc: 1

Summer Gear          Enc: 1

Starting Endurance: 26

Fatigue from Encumbrance: 19  

Hope: 14

Shadow: 0

Armour: 3D      Headgear: +4 

Parry: 6            Shield: +1  

Wisdom: 3 

Valour: 3

Unspent XP: 3

Unspent AP: 0

Elladan (aka 'Artem') the Elf Warden

Elladan (as he is known by fellow elves, or 'Artem' as he goes by in his travels) was born to a diplomat from the Lorien court.  He was a small child when his mother was killed by orcs on a trip to visit Thranduil, the king of the Mirkwood elves.

Elladan was rescued by an elven patrol and was taken in by Thranduil and raised by the Mirkwood elves.  Elladan's family in Lorien are a mystery, as no word was ever sent from his family when they learned of his mother's death.  He is unsure if he has a father waiting in Lorien or if he has any family at all.

Having been raised a Lorien elf in the Mirkwood realm, he has always felt like a bit of an outsider.  He has taken up patrolling the woods and adjoining areas as a Warden to find peace and solace.  He is a bit more open in dealing with other people and races than the average elf, since he has never felt that Thranduil's realm was a true home.  Other races consider him a bit odd, as he definitely has a strong streak of the Lorien elf 'other worldliness' to him, but he makes friends easily and always enjoys sharing a bit of wine with a fellow traveler.  He goes by the name Artem when dealing with non elves in his travels.

***
Elladan is actually the last of a very powerful line of the Noldor elves.  His mother was a Noldor maiden known as Elleweyn and his father Gallir was direct descendant of Gil-Galad, last of the high Kings of the Noldor.  Gil-Galad was slain by Sauron, himself, during the Battle of Dagorlad.  It was assumed that Gil-Galad left no heirs, though he did have a son, whom he kept hidden from the piercing eye of Sauron.  That son was Elladan's father, Gallir.

Elladan is not aware of his hertiage.  His mother and father are both dead.  Elladan was left under the watchful eye of Thranduil for his own safety.  The elves are not sure how Elladan's lineage will affect his destiny, or if it will at all.  To the rest of the world, Gil-Galad's line is but a memory, and perhaps it's best that it stay that way.  Still, Elladan exists under the watchful eye of the court of Lorien, whether he knows it or not.

***