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Month-long fic challenge using these LOTRO Rangers + Situations prompts collected by a-lonely-dunedain. Minimum of 100 words, no particular adherence to timelines or canon.

9: Mincham & overheated from wearing his thick northern winter cloak at midsummer

“All of you, in here,” Rhadrog barked, and pulled his band of northerners into a pub tucked against the side of the level. “Come on, Master Imben won’t mind. Faeron, get us water.”

“It’s heat stroke, not Lhaereth’s plague, Rhadrog,” Faeron said. He was by a length the least alarmed by Lothrandir’s fainting spell, though Mincham himself was far too hazy and aching to feel much alarm.

“A good thing, too: I’m fresh out of Viznak’s brew and I’m entirely certain that you didn’t save any. Get us water anyway.”

“There will be diseased bug guts in yours,” Faeron grumbled, but headed to the bar.

“Brungos, bring him around here. You there, whatever your name is, go with them.”

Mincham only realized Rhadrog was speaking to him when the Ithilien Ranger waved a hand in front of his face. “You have overheated as well. Of course you have. Just sit down, drink water, and for Elendil’s sake get that cloak off. That thing’s made for a mountain-top, not Minas Tirith at midsummer.”

The fields of Fornost were as sunny as the Pelennor in midsummer, but at night the temperature plunged once more and harsh gusts of wind carried barghests’ howls from far to the north. Even then, on the shortest night of the year, Mincham would huddle deep in his cloak and listen to madmen’s ramblings to escape the cold.

Perhaps Rhadrog had a point.

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Minas Morgul is especially creepy when you've just come from Minas Tirith Midsummer--- the similar design, crawling with orcs and wraiths and fires instead of laughter and flowers, feels like the alternate bad ending to the Lord of the Rings.

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Protestants who don’t like saints because we ‘worship’ them fail to understand the nature of this relationship. It can be difficult to explain but the simplest summation I can describe is this:

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The Squabble

Two little dragons vie for a place to perch. Nothing else to see here.

I love how this piece turned out!

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Ranger, intensely serious: We need someone to do something about the goats.

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Month-long fic challenge using these LOTRO Rangers + Situations prompts collected by a-lonely-dunedain. Minimum of 100 words, no particular adherence to timelines or canon.

8: Braigiar & off-screen screaming

Braigiar startles awake.

The old stone of Gabilshathûr greets him, the thin woven pallet crinkling in his clenched grip.

The distant cry comes again, and he understands. He exhales and rolls over, resisting the old impulse to stuff a pillow that he doesn’t currently have over his ears.

The orcs and trolls encamped in Maethad have a prisoner again. A hillman, possibly, or an Angmarim who had displeased his master. Braigiar prays it isn’t a Ranger. There’s no way to tell; at this distance all humans sound the same in pain. At this distance there’s nothing he can do but go back to sleep, gather his strength, and take the fight to the enemy even stronger in the morning.

The scream comes again, distant and echoing and terrified.

Areneth is already at the watch-fire when he arrives, poking the embers and huddled deep in his cloak. The kid’s the most recent to make the run of the Iron Road down from Himbar The route passes Imlad Balchorth and from that alone Braigiar knows he’s heard worse. Still, Areneth’s eyes are red and his cloak drawn up around his ears— and anyway Braigiar’s heard worse and he’s still here himself.

“Of all the songs I’ve heard here, there’s one genre terribly underrepresented.”

Areneth looks at him silently. He doesn’t look enthused, but difficult audiences have always been Braigiar’s favorite.

“Drinking songs. So I’ve written a new one. Tell me what you think of it.”

It’s also been far too long since he’s gotten a noise complaint in the small hours of the morning. Problems solved all round.

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Concuss that man

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what is your eye color. what is your favorite color. what is the color that appears most frequently in your wardrobe. what color is your favorite blanket. what color is your water bottle.

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fantasy cultures are incredibly impressive with their dedication to me with their high and noble shared cultural values such as Courage or Honor or Being Nice to Strangers. in my culture the only shared value is Burgers are Good.

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Month-long fic challenge using these LOTRO Rangers + Situations prompts collected by a-lonely-dunedain. Minimum of 100 words, no particular adherence to timelines or canon.

7: Langlas & defenseless

“Langlas!” His own name catches his attention from the maze of clangs and shouts filling the prison-caves of Tûr Morva. It’s Celairant, grinning at him with bloody teeth, and quite suddenly his lungs of stone release and breathe once more.

“I found you something a little better than your fists,” his brother says, and shoves the hilt of a sword in his hand as he nears. “One of ours, I’m not sure whose—” Langlas knocks the rest of the sentence off without care, crushing Celairant to his chest with the meager strength left to him.

“Hey, watch the bow!” Celairant laughs— the brightest sound these halls have heard in weeks. He brandishes his own bow at Langlas, unharmed and restrung with a (doubtlessly stolen) bowstring. “I shall have no cause to beg Penglir’s forgiveness again. Come on!”

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when you listen to a song and it gives you inspiration to daydream an answer to the plot hole in the story building inside your head

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so I have a really unusual first name /last name combo and I don't think anyone else has it, so I'm curious what it's like for other people

Please reblog to reach more people!

PSA: do NOT share your full legal name on this post, please stay safe

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Month-long fic challenge using these LOTRO Rangers + Situations prompts collected by a-lonely-dunedain. Minimum of 100 words, no particular adherence to timelines or canon.

6: Corunir & concussion

“Ad'thor?” Corunir mumbled, realizing at last that no, the force buffeting and manhandling him wasn't free fall but another human.

“No,” said a murky voice, exasperated.

Corunir squinted up at sharp eyes and felt hands briskly checking the integrity of his skull. He tried again, “Lorn’l?”

The hands stilled, clenched a little, then released at Corunir’s wince— what was wrong with his head, it felt almost pressurized, ow.

“No,” it said again, softer. Corunir could hear it clearer now past the ringing in his ears: masculine, older, and somehow both tired and angry.

“Golodir,” he said, with confidence. “What... happen?”

“You don’t know how to duck, that’s what happened. Congratulations, you have a concussion.”

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Feeling an incredibly weird specific nostalgia but what piece of media defined 2020 for you (as in you spent that year with it) mine is mtv's catfish

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Make sure that Amdir drinks the bilberry tea

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If you had to brutally narrow it down to just one, who’s your favourite of your original characters?