Fandom The Forgotten Kingdoms, a Lord of the Rings RP

[Bradstein]

This tale begins with the King's of the Free People's of Middle Earth that remain in the north. Soon after The Fellowship of the Ring has departed Rivendell, bound for Mordor, word of this secret mission reached the halls of the Kings in the north. Each were keen to maintain the secret of this quest, all acutely aware of its importance, but now knew that events were set in motion that can never be undone. Their Kingdoms were once again under the gravest of threats. Old rivalries were set aside, for the most part, and ancient alliances rekindled in the hope that the enemy can be defeated. The borders of each of these great kingdoms are surrounded by forces loyal to the shadow of Sauron and whilst the armies of each should not be underestimated, brute force alone will not be enough to defeat the enemy. The servants of their Kings have been sent forth into their dominions in search of loyal citizens whose skills, knowledge and intelligence can be used in grandeur, as part of a mission to find new ways of fighting back against the shadow.

Many were shortlisted by the inner-circles of their Kings, but only a small number have been trusted with the secrecy of this quest. Those chosen few were soon in receipt of a letter, bearing their royal seal.

Letters of invitation from the three kingdoms

Spoiler

Kingdom of Erebor

Kingdom of Dale

The Woodland Realm

Featuring
TYPE as Faron Treestrider, of The Woodland Realm
Braddington as Eliaf, of Dale
@Daan as Múirín, of Erebor
Gimzi as Telchar Ironhammer, of Erebor
Elaeja as Rínor Nemirion, of The Woodland Realm

Playing Characters
You do not need to create a character sheet, but please do write an introductory post with a brief description and history of your character, as well as why they have been selected to be a part of this quest. Your characters may have been selected by their respective kingdom for their proficiency in a certain skill or their knowledge in a specific field or topic. Aside from this, please consider that your characters will not start this quest any more powerful than any other member of your race. That being said, your characters can progress and attain new skills, influence and power (in both a social and magical sense) if you make the right choices!

The Meeting Place

Spoiler

Map of Mirkwood

Though through centuries they have shrunken as the shadow expanded over Mirkwood, the border of The Woodland Realm is notoriously well protected. As the trees thicken and the banks of the river steepen as it meanders deeper into the forest, the traveling parties sent from Erebor and Dale would be very aware they are being watched. The representative chosen from by the court of King Thranduil awaits their counterparts upstream, alongside the rangers of the border guard. The chosen meeting point is a classic example of Elven ingenuity. Camouflaged by the embankments of the river, obscured by brush, tree and small water falls from tribuatries stemming from the Mountains of Mirkwood, the elves lie in wait within hidden fortifications. To the untrained eye, the border its self is difficult to discern from the rest of the forest. However, to those who know where to look, it is marked by engravings in wood and stone with the sigil of the Elven King.

​

 

[Gimzi]

Telchar Ironhammer (of the Iron Hills Ironhammers) is young in the eyes of his fellow Dwarfs, a mere 156 years to his name. Red in hair and gold in eyes, he is easy to spot amongst his kin. With his hair pulled into a tightly plaited braid, he is known for his hammer work.

Capable of repairing many tools and weapons, he came to Erebor shortly after the death of Smaug to assist in rebuilding Dale and the Lonely Mountain. His work during the rebuild is how he gained the attention of King Dain Ironfoot II as a trusted worker and companion, fulfilling anything that needed to be done, provided he had the ability to fulfill that task, be it metal working, or even mediating disputes amongst his people.

When word was received that Elrond, in far off Imladris, was calling a council of the Free Peoples, Dain sent Gloin and his son Gimli, as Gloin had a relationship with Elrond from his previous adventures in the west.

Hearing of this, Moin sent for Telchar as he knew it was a matter of time before the free peoples east of the Misty Mountains would have a council about the threat from Mordor.

Upon hearing this, Telchar left his workshop and picked up his trusty Warhammer and round shield and went to gather supplies for the journey. He was further issued some scale-mail and a traveler pack with rations, water, a sleeping roll, and a traveler’s cloak.

Equipment in hand, Telchar bid a final farewell to his apprentices and set out for the Gate, to make his way to the Woodland realm of Thranduil.

 

[TYPE]

Faron Treestrider
Faron Treestrider, as is my name of late. Long since my years have grown tall with the trees embodying my woodland respite - and turned in ages from home to haunt at our ever-pressing enemy. Time measured is time wasted, and worthy such futile action only in those moments of mortal account – the passing of a favoured grove or the sprouting of a new leaf in its stead. Yet, in sight captured within silvered glass or stilled pool I find my visage worn – scar wreathed tears wrend memories within my skin, wreathed or gilded in dirt not gold - clad in once-made fineries of illed-resilience when cast against a lingering forever. I am painted by time, unawares, as other. I am no longer as my kin, and my soul – assured of that honoured invitation to lands beyond , falters not in faith but… desire. Oceans call no longer so sweet as where the breath of the world passes through still treetops, and light cooled in shade enveloped greened sight at utter peace.

My role is to serve my lord. I have done so loyally, ere-since he arrived where we were in this forest, the first to live among the trees and who first enjoyed the peace. His silvered mane and noble mind is turned to tasks ancient and middling in their interest to me. His decadences the spoils of his station. Alliances and the act of acquiring such is more so the duty of nobler souls than my own, and while I will protect my homeland and the languid lingering there of my kin, I have taken to busying myself with tasks – as I, other.

My mind is turned to the feet and feathered movements within our borders. None enter here without my sight drawn to it before long. My sight, or the sight of my hawks. I know the trees. I know the hills. I know the groves. I know the ways of the wood, the sounds, the scents – the soft running streams and the mountain paths hidden in between, covered in leaves, and laying undisturbed for entire generations of men. I have become a hunter in some ways then. I enjoy what I have become. I enjoy moving as though but a passing breath, quiet, hidden in sight, unknowingly entertained by those who are unawares of my presence. My bow finds its mark before the mark knows of my bow. More often than no – they never do. Long before I have hunted meat for my lord, as the men who visit him so sparely did. I did so when I returned to him as an offering which he found amusing and accepted with grace. It often went to waste. Instead, I bring him another hunt entirely. The heads of orc. This he appreciates more thoroughly.

I too enjoy the solace.

When called to his court and hear the will of my lord Thranduil – I hasted from where I had been exhuming the last of a spider den. The work had long since been cemented in my mind as an unending effort, a task as if holding in grasp the passing of a stream – a futile effort worthy of attention only when it became a danger ill-ignored. His son had left, a worrying departure and it struck unto me the seriousness of the forthcoming. Our enemy never left – but now he is returned, and his damned forces would come again as before. The woods were in danger. My task was certain.

What I own I carry with me. My bow, my knives, and those things with which I survived for so long. The call to action – I fear might call me from my woods. I might leave here. I might never return. Death is but another path that all must take – and I know what lands await me. I know my soul will eagerly accept that fate should it come for me. But I will not deny that my heart… desires to live. To remain. To linger. My kin accept their fates and march to war and ruin secure in their ends – either by boat or by blade they go to where they want – but I go, knowing my heaven is left behind with every step from my beloved woods.

I leave now for where I must – my Lord Thranduil has commanded me. I will await this alliance and we shall do what time – finally now surrounding me on all sides and threatening me as never before – demands. The good will prevail. The right will prevail. My will is second to that of nobler blood. My desires are second to higher souls. My duty certain. I go now.

I leave this record, should I not return.​

 

[Elaeja]

(Photos are not mine as you can see by the bottom right corners of each photo; credits go to them)

Rínor Nemirion ​

"In days of yore, long before King Oropher wrought his fortress of Amon Lanc, and ere the War of Wrath remade the world, my father, Nemir, dwelled in Menegroth in Doriath. There he was a king's guard from the Years of the Trees to nigh the Ruin of Doriath. Far into the Days of Bliss, Nemir fell in love with a Lathrim named Lothuial, my mother. Their love was great, and few could deny they were a perfect match — my father's calm, careful patience complimented my mother's fiery fae. After the Noldor's Exile to Beleriand, in First Age (F.A.) 107, my parents had a child, Rínor Nemirion, me.

"My story begins during the Siege of Angband when Morgoth's shadow slowly grew unbeknownst to the free peoples. My childhood was spent playing and learning under the beech and holly leaves of Neldoreth and Region. Through my constant pestering, my Adar taught and trained me in the ways of war. With youthful naivety and an unquenchable eagerness to see the world, I worked my way into the Marchwardens — despite my mother's protests — and came under the wing of Thranduil, then a renowned captain of the border guards. Thus the years passed as I grew in kinship with my fellow wardens on the outskirts of the Girdle of Melian and with my people in Menegroth.

"When Húrin gave the Nauglamír to King Thingol in F.A. 502, indirectly kindling the Sacking of Menegroth, I was in Neldoreth with Thranduil, far from our home and families. Our troop returned to Menegroth in F.A. 503 only to discover the gates broken and our people butchered at our feet. I found my parents slaughtered in my own home, and I, and my fellow Marchwardens, avowed revenge and sought the Dwarves who killed our loved ones. The survivors of Doriath were all that we found. Several days after our sorrowful reunion with our people, news arrived from the Laiquendi telling of the Battle of Sarn Athrad. From there, I followed my people to Ossiriand, then back to Menegroth, where Dior took up the kingship of Doriath.

"The short years before the Ruin of Doriath saw Thranduil and I anointed as King's guards. We served our people and new king with the utmost honor and loyalty, for our troop of Marchwardens, like many others, were devasted and guilt-stricken when they heard of Menegroth's fall. With heavy hearts, the years passed until the Sons of Fëanor came seeking the Simaril within the Nauglamír. Against our desires, Dior ordered a contingent of king's guards, including Thranduil and myself, to evacuate our people and escape. We fled with Elwing and the Nauglamír to the Havens of Sirion. However, the remaining Fëanorians were pulled to action by their accursed oath to, once more, attempt to reclaim their father's jewel.

"In F.A. 538, the Fëanorians attacked the havens. Us guards were tasked with defending the people and our Lord and Lady. The Third Kinslaying was brutal and none who fought could escape bloodshed, but in the end, the Sons of Fëanor were once again unable to obtain the Silmaril. Many an elf fell that day, a few by my own hand. Despite those horrendous deeds — that I pray Eru and the Valar can forgive me for — they were unavoidable as I had to defend my people or watch them die. Us survivors of the kinslaying followed Gil-galad and Círdan's people to the Isle of Balar, and there I met a Teleri and Falathrim Faeleth, my wife. She was a shining star in my dark years of melancholy, and she brought me back from fading. Because of the kinslaying and the numerous losses I endured, from my parents and friends to Menegroth and my Kings, I was close to losing heart and hope. It is because of her that I am still here.

"Following the War of Wrath, Faeleth and I went with Oropher and Thranduil to the Greenwood and helped erect the fortress of Amon Lanc. For many centuries we dwelt in peace but never had children. Faeleth, near the end of the Second Age (S.A.), lost her parents to Orcs, and she became scared as well. Faeleth could no longer resist the pull of the sea or stay in Middle Earth, and I was unable to help her as she had so long ago helped me. Had I not sworn myself to King Oropher and the then Prince Thranduil, I would have followed her across the sea. But the farthest I went was to the Harbors of Mithlond, and there she bade me farewell but not before proclaiming her love for me. Faeleth's departure was bittersweet, although I know she awaits me in Valinor.

"The Battle of Dagorlad followed soon after my wife's departure, and I followed my King and Prince to Mordor. After the battle, our people and the newly crowned King Thranduil abandoned our home at Amon Lanc and went north, where we made our new abode. The Elvenking's Halls were made in memory of Menegroth's beauty, and I can say they are wonderful, but both King Thranduil and I agree it is but a fading whisper of splendor of the Elder Days and pales in comparison to Menegroth of old. Upon completing our new home, I became King Thranduil's most trusted advisor and confidant, and I have served him as best I could for many centuries until now. Because of my friendship and trust with King Thranduil, love for my people, prowess in battle, and experience that I was chosen to represent the Woodland Realm. My own hatred of Dwarves has long since cooled, and I no longer despise or wholly mistrust those folk, but I will forever be suspicious and slow to friendship with them for the deeds of their ancestors. However, I am proud and more than ready to serve my King once more."

 

[Daan]

Descended from the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, Múirín was not of Durin’s Folk, rather the long-line of the Wicked Dwarf, Telchar. It was no coincidence that she’d pick up tools in relation to creating. Múirín quickly picked up the pace in becoming an Artificer and studying dwarvish runes dating back to the second age. Though not quite on par with Telchar’s skills, she made mundane tools that made life convenient for the Dwarves of Erebor—no matter how small or large.

Living in Iron Hills all her life, she was not so different from the other women – apart from her job – Múirín kept her raven-coloured mane into a braid that fell down her back, same for the beard that grew in abundance on her face; split into two braids that’d come into one tied with a silver band. Whilst creating something she only imagined in her head, a life-changing accident would cause her losing an eye and sporting a patch for long as she shall live—beyond this, her one eye is a deep brown, almost black. ‘Twas only recently she celebrated her 135th birthday, considered a whelp still yet of age to do what was acceptable in the eyes of her kin.

Although not a builder herself, Múirín’s creations aided the workers who were sent to rebuild Dale and the Lonely Mountain. However small, her work was recognised by Moin, the greatest recognition she thought any dwarf could get. Upon returning to her home, an official letter was delivered to her front doorstep. Múirín was sceptical at first, jokes were practically a fifth limb and this one seemed too far. Even though it didn’t address her by name, it was official enough to see the letter signed by the King, himself. Múirín was a tinkerer, someone who enjoyed inventing for the fun of it, but she didn’t think her proficient skills in being an artificer weren’t that high-up.

Instead of seeking the King’s ire, Múirín immediately rushed around to grab the essentials; her traveller’s pack of supplies, tools she went everywhere with, and the issued armour and sword. Snatching the letter off her table, she wrote her own in haste should she be unable to return, and stuffed it deep into the confines of her hip pouch. Múirín set off from Erebor after exchanging goodbyes with her father, whom was a stubborn smith reluctant to part with his only remaining family. Down the road, Múirín glimpsed at the map given to her and started off toward the infamous Mirkwood.

 

[Braddington]

Eliaf

There was never much for me here. Always a stranger in the court I called my home. I suppose, as a consequence of the devastation that now sweeps the land, I have a purpose that Dale could not give me before. A chance to strike at those who have been my enemies since I came into this accursed world.

If this is to be the last legacy of my family, should I fall on this journey, I must therefore begin at the start of my time in these lands.

I was born on a farm. That may not sound particularly glamorous, but it is a wild understatement. My parents, their parents and so on and so forth owned a large swathe of land on the city-state of Dale’s borders with the Woodland realm. The dirt was fertile, the weather warm, the perfect area for vineyards. And so it was. Wine poured out from those halls like a river, all for one man and one man alone. Thranduil. The King had given his patronage to our line for many generations, and upon his insistence he was to be our only client. We would happily oblige.

When the wyrm came for the mountain, and Dale with it, our family only grew stronger. The beast troubled us not on the outskirts, and the situation was such that those refugees that fled to Laketown needed guidance from an established authority. We tried to step in. It is indeed true that some of those Mayors were of our line.

Yet this is all old news.

When the evil was slain by the Bowman, and Dale re-established, our family found itself estranged. A bitter rivalry with our would be Kings, a line seen as unfit to rule, only in such a position because of a stroke of luck that proclaimed them heroes.

It was because of this, when I was but a teenager, that when the Easterlings came to our holdings we could do nothing. Our meagre garrison of troops, having long since lost the backing of the crown, was powerless to stop them.

My parents were slaughtered like lambs. Blood flowed rather than wine.

I escaped. Well, the more fitting term would be that I ran. I was quick, nimble and small. I would never see that farm again

I arrived at Dale as some semblance of a boy. Tattered cloth clinging to my bloodied skin. The King allowed me into his home, to enjoy his hearth. Bain was a magnanimous man. He could have refused, sent soldiers to salt the land to make sure we never came back to bother him. Instead he held out his hand.

It was not easy. I was not the man's son, and there was a practical arrangement to be had. I would perform tasks, whatever they may be, all the while the master-at-arms gave me the skills of a warrior. It was always made clear to me that I would one day have a purpose. I could not see it at the time.

With the march of time, and the growing escalation of conflict with a rather bold enemy, I was granted my knighthood and rose a man. Clad in the armour of Dale.

Is there much more to say? Perhaps not. There is only so much to such a short life, and my adventure is about to begin. The task I have been given is one I intend to fulfill to the best of my abilities.

If I fall, if I fail, I doubt anyone will read this anyway.​