The man wandering through the mansion's halls does not know how he came to be there. The events of the past are hazy to him, but details rise to the surface as he goes from door to door, searching for the one that will take him out of his confinement. The retreat. They were covering the retreat. But the enemy was so numerous. And the Nazgûl... ( Read more... )

The loud, clear blast of a horn sets the very trees to ringing. Not a moment later, a man stumbles out of the wood, a great white horn in one fist, a sword in the other. He is very tall, of noble bearing, broad shouldered without stockiness. He looks tired, and his clothes are travel and battle-worn. He slows to a stop and braces one shoulder ( Read more... )

*he walks in, surveying his surroundings suspiciously. His hand rests on the handle of his axe, ready to draw the weapon if the situation becomes dangerous*

I am Gimli, son of Gloin. What is this place, and how did I come to be here?

Typist: I fail at Tolkien, but all the same, here's Gimli. Because axes are shiiiny!

typist: yes, I'm weak. Elendil wanted to see his friend and ally. So he came back. Thank Eru LJ hadn't purged his journal yet.

*stomps back into the mansion*

*looks around and shakes head*

Good to see some things never change.

*enters and looks around, a tad nervously ( Read more... )