#lastadron

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“You... I know you.” “Yes, we met two days ago! Oh. Oh no.” The bag was dragged off his head as the brigands slammed the bars shut behind him with a ringing clang. The stranger got his first clear look at what the Ranger was becoming. (Deep in a cave behind Staddle Falls, a wraith takes form.)

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writing a Very Normal (he swears) human pc is a great deal of fun, especially in the prologue. from Lastadron's point of view, he's been dragged from his normal life straight into an urban fantasy/horror.

his first impression of the Rangers is of a clandestine tribe of ghost-hunters.

Lastadron, slightly hysterical: So are vampires real too????

Ranger: Not anymore! Probably.

Lastadron: Not anymore???? PROBABLY?????

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Tonight on What Did I Name That Doc, Again?

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around the time he reaches Aughaire, Amathan finally realizes he's the Main Character and becomes stupidly confident about positively everything.

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WIP Wednesday On A Friday

tagged by both @sweetearthandnorthernsky and @rohirric-hunter! Thanks for the tag :D

“—before our fine friend here appeared at Thrasi’s Lodge, knocking on the door with the wind of Manwë in his wings. We then—” Celairant was having a fine time theatrically retelling the events that led to two Rangers and a hunter rescuing an Elven prince, but Lastadron couldn’t help but interject at this blatant embellishment. “Directions. I was asking for directions!” Celairant’s audience of young Dwarves and a few amused Elves seemed to find this even more entertaining, and laughed loudly. Celairant only grinned and continued with his tale, prose purpling by the syllable.

Fun times with the Ered Luin intro with Lastadron! Tagging (no pressure) @o-lei-o-lai-o-lord and @sailforvalinor

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Halbarad: Ah, my friend, tell me, what did you find up north?

Lastadron: *takes a deep breath*

Lastadron: That company that disappeared a decade ago is still alive, sort of, and have formed a first line of defence against the wraith-king you didn't know existed. Most of them are dead, and I think their captain's at least a little insane, but at least they've managed to temporarily vanquish said wraith-king! :D

Halbarad: ...What.

Lastadron: Oh! And remember that Elf that went with them? Laerdan? Apparantly his daughter is the Champion of Angmar that you also didn't know still existed.

Halbarad:

Lastadron: Anyway, can I please have a nap now?

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OH SHOOT THIS CHARACTER WOULD MAKE MORE SENSE IF HIS DAD WERE DEAD.

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No, I don't think that's right, actually.

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WIP Out of Context:

Lastadron: The last time I tried to aid Bree, I inadvertantly attended a birthday party.

Strider: What??

Lastadron: Long story.

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Oc-tober Day 17 - Legend - Lastadron

It was perhaps impolite to barge into a person's private rooms without permission, and even downright stupid to do so with an Elf-lord's private rooms. Lastadron would like to think that this was a special occasion.

"What do you know about Angmar's champion?"

Laerdan didn't jump (not that Lastadron had really thought he would) but rather looked up with a mildly surprised expression, which quickly turned to concern.

"What on earth happened to you?" For anyone else, it might have been an emphatic, the hell?

“Yesterday--- you said something about Angmar having a champion. What do you know about her?

Laerdan didn’t react right away--- which was fair, considering Lastadron’s appearance.

He hadn’t been conscious when the blood-sworn had dragged him from Minas Deloth and dumped him in the wilds of Himbar, but they or their mistress apparently had something of a sense of humor. He’d been dressed in what was either Angmarim ceremonial robes or perhaps a demented bedsheet. It was long, tattered, blood-red, and did not in the least fit. 

His own clothes had been nowhere to be seen, and as he hadn’t crossed paths with any Ranger besides Areneth on his breakneck trek through Gath Forthnír, he was still dressed in them.

After only a moment, however, Laerdan focused, and a crease appeared in his brow as he concidered Lastadron’s words.

“I know much of her, my friend, but what has happened to you? Those are the robes of acolytes in the service of Angmar.”

Good to know.

Lastadron sighed. His blood was still fizzling from the horrific spectacal he had been witness to, and his mind had not yet fully cleared of the strange fog.

“A long story,” he said.

It was only nearly an hour later, dressed in spare clothes of the Rangers’, that Lastadron was at last able to tell his tale in full. Of the strange, winding journey into that dread tower, he said little, but spoke in length of the meeting hall, the rows of fell spirits, the palantír, and at last the uncloaking of Sara Oakheart and the conference with the Lidless Eye.

When at last he fell silent, his throat was dry and the room dead silent. Only Golodir, Laerdan, and two of the most senior Rangers of the Second were present here in Golodir’s own chambers, and every one focused entirely on him. Lastadron self-consciously took a sip of the water he had been supplied with, and his jiggling hands stilled somewhat.

One of the Rangers, Maerchiniath, at last spoke up. “If this is the same Amarthiel of which our legends speak, at the battle of Fornost---”

“It is.” Laerdan’s face was pale, and tense.

“Fell news,” Golodir, of them all, looked the least affected, still as grimly determined as ever. “She has a palantír, you saw? The same Mordirith kept?”

Lastadron nodded, and turned once more to Laerdan. “You said you knew much of this Amarthiel, and the rest of you know her name. Who is she?”

“She was Angmar’s champion, in the days of its rising.” Laerdan’s voice came slow, and his gaze directed into the fire. “All through the Witch-king’s conquest of Eriador, she marched with his forces, fought with his minions, and before her, the good people of the North quailed. The armies of Angmar marched behind her on Fornost, and Fornost fell.

“Yet Eärnur came out of the South, and Glorfindel from the East, and together their forces retook that great city. History records that she was defeated upon the fields of battle that day, by an unknown Elf, and I had thought her dead. But now, you say she has arisen again in might.” he fell silent, staring into the fiery depths of the hearth.

“This Sara Oakheart,” Golodir spoke again, “She has shed her guise at last, but why did she bear it at all? She was there, that day, when Mordirith was felled, but she did not come to his aid, nor even appeared before the palantír was unguarded. ...Is she allied with him, or isn’t she? And if she is as mighty as you recall, Laerdan, then why has she not risen to strike us all down, here in her own land where none might know?”

A faint shudder passed around the small room, and the fire, the only light to be had this deep in the caverns, sent ominous shadows scurrying about the corners. The two Rangers, Brúnfair and Maerchiniath, regarded their captain warily, but he heeded them not, fierce gaze levelled solely on Laerdan until the Elf at last looked up.

“The majority of Amarthiel’s power, they say, came from a mighty ring: Narchuil, forged by the Gwaith-i-Mírdain in their days under Antheron. Few alive still remember this, and most pass it off as fantasical horror-story. Still, the tale has the right of it. Not a Ring, as Sauron himself helped to forge, and still not one of the Three Rings of Elves, that Celebrimbor himself wrought in secret. A lesser ring, by all account, but evil, and one that could lend devestating power to its bearer.”

“Could? Did she lose it?” Lastadron said, and immediately found himself subject to the full force of Laerdan’s ancient gaze.

“Yes, she lost it, that day upon Fornost hill, but it was not destroyed, and I believe she must seek it still, for her only power without it is the loyalty of her minions, great though that is.”

“What happened to it?” This time it was Brúnfair who voiced the question.

“It was broken, they say, and hidden, but where none know, not even Amarthiel. She has in her possession a palantír now, though, and with it she will learn of its location with time. I am afraid there is little we can do regarding that.”

A silence fell on the chamber then, of consideration and brooding. At last Golodir rose, and drew aside the rough-hewn door that led to the rest of Gath Forthnír. A dim, torchlit hallway lay beyond, and the faint echo of voices could be heard somewhere down it.

“You have endured a great trial,” he said gravely to Lastadron, and as if drawn by his words a wave of exhaustion passed over him. “Rest, and take food. We will plan our next move.”

Areneth, now off duty from the surface, led him to one of the cavernous barracks that housed the Rangers, and he passed out nearly immediately upon lying down. He did not sleep well, though, and his dreams were troubled.

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Oc-tober Day 14 - Flower(s) - Amathan

"Flowers?" Amathan demands increduously, and Lastadron nods, smiling perhaps a little too gleefully.

"Aye, flowers she said, and as many as we can carry. Dozens of people are being sent out for them, and hundreds are growing them in plots and pots right in the city. Apparantly they're downright essential for a Midsummer wedding."

A burst of song is heard as a nearby tavern door swungs open, despite the early hour, but by now it is no surprise to the pair. Of late the taverns and pubs of the city have been employed more as social hubs and performing stages than their intended use, and a place to gather and rejoice away from the stifling heat of high summer. Amathan more than slightly wishes himself among the throngs of revellers now, as Lastadron drags him cheerfully down through the streets and out the open gate onto Pelennor.

The day is bright and young, the green fields rolling out before them in endless waves and birds singing out the louder as the two tramp further away from the noise by the road.

Though most of the post-war work had already been completed in the nearly three months since their return to the city, there still remained a myriad of other ways they could have assisted this day. They might have gone down to Harlond to help with the repairs, or joined the clearing patrols through Osgiliath, or even tracked down Rodwen to make certain everything was going to plan. Now, though, the day’s schedule seems to consist entirely of picking flowers, courtesy of Lastadron opening his mouth when he shouldn’t have.

Even with a week to go before the ordained day of the wedding, garlands and bouquets adorn Minas Tirith by the hundreds, but always more are needed. Lastadron already has filled his quiver with tall orchids, and Amathan his belt pouch with a crowd of glittering snap-dragons. Their main haul, a wide woven basket, is piled high with colorful flora.

The Sun’s heat, pleasently warm at its rising, sits heavy and hot over the fields, and Amathan can feel himself wilting as they work their way clockwise round the city, though the flowers themselves don’t seem much the worse for it. Lastadron, condemned bearer of the basket, laughs when Amathan voices this thought near the foot of the mountains. There are quite a few other gatherers out on the fields, but flowers have grown incredibly thick and plentiful this year and there is no lack for them.

“And hardy, it seems,” Lastadron says, studying a bright yellow blossom before tucking into the basket. “Not one has broken since dawn.”

Amathan rises from a crouch with an armful of miniature white stars, dumping them atop the mound of flowers carefully. They have been out for hours already and soon they will need to return--- to empty their basket if nothing else.

His scabbard, at least, is clear of flowers, and his hand settles naturally upon it as he surveys the rolling fields of Pelennor. Farms and home, fields and crops, all have been labled high priority with the restoration of the city grounds, and now the fields are returned to a bright and peaceful scene.

Amathan, though, cannot help but see the black and red sky looming overhead through the thin blue veneer when he gazes across it, and the sharp scent of smoke hanging ever on the breeze. Three months it has been, and still at times one can stumble over a rusted orc-helm or a half-buried bone, and the crops grow taller for the blood that soaks the ground.

A light touch upon his arm, and he starts. Lastadron dangles a pair of tiny blue flowers before his face.

“What do you think?” his friend asks, and his smile is slightly wan, “Too small for Merilien?”

“Nay,” he answers, and pushes back soaked hair from his face. It is sweat, not blood, that trickles down his back, and birdsong that echoes through the air. “Doubtless she will find a place to stick them, or an unsatisfactory gap in an arrangement somewhere to suit them.”

Lastadron laughs, and adds them to the pile.

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late night is a terrible time to be rehauling an oc's entire timeline but. it works so well.

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[LOTRO Vol 2 Spoilers]

I thought it'd be a good idea to finish Mirkwood (vol 2 edition) on Lastadron before starting Mirkwood (bbom edition) on Ryndel, seeing as I never actually finished Vol 2 (or even started Mirkwood through it) on Ryndel.

I have one thing to say.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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OC Questions Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @a-lonely-dunedain! Here I will answer three OC questions from her post, and then tag a couple people to answer the questions I'll come up with (if they want to). These are for Amathan and Aderthor, as they're the OCs clearest in my head and also the ones who've been banging down the door for the last monthish.

1. What is a trait your OC can't stand in other people vs. a trait that they find themself drawn to

Amathan - he tends to be pretty short-tempered and low-filter around people who tick him off, and he doesn't have a short list of these. A specific trait (rather than general immorality) would probably be laziness, especially where it matters. Didn't set up that barricade right? Thought you'd just keep up that meaningless conversation rather than pay attention to what you're doing with a blade in a crowded workspace? You've got another think coming. On the flip side, professionalism (when warranted, and the genuine kind instead of posturing) does a great job of convincing him you actually know what you're doing. He's not himself a leader, but does not accept leadership from someone who even he can see is doing it wrong.

Aderthor - as a generally easy-going guy, it takes more seriously terrible traits to get to "can't stand" territory. Cruelty of any kind gets him angry, but what gets him furious is cruelty without a point. Doing that didn't even get you anything. You just ripped hurt into existence and your gain was itself. You did that for fun. The additional confusion that it adds to the equation makes it even worse. He can't understand it and he can't understand the people who do it and that drives him crazy in addition to angry. As for what he is drawn to, generally the opposite: people he can understand and who want to be understood, even unconsciously. People who feel their own kinship with every other person around them and share in it. (This is a reason he gets attached to Corunir so quickly.)

2. What animal would you associate with your OC? can be for in-character reasons (I.E their favorite animal) or a more symbolic reason

Amathan - A chihuahua. I've never actually thought of animals in relation to most of my characters, so all I've got on the top of my head are dumb jokes. Let me google some stuff think real quick. A WOLF. He's often perceived as a 'lone wolf' by those around him, especially those who met him recently, but in reality he's much more of a pack animal, and is fiercely protective of his family and friends. He's intelligent, but has a penchant for diving over his head and wildly overestimating his own martial ability on his own. He works far better in a team. Lastadron absolutely stayed with him partly out of a conviction that this guy is alive purely because of duct tape and spite.

I really want to equate Lehtion with a horse for humor and also symbolism, but horse symbolism and Lehtion's Lehtionness isn't cooperating. (Most of his character development ends up circled around Rohan, despite me not actually planning it that way.)

3. What is their biggest regret? was it truly their fault or some unavoidable tragedy? (and can they tell the difference)

I'm going to take this question as it pertains to backstory, as it occurs to me my characters have way more regrets post-Epic, most of them every other player character is going to share.

Amathan - his biggest regret is probably not taking off after Aderthor immediately after they realized something had gone wrong (or better yet, going with him). Yes, he actually found him alive even after ten years out of contact, but in Amathan's view he could have also done that perfectly well without the ten years of thinking his brother was dead. The question of whether that would have worked (a lot of factors contributed to the overthrow of the False-king in Angmar, not just Amathan and Lastadron showing up, and the Ram Duath really was impassible for a good long while there) is not one he has considered in depth. He also hasn't considered how twenty-year-old-Amathan might have reacted to being thrown into the Epic. So, while deciding not to go after Aderthor immediately could be his fault (which is NOT the right word), Angmar not getting overthrown ten years earlier absolutely was not.

Aderthor - WE COULD'VE AT LEAST TOLD SOMEONE WHERE WE WERE GOING DANG IT. The whole situation around trapped-in-Angmar-for-ten-years is one big regret for Aderthor. Whenever he gets stuck in a circle around thinking it (especially before Amathan and Lastadron show up) he mostly loops THIS WAS PREVENTABLE!!!!! around every tragedy and every death. Whether anything that was within his power at the time (telling Halbarad, staying with Corunir, and... nothing else really) would've helped anything is not clear, and most of the time he can see that. The pointlessness (from his view) of it all is what really galls him, even if he can't actually think of One Thing that anyone could've done to prevent it.

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Now for my own questions! Hmm, let me think...

What is your OC's family relationships like? Is he/she close with his/her birth family? Any siblings? Living parents? Extended relatives? How does he/she think of any found family--- in those terms, or more shy about it?

Does your OC more easily connect with people inside of a context--- a task, a specific conversation topic, a common goal--- or during downtime when they can do whatever they want?

How good are most good-intentioned people at reading your OC, or how correct are their general assumptions about him/her? Does your OC present him/herself as open to other people or closed-off?

Sorry for any vagueness in the questions, feel free to interpret them however you want! Tagging @o-lei-o-lai-o-lord, @sailforvalinor, and @mozart-the-meerkitten if they want to join! :D

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Stealing this because it's fun :D

Also it's one week because I need to write more.

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11, 15, 36?

11. If you could have one npc as a companion to run around with you, who would it be? would it be the same for all your characters?

For me, I'd love for Lothrandir to join me on my ridiculous epic adventures. Especially for like, East Rohan stuff with Horn, Nona, and Corudan, for the sole purpose of absent-mindedly rolling up his sleeves in Wildermore while literally everyone else (including the Elf) is freezing.

It'd probably vary for many of my characters. Lastadron would definitely pick Langlas, and Aderthor Corunir, but for the rest I honestly don't know. Amathan would probably pick Radanir.

15. Do you have a favorite class to play? A favorite specialization?

Hunter, rune-keeper, and warden are all very dear to me, but if I had to pick one it'd be captain. Being an invulnerable tank with enormous damage is just too fun, especially for soloing in technically-fellowship areas. For specialization, I generally gravitate towards red lines, for the damage and soloability.

36. Are there any major lore additions or changes you have strong opinions on?

All of them.

Kidding, but I really love what LOTRO's done with Tolkien's works, especially around the really vague areas such as the Lone-lands and Forochel. For specificity, I'll say that the Northern Rangers are one area that certainly wasn't canon, but nonetheless is great. The idea that they are this organized, for lack of a better word, and with as many settlements as they have, and with as much influence as they seem to wield in Eriador (especially the North Downs), wasn't really present in the books, and wasn't something I considered before playing, but adds an enormous amount to the story.

It is pretty funny however, to see the stars of the Dúnedain literally everywhere, and their gear (or at least the Grey Company version) adorned on every available space with them, and imagine that anyone in Eriador holds any misconseptions about where they're from.