A Hunt for a Queen

Dusk was dim and gloomy. Afterall, sunlight had to fight hard to get through the grey clouds of Angmar. The barren land was cold, alien and hostile, full of predators, orcs and other spawn of the Enemy.

Yet, it was far from being silent. Far away, in the fortress, drums carried their ominous call far, spreading orders and will of the Nazgul, filling hearts of Free Peoples with dread.

Only a small group left the Ranger outpost that night. Outnumbered and stretched way too far, the Council of the North could not take care of everything. Fortunately, they weren't alone.

The leading elf moved swiftly and seemingly effortlessly. His dark eyes pierced the smoke and darkness, looking keenly for any dangers. When one was spotted, a quick gesture was enough... and one of his followers would let an arrow. One arrow, one kill. The group moved from cover to cover, like shadows. Behind them followed a a sturdier, broader figure. A hooded, armour-clad man with a heavy shield. The protector.

They were all heading towards a spider nest, but not just any spider nest... home of one spider queens of Angmar, whose spawn made scouting missions around Carn Dum almost impossible.

In and out, from shadow to shadow, they made their way to a huge cave's entrance. There they stopped to reorganise. Hushed voices, whispers, last minute changes and they were ready. Torches, oil-dipped arrowheads, masks on their heads and antidotes at their belts. Everything was ready. So were they.

Corridor after corridor, they eliminated encountered spiders, burned the cocoons and cleansed the filth. Deep in the heart of the cavern, the enraged spider queen descended to see only one person. The armour-clad warrior, waiting for her, armed and ready.

Hatred is a poison and thus the predator became the hunted. When she charged, the man was ready, yet all he had to do was to make her come into the trap. Fiery arrows rained on her from shadows, followed by bottles of oil and more fire. The battle did not take long and soon only a scorched, headless corpse remained...

The Wyld Hunt was already regrouping and on its way to the Ranger's enclave.

(Big thanks to everyone who joined us for Bogbereth's kill! We shall be having a kinship meeting, rather than an event, on Sunday, a way to integrate people and encourage to RP more and more. Keep in touch and Hunt Well! *winks*)

Lilu's background

As I have been encouraging for some time now, I'm delighted to publish the first character related story of one of our Wolves. The honour was claimed by Lilu (Elufer's alt) with some tasty insight into her past.

Enjoy and... don't be shy to provide your own stories, long or short!

The Night of the Silver Light

When bright full Moon steals light from the stars, and paints the night in silverish greys, the Falcon clan awaits for their Spirit to visit them.

On that summer night, there are no bonfires in Tal Methedras. It is the Night of the Silver Light, when full Moon gives so much light that it puts a sparkle in our eye.

It is the night when Tur Morva is filled with humming of the tribal tunes and rhythmical drumbeats. The young of the tribe come out to play, sing, and dance for one another. They whirl along the narrow cliff paths for hours. When the mighty and encompassing Gwenaewen is pleased with their dancing meditation, She sends falcons flying around Tal Methedras. And the Spirit and its Tribe rejoice in celebration.

Lilu

  The last few weeks have been particularly brutal for young Lilu. She left familiar Dunland amidst the turmoil. Tensions among the neighboring Clans were at their height. The Falcon Clan was being slowly corrupted and no one noticed it. Lilu’s Father, Lheu Brenin, disregarded her warnings, even though he and the rest of the Clansmen were well aware of Lilu’s gift. It was like their minds were barred from thinking in any direction other than the White Hand…

  It was the last Night of The Silver Light, when Gwenaewen met Lilu. She came to the girl with a Raven on her shoulder. Lilu was trying to summon Gwenaewen for few weeks already, she was trying to seek guidance from her Spirit.

  The drums and humming of the Night’s celebration were filling the air and coating the two.

‘Your people are in grave danger, Lilu’  Gwenaewen spoke briefly. She lifted her hand and the Raven landed on it almost immediately, ‘This is Corbin. He will help you in case if you will need to leave the country’

  Lilu’s eyes opened in surprise.

 ‘Lilu, as you might have suspected, The White Wizard is not well-intended toward the people in this country. Do not let his protective claims fool you! He watches you patiently, imposing more control over the Clans every day. You shall resist it, and help Lheu Brenin to overcome it’

  Corbin circled Lilu two times and landed on her shoulder.

  ‘Shall the White Hand overcome your clan’s resistance, you must leave them. Do not tarry a moment longer, for you will aid them only by escaping in secrecy.’

  ‘Oh, encompassing Gwenaewen!’ Lilu dropped on her knees folding her hands in prayer, ‘Do not leave me with my questions unanswered! I beg you!’ She lamented as Gwenaewen started disappearing in the mist. Lilu sat down on dewy grass. The humming and drumming stopped a while ago. The dawn was near, promising a chance for Lilu to help her clansmen, and menacing with the threat of the enslaving White Hand. Could the Wizard really be so deceitful?

  Corbin made a screeching sound as if confirming her doubts.

  Lilu has been on the road ever since. In Eregion, a band of Orcs ambushed her. She lost her belongings, but managed to escape. They caught Corbin and lit a fire right away, setting up to cook him. Lilu could not lose that bird! She fought bravely, and managed to free Corbin escaping with him into the wooded Trollshaws.

  Exhausted from days of travel and malnutrition, she was caught by Orcs  East of Weathertop, and dragged into their camp in Naerost. Catching her was not easy, though. Lilu incinerated a few Orcs in the process. Naturally, they have beaten her up until she lost consciousness. She woke up tied in the Orc camp.

  Lilu has never been captured before. It was madly frightening. Her heart was starting to beat faster and tears filled her green eyes. She would have better chosen death than a prospect of being tortured by Orcs. It took all of the strength of a resolute Derudh, but Lilu managed to regain composure. She tucked away fear into the furthest corner of her mind, and concentrated on assessing the surroundings. This is when she felt a feather brush against her hands, tied behind her back.

  Another brush. than quiet pecking at the ropes. She knew she had a chance to escape now.

An unearthed poem

A poem found on a scroll rescued long ago, near Annuminas.

The scroll itself is dated after the city's fall, but the poem's origin, date and author are unknown.

It can be found, displayed, in the hall of the Wyld Hunt's kinship house.

For obvious reasons, Shemkel has adopted it as a creed of sorts.

Go where those others went to the dark boundary   

for the golden fleece of nothingness your last prize

go upright among those who are on their knees

among those with their backs turned and those toppled in the dust

you were saved not in order to live

you have little time you must give testimony

be courageous when the mind deceives you be courageous   

in the final account only this is important

and let your helpless Anger be like the sea

whenever you hear the voice of the insulted and beaten

let your sister Scorn not leave you

for the informers executioners cowards—they will win

they will go to your funeral and with relief will throw a lump of earth   

the woodborer will write your smoothed-over biography

and do not forgive truly it is not in your power   

to forgive in the name of those betrayed at dawn

beware however of unnecessary pride

keep looking at your clown’s face in the mirror   

repeat: I was called—weren’t there better ones than I

beware of dryness of heart love the morning spring   

the bird with an unknown name the winter oak

light on a wall the splendour of the sky   

they don’t need your warm breath

they are there to say: no one will console you

be vigilant—when the light on the mountains gives the sign—arise and go   

as long as blood turns in the breast your dark star

repeat old incantations of  fables and legends   

because this is how you will attain the good you will not attain   

repeat great words repeat them stubbornly

like those crossing the desert who perished in the sand

and they will reward you with what they have at hand   

with the whip of laughter with murder on a garbage heap

go because only in this way will you be admitted to the company of cold skulls

to the company of your ancestors: Gil-galad Hurin Beren

the defenders of the kingdom without limit and the city of ashes

Be faithful Go

[the actual poem is called 'Envoy of Mr Cogito' and was written by Zbigniew Herbert; here I made a few small changes to make it Middle-earth-friendly; you can find the original here -> http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/178191 together with information about translators, etc]

Burrowed in a barrow.

The three elves looked like if they had crawled out of a grave. In a way, that was the truth, as they had left emerged from an ancient barrow but a few moments ago.
Dusty, dirty, with cobwebs in their hair and unmentionable remnants of their foes on their boots.
The first one to break silence was Shemkel.
'We have to come back here with fire. Lots of it and lots of oil.' His voice was coarse from the fetid air of the tombs. The sound of Sindarin language alerted a nearby crebain, who set off with a loud call.
The bird did not fly far, though. An arrow set loose by one of the other elves pierced it mid-air, cleanly through the neck.
'A good shot' Shemkel whispered and raised his hand to order silence. Then he motioned towards south, towards the exit from that terrible, unclean place.
The three elves set off quickly and quietly, sneaking through the grim night, hiding in the shadows.
Every crebain they encountered died swiftly and efficiently.
Their way to Falathlorn was not a perilous one, after they had left the barrows, but the news they confirmed were grevious indeed.
It wasn't only Angmar, that the Shadow grew and loomed over the neighbouring lands.
Allover the Middle-earth something stirred. An Ancient Evil had awakened and no one was same anymore...

A fictionized version of the meeting...

... for those who couldn't attend.

Shemkel stood almost still, leaning over the map table, seemingly lost in thoughts.

"Mae g'ovannen, Wolves." He raised his almost black eyes and gave a long, assessing look to everyone gathered in the hall.

He straightened himself and slowly, gracefully, rounded the table, then stood tall and proud, at the edge of the wooden stage.

"I am glad that all of you heeded my call to join me here, in our..." He gave everyone a slight, amused smile. "Den..."

Shemkel opened his arms and waited patiently, till everyone had a chance to take a look around.

"As you know, my name is Shemkel Mornheneb, of Imladris, the..." He frowned at the word, "...leader of the Wyld Hunt."

He waved his left hand around, pointing at the listening people.

"You also know some of the gathered here. Some you don't. Nevertheless, they are your brothers and sister, thus you shall come to know them all today."

Shemkel paused for a while.

"... to know and rely on them, as a pack of wolves does." There was a slight pause.

"Sadly, not all of us were able to make it here, tonight. I have sent most of you with tasks" He continued, his slightly predatory eyes sliding from one to another.

"Most of you have returned with news and reports, some have sent me letters, some are still out there, carrying out their orders."

Shemkel narrowed his eyes and clenched his left fist. "For it is our responsibility to vanguard the Free Peoples, to deliver critical information to our allies, and to officials of these lands."

He clenches his teeth, all tense and apprehensive. "I have recently come back from a scouting mission in Angmar..."

Shemkel waited for the murmour in the Hall to cease.

"Together with your reports from Ered Luin, the Shire, Bree-land, Evendim, the North Downs, the Lone-lands and Trollshaws, what I have seen makes me worry about the future..."

The elf sighed and shook his head. "The time of elves fades away. The fate of Middle-Earth soon will be upon the shoulders of other races. Dwarves, hobbits... and Men." He gestured towards Rokeler.

"For now, we linger still, even though the call of the Sea is ever louder, more tempting. Yet we shall not abandon you in a time of need. We will all stand together, united, arm in arm."

Shemkel saluted, hitting the left of his chest with a tight-clenched fist.

"But, even united, there are only a handful of us. Even with our friends, the Rangers of the North, all we can aim for are skirmishes, gathering intelligence, eliminating important servants of the Enemy and preparing Free Peoples for what is to come."

Shemkel nodded to himself and raised his voice a bit. "The Council of the North has been called, a concil that wishes to unite everyone against the Shadow that looms over Angmar. And it is that Shadow..." He clenched his fists again, his predatory feature became even more prominent. "That we will all stand against, stalwart as ever."

As his Wolves whispered, he continued. "Our own Shadows, our Blades, our Istyar, we all have our responsibilities. The Shadows will continue to scout, to spot orc warbands, to gather news of gathering foes. The Blades shall offer their assistance in Ered Luin, in the Shire, in Bree-land, wherever the local militia is unable to take care of the influx of brigands and other unruly... element. The Istyar may have the toughest tasks, like my daughter, Aralynia, who could not make it here on time tonight..." He paused, lost in his thoughts for a moment. "... for they are expected to protect the very knowledge, both that we have, and that we have forgotten, against the Enemy."

"Soon," He coughed and raised his voice again, "we shall issue orders, after the last reports come in. For now, I can tell you that the situation in Evendim and by the border with Trollashws is the worst and will require joint effort in order to quell the brewing storm."

"For now, though," Shemkel beckoned Rokeler to come forth, "we shall all get to know each other better. This is Rokeler, my trusted brother."

He motioned Rokeler to address the gathered.

After that, the rest followed his example.

Outside, there was the late evening silence. In the North, though, hammers clanged onto anvils, forging new weapons to kill the Free Peoples...

Shemkel's background

This is a purely information-oriented post. You can treat it as background for any interactions with this character, as the first part concerns public knowledge in Rivendell and first impressions, while the other is obvious to any member of the Wyld Hunt.

What is known to a passing traveler:

Not much at all. Shemkel is a polite, yet quiet and rather introverted. When dealing with strangers he keeps his distance, talks without unnecessary haste and does not encourage excessive familiarity. Yet another traveling elf, aware of customs of other races and providing help in need, but, as most of Eldar, unable to treat others differently, than younger brothers.

What is known in Rivendell:

The Eldar like their secrets. It's not easy to convince them to reveal, nor explain, any.

What one can hear from them, though, is that Shemkel was (and, to an extent, still is) a scout, sent by Elrond or his advisors, to gather information in the lands surrounding Trollshaws.

His wife was Laurel, his daughter's name is Aralynia - both of them scholars and lore-masters of a certain renown.

Nevertheless, the elves of Rivendell won't talk about Laurel's demise to anyone, but the most trusted allies of the Last Homely House.

There is, however, talk about the Huntsman of Enedwaith and his dealings with Shemkel.

The name of the Wyld Hunt emerges.

Now, beware of spoilers, if  you are not part of the Hunt!

He comes from Rivendell. For an elf, he's not old, but neither young. Mature, should suffice.

When approached by friendly people, he tends to be quite warm, well-behaved and gracious, though reserved when facing strangers.

When alone or in a small group of those he knows well, however, he's quite solemn and his predatory nature is very prominent. Shemkel will continue to be kind, yet it's clear, that he is an introvert, who prefers to act, than speak, even though, when needed, he's a very eloquent person.

He's lost someone, that's obvious. Since he's an elf, and has a pendant of two combined rings, it's quite obvious to deduct, that it was his wife. Nevertheless, the stare of his almost black eyes, when he is caught touching the pendant, makes almost everyone, bar the most cheerful hobbits, uneasy and reluctant to ask about it (I do not discourage you from asking, simply bear in mind that it's not an easy topic for him and your character senses it easily).

Shemkel has met the Huntsman. No, not Orome, but his servant. One day, he would love to present you all to him, but it takes time to get imbued with the original Wild Hunts ideals (that, and it requires completing a quest chain in Enedwaith, level 60+ area).

Hence, the Wyld Hunt is something completely different from its inspiration. Afterall, we don't protect only the nature and wilderness. The stakes are higher and our numbers, sadly, lower.

That's why we need allies. Rangers, town officials, adventurers. Anyone, who stands against the Shadow.

Shemkel also knows that the time of elves is ending.

For worse or for the better, the end will be the same as the end of the war against Sauron.

Either he wins and the Shadow falls, or the Free Peoples win and the Eldar are no longer needed, for the Fourth Age shall belong to Men.

Without an exception, Shemkel treats every person as an equal, often addressing people he meets as friends, and his kinsmen as either his Wolves or brothers. He seems to have no prejudice towards any of the races (except orcs and akin to them, which are abominations either way), what is more, he seems to be fond of hobbits, which he often describes as 'the last innocents of Ea'.

Against his enemies, on the other hand, he is ruthless and unforgiving. He has been known to give orders to kill those who surrendered, if the crimes committed were severe enough.

The information above is only a draft, of course, but it should give you a better look at my character.

Your truly,

Shemkel Mornheneb

We exist on Laurelin Archives!

It's not much, but it is, at the same time, a great stepping-stone into crafting our kinship into a force to be reckoned with!

There are two related sub-pages on the archives, one for the Hunt itself:

http://laurelinarchives.org/node/25773

The other for Shemkel, as a character:

http://laurelinarchives.org/profile/12903

Setting up your profile there is far from mandatory, but it may help us grow... additionally, it may enrich our RP experience and increase immersion.

The image (painting) on our kinship's website comes from flickr and all rights are reserved for Valin Mattheis, the author.

 

 

'The Wild Hunt' by Valin Mattheis

 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforgivablerealness/6205934163/ 

Some of the sights Shemkel has seen

The Court of the Huntsman

One of the Huntsman's maidens

A wayward son's nocturnal return to Rivendell

Wanderlust begins right past the doors

A soothing fireplace, books... a weary traveler rests...

... yet his mind is already far away...

Is he thinking of the book in front of him, or the Weathertop, in the corner of his eye?

What shall it be... a good night's rest here, or somewhere far away?

The land of the Lossoth by night...

... and their majestic nightsky.

The Wyld Hunt in-game

In character, the Wyld Hunt was founded by Shemkel Mornheneb, a scout hailing from Rivendell, during his grief and sorrow-filled walkabout through Eriador.
One day, when he trusts you and you manage to convince him to open up, he might tell you the reason of the walkabout. For now, it's obvious that he lost someone. Judging by his pendant, someone very close to him.

During his travels and guerrilla-like hunts after various roaming orc bands, he found himself in Enedwaith, stranded in the unfriendly land of the Algraig. There, after dozens of years wasted on self-loathing and blind hatred towards the orcs, Shemkel met the Huntsman, a mysterious Maia of Oromë.
What was said and done during that period, shall forever remain Shemkel's secret, but the meeting changed him greatly. Or, perhaps, restored to sanity.

According to his daughter, Aralynia, when she met him after all those years of abandonment, the change went in deep. The hatred was still there, as well as the grim determination to hunt and slaughter every orc he comes across.
But there was something more. Regret, for the fall he brought onto himself. Conviction to atone himself in Aralynia's eyes. Finally, the sense of purpose.
No longer was Shemkel torn between the desire to leave the Middle-Earth or plunge himself blindly into purposeless killing.

Guided by the Huntsman, Shemkel began to seek other, like-minded free peoples, in order to form the Wyld Hunt that elves of Rivendell know today.
Though never numerous and decentralized, the Wyld Hunt proved to be a useful and reliable organization, dedicated to defending free peoples against the servants of the Enemy.
No longer single-minded focused on hunting the orcs, scouts of the Hunt, following Shemkel's example, spread throughout Eriador to seek out hidden dangers, cooperating closely with Rangers of the North.
Yet, while Rangers devoted themselves to settling in the lands they chose to protect, the Wyld Hunt always roamed, always hungry for new enemies, new skirmishes, spread and vigilant, meeting in great numbers only to hunt and kill a formidable enemy or cull a big and dangerous warband.

From Ered Luin, through Shire, Bree-land, to Trollshaws and even Angmar, the Hunt never stops, though free peoples, bar a few well-informed leaders, remain oblivious to this struggle. And even though their numbers were always scarce, Shemkel knows well, that the vanguard and scouts are crucial in every conflict. Hence, he tries to eliminate as many scouts of the Enemy, as possible.

Having surrounded himself with other, like-minded people, Shemkel drives the Hunt to help the Free Peoples in their struggle against the Shadow growing in Angmar.