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Forums : The Silent Chronicles > The Book of Men
Sauronsbeagle (Member) 11/28/2008 8:15 AM EST : RE: The Book of Men
Posts: 4624

Comojo Dengaland by Comojo

Comojo Dengaland was one of the few survivors of a nasty caravan slaughter. As Comojo and his father was traveling from East-fold into Edoras where they lived they where set upon by Orcs who had been raiding the area for horses. The guards put up a valiant fight but where eventually overwhelmed and slaughtered.

Comojo's father Delakin was one of the guardians on the caravan he fought the orcs with his last dying breath in order save his only sibling. Delakin's wife Maralon had died to a difficult child birth many years earlier, and as a result this gave Delakin that much more incentive to fight. He held his own against the orcs until at last he was slain by many arrows from cowardly orcs who would no longer get in range of his mighty swings. As he lay there among the slain orcs with the life fading from his eyes, he mourned not only the loss of his wife so many years ago but also that his life was cut so short that he would not be able to part the knowledge he had gained to his only son.

Comojo was young only 5 and as a result he could not fight very well, he only had a dagger as a last means of defense. Comojo had attacked a orc that got to close and had slashed the vile beast across the hand. Not wanting to get any closer to the feral boy the orcs resorted to what they do best and shot him with a arrow. This act actually saved Comojo's life the arrow hit him hard in the left shoulder and punched him back where he fell tumbling down a hill to lay there among the brambles apparently dead to the world.

After what had seemed like days but was in actual fact more than 2 hours a band of soldiers arrived at the massacre and set about laying the dead on wagons to transport back to Edoras where they had come from. They reached Comojo and finding him barely alive safely carried him to the town.

Comojo lay in a fevered nightmare for many days while hes body was wracked with pain from some foul poison from the orcs arrow, until eventually many days later the fever broke and Comojo started to return to the world.

25 years later Comojo now a fully grown man grim and gruff had been training combat for most of his life, he was by no means one of the best but he was one who would never give up and that edge meant he would win mock battles in training than most of the other pupils. He would rush to the front and protect the people never falling back. Many a time during training Comojo was carried back killed on his shield in mock battles. Eventually due to his determination and sheer will these events decreased until he was able to unleash his new found will upon the field of battle.

Comojo would never retreat he would either be victorious or he would be carried away on his shield, never one to run always forward he would push, always protect his comrades with his last breath this was his vow. Comojo had completed training to become a Guardian and follow in his fathers footsteps. He vowed that he would uphold his fathers memory and bravery and to always battle the forces of darkness that even now had started to seep out of the world. He received permission to head up north past Bree to a small town called Combe where he had heard of unrest and need of people to fight the growing bandits.

Thus began a epic journey that started in such a small place and would take him to such wild and weird places.  Much evil to be fought, much to discover.  Many friends and comrades to be found and great deeds to perform.  The start of the journey is always the longest only time will tell where this will go......

To be continued...


Sauronsbeagle (Member) 11/28/2008 8:19 AM EST : RE: The Book of Men
Posts: 4624

A Small Village to the South-West of Dale, Summer 3017, Third Age. by Sauronsbeagle

The Town Clerk gave the nail one last bang with his hammer and reached for the handle of the door he’d just been abusing.

“Whassatsay?” inquired a voice behind him, just as he was almost safely back into the sanctuary of his tiny office.

“I beg your pardon?” sighed the Clerk, resigned to dealing with yet another of these small town yokels he’d been living amongst for more years than he cared to remember.

“Yer poster, beggin’ yer pardon Mister, whassitsay?” replied a grubby looking youth with what appeared to be a sizeable morsel of  pie on his lower lip, filling unknown.

“It says: Village Idiot Wanted, Experience in Idiotry Essential, Those Who Don’t Need This Notice Explaining to Them Need Not Apply, See Clerk Olafson Within, No Appointment Necessary”, Olafson replied, his voice betraying more than a little satisfaction with his own handiwork. “You see, our last idiot has taken a sabbatical and has gone off to seek fame, fortune and bacon. I’ve taken the liberty of advertising his job as a permanent post, as there’s absolutely no chance whatsoever that he’ll be coming back – he’s an idiot, you see, he wont make it as far as the next village without killing himself in some freak accident.”

“Dunno what half them words mean, Mister, but he sounds like a brave lad. Whassisname anyway?” asked the boy, clearly aware of his role in pushing this tale along.

“The hero to whom you refer is, or was, named Beolaf Beolafson, the latest and probably last in a long line of Beolafs from these parts. Idioting runs in his blood – the post of Village Idiot hereabouts has been handed down in his family for generations. Frankly I’ve never been able to understand how each Beolaf managed to muster the wit to sire an heir, but there you have it” said Olafson, clearly warming to his theme, so rarely did he find an audience, however unsavoury.

“The current Beolaf’s great-grandfather, Beolaf the Younger, was famous as far as the eaves of Mirkwood for his Idiotry. He capped a fine career by finally dying from injuries sustained in an altercation with a squirrel. An example to us all.”

“Beolaf the Younger’s son, Beolaf the Elder, was if anything an even greater Idiot, but alas never got the credit he deserved. Even further back in history there was Beolaf the Slightly Yellow…...I say, are you going to eat that piece of pie on your face? It’s quite off-putting.”

“S’not pie” replied the youth “S’my old Ma’s lucky crusty severed toe. I’m keeping it moist for her”.

“D’you want this job or not?” asked Olafson.


Sauronsbeagle (Member) 11/28/2008 8:21 AM EST : RE: The Book of Men
Posts: 4624

Anhaglaf by Amhaglos

A Man of Dale, determined not to be apprenticed to his father, a Dunnikin diver (2nd class). Settled in Bree (low town, among his peers). Travelling south, he discovered a talent for hitting things, very hard. Believes a good defence is a strong offense.

Pathological hatred of Men who serve the Shadow in the South. Determined to forge strong links with Men throughout the North on behalf of Dale (totally unofficially). 

Grand Master Weaponsmith.


Sauronsbeagle (Member) 1/30/2009 6:59 AM EST : RE: The Book of Men
Posts: 4624

Linnet, Treasure Hunter! by Scutter

Linnet was born into a large but poor family in Bree-Land. Her father was a blacksmith who argued with every business partner he ever had, and drank most of what he earned. And then there were her 2 older brothers (unruly even as teens, so no one was surprised when they drifted into banditry) and 3 younger sisters. Her mother was a quiet, mousey woman who surprised everyone who knew her by running away with some disreputable ranger type when Linnet was 7.

The girl rolled up her sleeves, assured the world that 'I've done cold and hungry, and I'm not doing it again!' and announced herself to be a professional guide and treasure hunter in Bree-Land. By sheer determination and force of personality, she was able to find paying customers who were interested in buying the old scrolls and pottery she was able to glean from the ruins she nervously explored on her own. And before too long, she began to believe her own hype, and persuaded her brothers to teach her a few fighting moves for self defense.

To those who asked 'If you are such a great treasure hunter, where's the treasure?', she answered with a shrug, "What's worse? Not to find any, or not to look in the first place?"

She's part con artist, part actress, and part explorer and is inclined to tell some very wild stories after she's had a few pints at the local pub.


Sauronsbeagle (Member) 4/20/2009 1:08 PM EST : RE: The Book of Men
Posts: 4624

The Betrayal by Berewine

Helewig looked up the trees. Thick branches completely blocked the sun, making Mirkwood appear dark in gloomy even during daylight. The area ahead seemed impassable, but Helewig knew where to search to find a path through undergrowth.

Nothing but blasted trees for three days now. Is it ever going to end?’ asked Berewine.

Helewig smiled briefly. ‘Tired already? You were supposed to be the muscle here, and I the brain, remember?’ Spreading the branches aside with his staff, Helewig made an opening between thick bushes. ‘Ah, there we go… trees will become much sparser from here on. I can feel the land starting to climb up here. We’re very near now.

Why do you need me anyway?’ asked Berewine. ‘You seem to be doing just fine by yourself.

Berewine found Helewig to be staring blankly at him. He could swear the old man’s eyes were trying to pierce his soul, but then his look softened and his mouth turned into broad smile.

I cannot do this without you. I need you.’ replied Helewig, and darted on, before Berewine could ask more questions. Berewine silently followed him, confused by Helewig’s words. From the start until now, the old man hasn’t needed him once. Not for finding a path, not for calming down and repelling the local wildlife, and certainly not for company. Rarely did Helewig speak, unless he was spoken to first. So what was that Helewig needed him for?

Much to Berewine’s surprise, forest has indeed become less dense. Soon, he could see the mountains between the branches, clouds surrounding the high peaks. Helewig was already a good distance away. While Berewine was by no measure a weak man – and a skilled fighter at that – he could barely follow Helewig. The skill by which the old man moved through forest was amazing – not once he made an unnecessary step and not once he had to stop to find the way. Now that path became clearer, Berewine quickened his pace to catch Helewig.

Helewig stopped on the edge on large clearing. They’ve been going upwards for several hours now, but there was still no sign of this journey being near end.

There lays our destination.’ said Helewig, pointing to a small waterfall in the distance.

It’s getting dark, and this looks like a safe place to spend the night. Wolves and bears won’t be coming this high up the mountain I think, and there’s little else we need to fear in these parts if you ask me.’ said Berewine.

Well I’m not asking for your opinion. Wildlife is the least of our concerns here, and with your lack of knowledge we would get killed really fast around here. Have you not been paying attention to signs?’ replied Helewig. ‘There has hardly been an animal around since we started climbing – and yet the ravens keep circling above us. Broken leaves and branches, footprints in mud that weren’t properly hidden, does that tell you nothing?’

‘Footprints or not, we need rest.
’ said Berewine.

We will rest later. Meantime, take this.’ Helewig opened a small vial and gave it to Berewine. ‘Go ahead, it will invigorate you.

The potion had a strong smell, but not unpleasant. Berewine took a sip, and immediately felt the warmness engulfing his whole body. Helewig knew the plants well, he thought to himself.

Feeling better? Let’s press on then.’ said Helewig. ‘We won’t stop again until we’re there.

Berewine picked up his gear again and followed Helewig up a narrow path. The next two hours have passed quickly and the forest was soon deep below, nothing more than a green sea of trees. The path has widened somehow, and much to Berewine’s surprise started to lead inwards, huge walls of rock climbing up on both sides.

‘Shhhhh!’ Helewig warned Berewine, suddenly stopping and pushing him back. A surprised look passed Helewig’s face as he leaned over huge boulder and cautiously glanced down the path.

What is it?’ whispered Berewine. ‘Are we there yet?

Orcs.’ replied Helewig. ‘A small detachment. Certainly unexpected to find them here. I wonder…

A smile passed Berewine’s face, as he clutched the handle of his sword. ‘So that’s why he needed me!’ he thought to himself. It was completely irrelevant to him whether the old man knew there were going to orcs around or not. Fighting is what he had always been best at, be it with a mace, a spear, or a sword.

Not so hasty!’ Helewig warned him, seeing Berewine’s intention in his eyes. ‘You don’t know how many more are hidden in the cave beyond.

Well how do you suggest we handle them?’ asked Berewine.

I’ll keep some busy.’ replied Helewig. ‘On my signal, be prepared to join in!

Berewine watched the old man with curiosity. He knew Helewig for a lifetime, and this was the first time Helewig would be willing to demonstrate his skills to him. Whatever was that Helewig sought seemed to be of tremendous significance.

Helewig raised his staff – a walking staff as Berewine thought – and started chanting. His last few words were loud, and orcs turned to him, surprised. As the staff touched the ground, there was a loud cracking noise, and ground shook for a bit. Rocks and debris started to fall off the cliffs and many surprised orcs were instantly flattened. The others, more agile or simply more lucky evaded the rocks and darted towards Helewig with disgusting growling and roaring. Helewig quickly waved his stuff in the air, creating a sign of some sort, and pointed the staff towards orcs. A flock of ravens suddenly dropped down from sky and started clawing and pecking the incoming orcs, turning their attention away from Helewig.

Berewine finally got the sign he was waiting. While ravens kept the orcs busy, he ran past the boulder with his sword drawn out. Brutal was his first swing, and the orc fell down, split in half. The next one collapsed with gurgling sound, as Berewine’s sword pierced his throat.

Couple of orcs turned to face the new danger, attacking Berewine simultaneously. Only one reached him though, and Berewine parried his blow with ease. The other suddenly stopped and started screaming, then he fell down and started rolling on the rocky ground. Berewine finished his last opponent with swift stab in the chest. Failing to see any more enemies, his attention turned to one orc that still seemed to be alive.

By now the orc had stopped screaming. His almost lifeless body was only twitching now, drool mixed with blood dripping out of his stinking mouth. Berewine noticed that the creature had bitten his own tongue out. His eyes were wide open and seemed to be completely red, as if blood was filling them. And yet Berewine saw no physical wound on the body.

‘Never mind that!’ Helewig barked it him. ‘More will come soon, maybe in bigger force this time.’

Following Helewig into the cave, Berewine found out that the cave was not only a cave; it was more of a colossal cavern, mostly filled with water. The water created an underground lake, which exited the cave as a rushing waterfall on the other side of cavern.

Helewig knelt to the water and took an empty vial. Carefully collecting the water in, he stood up and inspected it.

‘We came here for mere water?’ asked Berewine in anger.

‘This is no mere water!’ replied Helewig. ‘This is Enchanted Spring. Even as much as touching the water can make you drowsy or even forget things. But this is not all… it can even make creatures fall into deep sleep.’

Berewine stepped back in disgust. He distasted all magic, and what Helewig told him certainly sounded like one. ‘Why would you even want this?’ he asked Helewig.

‘I’m sure you’ve heard of Thorin Oakenshield. One of his kin fell into this water once, not being able to wake up for a long time. And what’s even more surprising – he didn’t seem to age this time. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep, yet his body didn’t weaken. His hair didn’t grow and he was lifeless – yet the life still flowed in him, and he woke up eventually.’ replied Helewig. His voice started to get excited. ‘Long have I waited to make myself immortal. And I finally have it, the ingredient to make that happen. With this – mere water as you call it – I will stop aging.’

‘Only elves are immortal,’ said Berewine. ‘And only by the will of Valar. Your dreams are foolish, Helewig. You don’t even know if those rumours are true.’

‘Yes… I suppose there is only one way to see that.’ Helewig slowly replied. With a swift move, he splashed the vial of water into Berewine’s face. The surprised look on Berewine’s face seemed to freeze, his eyes wide open. Standing there lifelessly for few moments, he fell down on his back with a large thud.

‘But it is true: surely even you know that now.’ Helewig added sarcastically. He filled couple of vials again, safely corking them and storing them in small pouch. Approaching the exit, Helewig paused and looked at Berewine’s sleeping body.

‘Thank you for coming with me, my brother. You have filled your role well.’ he said into the darkness, then turned and slowly stepped out of the cave.


Sauronsbeagle (Member) 10/8/2011 7:51 PM EST : RE: The Book of Men
Posts: 4624

The Early Wanderings of Eslyn Flamelock by Eslyn laurelin

“A statue pays more attention to the world than you.”

    Eslyn thought this was a little unfair, not to mention inaccurate, as statues spent quite a lot of time paying attention, albeit that they were made of stone. Still, she understood the sentiment behind the statement. She didn’t agree with it, mind. She paid attention to all manner of things: the way the moss sat on the stone walls, how to find just the right powder to make fire flash into the air as if from nowhere, how to call a raven to her side and understand its song. And the raven had shown her that evil was rising in the east. Not just more of the bandits that had killed her parents far away in Dale, in another life that she scarcely remembered; orcs and goblins, wights and trolls, and above them a fiery red eye that stole into her nightmares and left her trembling when she woke.

    She just paid attention to the things that mattered. Which is exactly what she told the short, round hobbit perched on the bar stool in front of her in the Prancing Pony.

    “Oh really,” he said, in between mouthfuls of pie. “What about the bear that bit you on the bottom just outside Combe?”

    Eslyn affected a look which she hoped conveyed that she had been thinking about something far more important when the aforementioned bear had taken a nibble of her behind, otherwise she obviously would have noticed it.

    Bawdo, for such was the hobbit’s name, rolled his eyes and went back to his pie.

    They had been having similar conversations ever since the two had met, just outside the ruins of Archet. They weren’t really sure why they were still together, although Eslyn had let slip early on that she just might be on the verge of a discovery that could turn one tiny pie into twenty enormous ones.  Bawdo, for his part, did seem to have an uncanny knack of finding his way around.

    Which was not Eslyn’s strong suit.
    She preferred wandering to navigating; it was much more interesting and generally involved finding lots of unsavoury creatures into which her raven, Maugrim, could sink his beak. Granted, it meant that she spent much of her time not knowing exactly where she was. You could call it ‘lost’ if you liked; she preferred to think of it as expanding her horizons.

    This, too, often made Bawdo shake his head wearily, though he took care not to stand too close to Maugrim when he did so. He’d noticed that the raven sometimes stared at him with those black, beady, unblinking eyes in the same way that the hobbit looked at his pies.

    Maugrim was absent from the Prancing Pony on this occasion, probably pecking holes in Bawdo’s best cloak. The two hardy adventurers were having a well-earned rest before heading east, and Bawdo never went anywhere, dangerous or otherwise, without a pie or three first.

    “Mmmmm,” he said, and then, “Oh bother,” as a large chunk of pie fell from his sticky fingers and rolled under the table.

    This time it was the woman’s turn to roll her eyes.

    “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get it. Just a moment...” and she crouched down and squinted under the table. “It’s a bit dark,” she muttered, reaching for a candle and then peering into the shadows for the errant piece of pie.  “Ah, here it is.”

    Eslyn emerged triumphantly with her prize.

    Strangely, however, the hobbit was staring not at the pie but at her head.

    “What now?” she asked, thinking that a fly must have settled on her hair.

    Then she became aware of the burning smell. Bawdo threw his ale at Eslyn’s head. The flames in her hair went out. The hobbit looked relieved and then took in the bedraggled apprentice-loremaster, singed and covered in beer. Whereupon, he fell off his stool and rolled about in hysterical mirth for several long minutes.

    Eslyn dripped ale onto the floor and glared at the candle. Then she glared at the hobbit. It was scant consolation that what remained of his pie was now as wet as she was.

    Later that evening, as the two headed out towards the Forsaken Inn (Bawdo had heard that the innkeep made a mouth-watering pie, though he was a little suspicious that the local warg population was coincidentally on the wane), Eslyn headed determinedly off the road.

    “It’s a short-cut,” she announced. “Just along here... aaarghhhh!”

    Eslyn disappeared from view.

    Bawdo looked around, confused.

    “I’m fine, I’m fine,” came a voice from a ledge below the cliff edge.  “I don’t think it’s this way,’ she added, rather unnecessarily.

    Bawdo sighed. Loudly.

    “Having fun?”

    The hobbit jumped out of his (pie-strained) breeches. A slender woman stood next to him, leaning on a very sharp javelin. She flicked her hair back casually, and brushed a fly from her exquisite armour. Even the blood stains matched.

    “I’m Canwyn,” continued the woman.

    “Er, Bawdo,” said Bawdo. There was a rustle of leaves from below. “And that’s Eslyn.” He grinned, mischievously. “Eslyn Flamelock.”

    “I heard that!” said Eslyn from her precarious perch. “Umm, I seem to be done with examining this particular type of fern,” she went on. “Perhaps one of you could pull me up?”


Sauronsbeagle (Member) 10/8/2011 7:53 PM EST : RE: The Book of Men
Posts: 4624

Releanna Grimm's daughter, Shieldmaiden of Rohan by Amrea

Early morning in Rohan. A young warrior, saddles her inexperienced horse. This would be the first time she, daughter of Grimm could really prove her worth to the army of king Théoden. If she performed well today she might even be allowed to ride with the Rohirrim one day, like her father did… before he fell.

She takes up her spear and javelin and checks if the blades are sharp and strong. Aye this would do nicely. She takes up her shield. The one her father used during his last battle. It was brought home to her mother by the other riders. Releanna remembers the day they brought home his body clearly. She was only 9 years old then but she still remembered the strange feeling she has had all day…. Something was up, something was wrong.

She clasps the shield on the saddle of her horse and mounts up. Her horse is all exited, knowing this would be an enervating day. She feels the muscles of the horse shiver under her saddle and pats the horse on the neck… She whispers “ssssh save your strength Wildfire… we will need all of it later”. Releanna rides out of the stables to meet up with the other soldiers.

The ride towards the village that was under attack was slow. The ground was wet from the early spring rain. The horses had a bit of trouble to keep their hooves steady.
After a four hour ride a scout came running. “Look!” he shouted” there’s smoke on the horizon!”. The soldiers lifted up from their saddles to see.

The pace quickened. While speeding up Releanna takes up her shield and her spear. She whispers to Wildfire ”this is it young lady…”. Releanna, only 18 years old herself had seen some battles and won some fights. But the word was that there would be an Orc captain present here. If she could only have that kill…. It would prove her being worth. Women had enough trouble maintaining their place in the army these days.

The fight begun. Releanna did well, she fought focused and hard. She bashed one orc down wit her shield, killing him quickly and smoothly with her spear when he was down. The second, tripping him with her spear between his feet and knocking him unconscious with the pole of her spear. “show them no mercy, no mercy will be shown to you when you’re down” she thought. A third pulled her of her horse, she felt her shield slip from her arm. Her helm was knocked off her head. Whilst standing up she reached for the dagger on her belt. While the orc started to grin and say “It is only a wo…. “ she slit his throat.

Quickly she scouted the area around her. Wildfire ran from the battle as the horses were learned when their riders fell from their back.

Then she saw him. Not far from her stood the orc captain. Only a tad more better dressed different from the other orcs. He stood a bit more up straight and looked a bit taller then the other orcs. She took her javelin and took the time to aim…. Just when she threw her javelin the orc captain turned around and saw her.

They say that when a soldier meets his doom, a soldier feels the hand of the grim reaper on her shoulder…. Releanna realized this fully. The javelin hit the orc captain in his shoulder and his eyes went blood red with anger. This little human had the nerve to attack him. He took his spear and ran straight for her. Releanna wanted to brace her shield, but it wasn’t there anymore. Only thing she could do was take the blow. No way of escaping now.

She felt the spear go right through her stomach and all through her back. Releanna fell on her side and went unconscious by the pain.

When the battle ended in victory of the soldiers of Rohan, Wildfire returned to the battlefield. Searching between the bodies and blood for her rider. When Wildfire found Releanna’s lifeless body The horse let out a high pitched scream as if it was crying. The soldiers who were searching for the living on the field came to look and found Releanna. It wasn’t much, but there was still a little life left in her. The soldiers did not dare to take the spear out, causing the young woman to bleed to death. They cut of the two sides of the spear and bound Releanna on her horse. Wildfire knew the task ahead, and by nightfall she arrived at the stables of King Theoden’s army.

Releanna was taken of her horse and brought to the closest healer. After a feverish fight of 12 days she woke up. With the fever gone the first thing she realized were the words of the healer to her commander. “She will live, but she will be of no use to any man anymore. Grimm’s bloodline will die with her. You may as well let her fight… she’ll be useless for anything else.”

When Releanna was fully recovered except for the scars on her body and soul, she only had one goal in her life left. To die on the battlefield, like her father before her.

Now three years later, Releanna has left Rohan to grant a friend her parting wish. Wildfire was no more. And Releanna is learning how to fight without her horse…
But she is getting stronger every single day.

She does not talk much about the fights she gets in although sometimes it seems that the fighting grounds are the only place she really feels at home.


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