hallothere

[hallothere]

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.

14: Lorniel & Morgul blade

The door clangs shut behind her, leaving Lorniel sprawled on the floor.

Great. She’s always know this was coming eventually. Venture too close to Carn Dûm, run into an orc patrol, get dragged before the False-king himself— the only part confusing her is why she wasn’t dead. That, and the icy cold of the stab wound the False-king himself had been so kind as to leave her with. It’s probably poisoned, though with what she has no idea. The toxin they’ve usually run afoul of in Angmar burns like fire, but her shoulder is bleeding ice and lightning down her arm and across her chest, slowly spreading.

Lorniel sits up gingerly, taking stock. The cell is even smaller than her own room at Gath Forthnír, with three walls and a floor of solid black stone. The iron bars of the fourth wall leak a bit of torchlight from down the hall into the cell.

There’s a familiar old man standing in the corner. He’s staring at her, expression half-horror, half-hope.

[hallothere]

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.

13: Candaith & hypothermia

The cold stays with him from dreams to reality. So does the dark.

Candaith blinks gritty eyes into the blackness, and only then knows he is awake.

For I— I am the heir of Isildur!

It rings in his head. He hears all the desperation, the bravado, the hope. One cast-all plan to get them out of here, and he can hear the stark lie dripping from his own voice echoed back. Of course they didn’t believe him.

Soft blue light lifts the void in stages. No raging wind or voice accompanies it this time; the ghosts settling back into their Age-old curse. They pay him no heed. Britou, still brandishing the sword that ran him through, does not glance his way.

The dead have no concern with the living.

Numb, barely conscious, watching the frozen blood around the wound slowly turn his flesh necrotic, Candaith wonders how long that will apply to him.

He wonders how many more of his kin are dead or dying for his folly.

The frost reaches his chest. Muscles seize and cramp under its tightening grip. His heart beats faster in its death throes, and at last he feels the pain. I’ve watched this, he thinks, it should hurt more. Garan had been screaming in the last few minutes. But it’s been a few years since he last saw a death by wraith. He might remember wrong.

Candaith’s heart stutters, stills, and freezes over.

[hallothere]

trying to get used to CSP, I humbly offer you a little doodle of Tossdir's Midsummer outfit <3

he has to wear the scarf pretty loosely now or else risk overheating, but it had to stay. the scarf is non-negotiable. The tunic also has Meneldir's signature diamond pattern on it, something that I've really been meaning to make more prominent in Tossdir's design anyway 😌

(alas that I keep getting attached to designs that don't correspond to in-game armor....)

[hallothere]

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.

12: Lorniel & arrested and/or jailbreak

The Trév Duvardain hillmen were not living under martial law anymore; not since the subjugation of Fasach-larren (reportedly) and the securing of the Iron Road to Malenhad (obviously). Lorniel had this to thank, then, that she was only locked up in a cell and not sentenced to join Angmar’s army of reanimated corpses.

That and her disguise of course. Her shoulder itched to be bereft of her Ranger’s star and twice already she had gone to use one of her pockets only to find them missing. Her dagger (plain Angmar make) was shoved into an uncomfortable hiding spot in the small of her back instead of in the sheath she’d designed and sewn herself.

But Rangers caught sneaking were killed while Trév Duvardain women were only locked up in a dungeon convenient to her target, so needs must.

[hallothere]

How it feels working a 9 to 5 and having too many WIPs of varying forms and genres alongside unrealistic expectations for myself as a writer yayyy xox

[hallothere]

Appease the children by letting them play Rohirrim, and beat you into submission

[hallothere]

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.

11: Mithrendan & holding out for rescue

Down the hall Rohirrim soldiers alternatively bust open locks and shove stolen keys into them, while already-freed Rangers help their brethren into the open.

Faeron doesn’t bother with either. In the dim torchlight he makes straight for Mithrendan’s cell and inserts a lock-pick his captors had missed. In less than thirty seconds— sloppy, his record was twelve as a child— the lock rattles open and the door is thrown wide.

“Amlan, stay off that ankle, I know it’s broken,” Faeron orders. “Mithrendan, are you well enough to help him?”

“You know that I am.” Mithrendan says. It’s true. Faeron and Helchon’s cell was just across the corridor and one down from Mithrendan and Amlan’s. In the guard’s torchlight during rounds Mithrendan would see Faeron’s eyes glinting hard and meeting his. In the thick darkness, equally, he would be kept awake by the strange certainty that somewhere in the blackness Faeron’s night owl-eyes were fixed on him.

He’s not sure why Faeron feels the need to ask. Those same eyes are looking at him now, gleaming with more than triumph.

“Good. Head for the surface and keep that dagger ready.”

Of course he saw the stolen dagger.

“Don’t be far behind.” Mithrendan says, helping Amlan to his feet.

“I won’t. Don’t worry.”

At long last, free and armed, Mithrendan thinks he can manage that.

[hallothere]

Realms of Men 2026 | A Middle-Earth Monthly Calendar

June · Gondor, the South Kingdom, was one of the two great realms of the Dúnedain. Founded at the end of the Second Age by Isildur and Anárion, it became a kingdom of great warriors and seafarers.

[hallothere]

refugee fam beach day feat. elwing and elros :)

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Use the bat to whomp the “brigands” (0/15)

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someone mentioned ghost possession and of course i remembered this

ok so you said you wanted more Situations soooo... 18. Possession/Mind control! for whoever you find most plinko-able at the moment

18. Possession/Mind control  you guys wanna see the worst fan theory ever

I am a man of Gondor, a friend to the Elves and of all good folk. Call me Ergothorn. I see the danger growing in the East and wish to oppose it.

You stand in the copse of trees down the hill from Lhanuch. Your camp is there, the one you’ve been returning to each night between errands. The one with your Company settled securely in it. Techeron is going to start the next watch and waves to you. It’s a quiet cold night. 

Radanir hurries past him with a piece of paper clutched in his hand. He looks around the camp, probably for Halbarad if this is a message from one of the scouts- though, you wonder who would bother to write their report except maybe Corunir- until his eyes settle on you. At least, you think they do. You turn to see if there’s someone behind you. Not Mincham, who seems irritated with Radanir of late and headed off for scouting of his own. Not Candaith, who was probably asleep. You turn back to him since there’s no one behind you. He’s gotten closer, and there’s an odd gleam in his eye. 

“Oh, well-met friend,” he says, “I found this interesting note affixed to a tree and I need to make sure our leader sees this at once.”

“Halbarad is in town.” You say, “I was going to run an errand for Nona. I came back here for my whetstone, but I'm going back to Lhanuch. I can run it up to him.”

Radanir frowns, but then nods. “Ah. If you have an errand already, let me do the delivering. It’s so strange, I really ought to hurry. Halbarad will know what to do with it, of course.”

Lheu Brenin dispatched a messenger from Tûr Morva in Dunland, but the messenger was beset by foes outside Lhaid Ogo in the Lich Bluffs and was dragged within.

Lhaid Ogo is a dreadful place, and you are lucky to find anyone alive in there. Anirin looks around when you arrive alone, but Halbarad only sent you. You explain, and Anirin breathes a sigh of relief.

"I thought someone was- nevermind. Let us hurry on to Lhanuch, for I have a tale to tell from the Falcon clan."

You have to pick your way back out over puddles of ooze and corpses and corpses of kergrim. Anirin blanches at the sight- you're not sure whether in disgust or fear- and you push on all the faster. You would want to stop at the camp before going to Lhanuch, before presenting Anirin to the Brenin for his own sake- but he insists you hurry. You need to find Glynn Brenin and Halbarad and make this tale known.

I cannot reveal myself to you, but trust that I am a friend. I will contact you again when it is safe to do so.

You mourn Wadu in the way his family wants, the way they best honor him. Wadu was brave, you think, and though you knew him only a short time you still grieve. You are grateful, you think, that it was you and neither his sister or his father that came upon him in the road. Even if they had thought him a coward once, it was a terrible shock.

Radanir waits for you again, that odd gleam in his eyes. You sense it means trouble, and you are right.

"I've found another letter- that is, we have received another letter from Ergothorn. I left it on that crate there. If he speaks the truth, we have little time to waste!"

You must defend this dwarf from the uruks! He knows much that, told to the wrong person, could be hurtful to your errand.

Your legs burn as you climb the slopes to Nar's Peak, Radanir ahead of you as he sprung eagerly up the hill. You are ambushed, and only notice the uruks a second before they attack. Radanir is surprised, and does not look until a sword is swinging down at him. He is lucky his reflexes are good, and manages to best the uruk attacking him while you take care of the archer.

"That is all of them. Make your way further up the mountain and find Candaith on the way!"

You do, but that was not all of them.

To the Rangers:

Corunir and Candaith were not sorely hurt, but Corunir remained behind to reassure your new friends at Nar's Peak. Saruman is at the heart of this trouble, you just know, but now the time comes for something to be done. You and the others begin the long journey to Lhanuch. Candaith nurses bruised ribs, Calenglad broods, Golodir sits his horse ramrod straight, and Radanir mulls over the scenery.

Halbarad seems worse than you remember him. His face is haggard and there's a dullness in his eyes that you do not like. Nothing he says puts you at ease either.

"Ergothorn is dead."

That is a blow, for while you know not how, the mysterious man has warned you and helped you all this way. Unraveling the mysteries of Enedwaith, shedding light on the plans of Saruman. And he is dead, like you so nearly were this morning.

"Halbarad's wishes are my own as well. We will walk the Forsaken Road and see what lies within." Radanir gives you a small smile. Quickly, he turns and surveys the expanse of grass and hills beyond.

They who swore the oath to Isildur at Erech -- you know of them and their home beneath the Dwimorberg -- but you do not know that some number of them sought to flee their curse and came to hide in a place called the Forsaken Road, among the Lich Bluffs

You stand near Radanir in the cave, and you are not warmed. He is unusually quiet, and Halbarad is unusually loud. Your leader of course is bold. He does speak with the authority Aragorn bestowed on him... But it is a long, cold road. The Dead are all about it.

Not all remember the old ways, but I do

Candaith gives his life for yours. You scream, possibly, but you do run. You run until tears blur your eyes and you know not the names of all who fall to the shades as you make your escape. As you leave Candaith and the others behind, all to give Halbarad the intelligence he can already guess the nature of. The Dead are traitors to the last, and beyond.

Radanir is there, holding two swords, his face blank.

"What has happened? All of a sudden, the Oath-breakers fell upon us, and we have only driven them off for the moment! We have to get out of here!"

You run past him, ready to bring him out before it is too late. But your nerves are heightened. You leap out of the way before one of the twin swords cleaves your back in twain. Whirling, you see Radanir rising from the follow through. His eyes are dead.

"Where is Candaith? I have not seen him yet."

The smile is wrong now, though it's the same one you've seen all this time. You don't understand the meaning of this, but you do stand ready to fight. You are too shocked not to be prepared for combat. Not after everything you've just seen. It's senseless and nonsensical. Radanir is not himself. You will fight. You will win, and he will see reason, and you will leave this place together.

"Ah. Pity." He says, and his eyes roll back into his head. Radanir drops lifeless to the floor, and a fell shade like the puppet master of Skorgrim rises to the fore. You scream in either fury or grief and banish the thing from your sight.

And you almost leave Radanir with his fallen brothers until you hear a whimper from the floor. He is not lost. But you do not wait for him either and drag him resisting from the Forsaken Road.

Halbarad is outside waiting for you and takes Radanir off your hands. You don't yet have the breath to speak but point away from the cave. Halbarad takes your meaning and Radanir up into his arms and you run. You run to Mincham's camp and he is ready to tend you all.

To your surprise, he sets aside whatever mysterious objection he had to Radanir these last days and sees to him first. You know Mincham is kind and never turns a blind eye to suffering--

You turn. You fight your stomach in a nearby bush. Halbarad is soon there and helps you to stand, lends the only thing you think can possibly help you all now: an ear.

"He..."

You don't get that far just yet. Radanir is coming around, and he frowns blearily at Mincham. "You... supposed to go ahead...? Saeradan called you back to camp...? Where--"

You're nearly sick again as it hits you. He's back at Saeradan's camp. He's been there the whole time, on the inside. Halbarad looks to you in alarm and all you can do is gesture helplessly.

"There was- A shade, in the cave-... He had Radanir... had control of him..."

It was too horrible for words as you remembered. Remembered who found the notes, every last one. Remembered the advice, the odd looks, the handprints on the neck of the man you all thought Ergothorn.

Radanir was looking around now, his eyes wide with fear. "What happened? Where is everyone?"

Neither you nor Halbarad have the words just yet.

[hallothere]

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.

[hallothere]

*makes aus for own ocs* i am my own fandom

[hallothere]

Concuss that man

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Concuss that man

[hallothere]

don’t jokeship with me because 2 hours later i’ll have feels for the pairing.