Post by Aikári Salmarinian on Jan 3, 2022 17:43:44 GMT
Aþâraphelûn Dušamanûðân (1)
The three dragonships returned from their trip to the other side of Alatairë. On promised winds the Minyár brought back swift news Nienna’s warriors ere craving for. Too long they had dwelled on snaps of news, for the rest there had been merely silence. That Salmarin and Findis returned was great news for all Minyár, who now suddenly came from the lands beyond the Pelóri and gathered to hear what their experiences had been. Those of others had no value. Only those who unmarred visions could tell the fair truth, even it was violent. The ninety eldar didn’t smile at all as deep sadness spoke from their eyes. “All work of Yavanna isn’t there anymore, except for a spot of land more north. We found a deserted hidden town, possibly built by some exiled elves. A crude copy of our town Tirion. Vána’s work suffered the same. What once was green and lush, is now scarred rock and stone. There is no lament of the land how deep the pain goes, as stone is black as well and can speak no more. The wind is the fumes rising up from the depths under our feet. Instead there are growls and roars that settle with fear and anxiety in the hearts of the Hastainári. Even there is a faint light, the heart is dead, as the beat is silenced. Cold and eerie the mists dwell over Myrcadárë, revealing rock for a moment and veiling them again,” said Salmarin finally on a soft tone in Minyárin. “History has blown away.” Such statements were an abhorrence to them. The darkness was that heavy no memory remained. Findis stood next of Salmarin, but said nothing. She had drawn her hands together and stared at her feet. “We will not be taking any life, as all nature is gone. The Orcári dwell in this wasteland, gnawing on the bones the fields are littered with. Nuisances, but no match to us. Valarauko are different. Emboided withMaia spirits they are serious threats, as the same for the firebreather we captured while ago. Many more of them there must be. We stand on a precipice.”
The last word was to Manwë himself. Almost sixhundred years had passed now since the Darkening. Yet there was no answer as for both Eärendil and Elwing had to make a choice. They had been pardoned to which kindred they wanted to belong, either man or elf. But as Elwing chose the firstborn, Eärendil chose as well. After that choice Eonwë was summoned to see the three companions of Eärendil return to the mortal lands. The ship they had come with remained behind and they got another boat. Salmarin was present to see for the first time in his life what truly mortal people were. And even they looked quite fair, there was nothing sparkling about them. Their names he never learned, but that was no loss. Mortal as they likely were, these lands were not meant for them. The Minyár had heard about this choice and chatted pretty heated about it, as something as Pereldar was unacceptable, when it came to mortals and immortals. Salmarin was clear about it: “Over the mountains little comes their way and if the gap was closed nothing comes over the peaks a all. They aren’t used to sudden changes, and especially if it is not a creation of us. Those who live in Tirion living with the Noldor of Finarfin, they judge less. We have a good sense of what happens out there, and concern to keep this safe. I prefer Tirion better than Valmar. None of the Minyár are the same.” The three companions left the harbour, guided with special winds from the west now. Eärendil and Elwing stood on the quay of the city. But despite their choice they would not remain here either. There was opposition to that, even neither of them were aware of that.
There was last council to take place with the Valar. Salmarin would not be there, Ingwion and Finarfin had to attend, Indis and her daughter neither. Feonwë would be absent too. Eonwë had to attend as well. But before the last summoning, the three commanders sat together. “A latest change,” began Ingwion. “We split the host in two, and advance from two directions. Best is Finarfin he goes west,via the place refugees are still. And I sail north to make an advance from the town Findis and Salmarin found. Finarfin knows the exiles better and we do not.” Finarfin knew more adaptions would be made. “Two front assault?” asked Eonwë. “Yes,” confirmed Finarfin. “I see,” said Eonwë. “Envision Melkor as big fat Ungoliant sitting on her nest, content with what he has built. A continent in ash, ravished by fire,” spoke Ingwion with a burning light in his eyes and a smile that sent a shiver down your spine. “He got his armies of minions, his balrogs by thousands, his firebreathers by hundreds, bigbelly walkers by the hundreds. For three hundred years he won campaign after campaign, driving the exiles out their strongholds, harassed the humans who stood in his way. He is mighty, confident, certain, nobody will oppose him. He feels it’s time to set his eyes on this realm once more. He can win it maybe easily, for in Eldamar are no signs of serious preparations, except a few ships. It has been our strategy so long, build an army outside his view. The mission was an success, there are no armies waiting on the shores for us. He is hidden deep underground, weaving his web and ensnaring his results.”
Eonwë listened to the son of the Highking Ingwë. The prince had all insights of his people, and his chosen captains were as mighty in lore and poetry as in wielding weapons and strategy. “One from the southwest and the other the northwest. Melkor will never be expecting that,” he nodded. Finarfin grinned. “And that is precise how it can work. He will probably focus on one front, and not on two.” “The plains are good for mowing down the Orcáni. Gather up your Muinanárë and cast their forces aside. The firebreather we captured, he was burned out by white light. The power of Laurelin and Telperion in the days of the Trees,” said Ingwion. They had prepared for sixhundred years. The day of reckoning had come. “My people will sail first, and prepare the road for the main body to come. I’ll make sure there is a landing point for you, and then we sail on,” he added. “You could better take lead of everything,” said Eonwë dry. “I have a say, yes,” replied Ingwion straight. “People know me as Ingwion, my real name is Ingil Ingwion. I talked this through with the Highking. My father debated it with Manwë, it is granted we go, and you will coordinate the entire battle on land, Eonwë.” The Minyár had been more than once stiffheaded. And this already had played a role at the Awakening in Cuivienen. Imin had only taken members who he had woken himself, and not by the others. That was the reason the Minyár were fourteen members on the Journey. “Eonwë, I will take the southern route, and can meet up there with the Edain Houses. And maybe I will see my daughter Artanis, and my sons Findaráto, Angaráto and Aikanáro. I don’t know anything of their fates, or victories or even losses.” Eonwë hadn’t much choice than to accept this for now. When they arrived, the present situation could be so different, all plans were altered again. It was good at least to have a strategy in mind. He knew well that the Highking pretty often met with Manwë and Varda and talked over matters concerning the Valar themselves. Eonwë suspected that many of the present Minyár even had Maia blood flowing in their veins, but those details he hadn’t proof about. Fourteen was not a very healthy number for reproduction, that much Eonwë certainly knew. And there were no darkhaired members among the Minyár. They lived practically on the doorstep in Valmar. It was the hometown of the Ainur and himself as well.
Eärendil, the Silmaril and his ship were set in the sky, all according to the plans of the Valar, and was tasked to sail the heavens as a beaken of hope for those across the sea. For Elwing was a tower erected by the ocean, away from the towns. For even they had chosen to be elven, they were not permitted to live over the mountains. Eonwë suspected the Highking did have a hand in that. The result however was not satisfactory to the Minyár either. In Alqualondë and Tirion was no sound to be heard. As the northstar rose in the firmament, they too stood gazing in wonder, unaware and unbeknownst this was really for the citizens of Middle Earth. “This makes sailing a lot easier,” pointed Nienna out, as she stood with Finarfin, Eonwë, Findis, Salmarin and Ilmarë watching. “Indeed,” said Findis. “Then those Silmarils are finally in a good place. After so much horror they caused. What happened to the creator? He is not around.” “Likely dead,” replied her brother disinterested. Fëanáro was not missed after the revolt that brought so much death and destruction. Banned forever any Oathtakers were never to return. The Falmari wouldn’t have it. This was a good solution, as Elwing could see Eärendil back when he returned from his daily voyage. Over the mountains was Valmar filled with hot discussions about the change in the firnaments. He had left it all, not wanting to listen to their banther, and hear more tolerable voices than lined up with his own thoughts. Except for a few Minyár were impossible sometimes and they had unfortunately the ears of Manwë and Varda alike. Eonwë placed it out of his mind. There was a serious battle waiting now.
The three dragonships returned from their trip to the other side of Alatairë. On promised winds the Minyár brought back swift news Nienna’s warriors ere craving for. Too long they had dwelled on snaps of news, for the rest there had been merely silence. That Salmarin and Findis returned was great news for all Minyár, who now suddenly came from the lands beyond the Pelóri and gathered to hear what their experiences had been. Those of others had no value. Only those who unmarred visions could tell the fair truth, even it was violent. The ninety eldar didn’t smile at all as deep sadness spoke from their eyes. “All work of Yavanna isn’t there anymore, except for a spot of land more north. We found a deserted hidden town, possibly built by some exiled elves. A crude copy of our town Tirion. Vána’s work suffered the same. What once was green and lush, is now scarred rock and stone. There is no lament of the land how deep the pain goes, as stone is black as well and can speak no more. The wind is the fumes rising up from the depths under our feet. Instead there are growls and roars that settle with fear and anxiety in the hearts of the Hastainári. Even there is a faint light, the heart is dead, as the beat is silenced. Cold and eerie the mists dwell over Myrcadárë, revealing rock for a moment and veiling them again,” said Salmarin finally on a soft tone in Minyárin. “History has blown away.” Such statements were an abhorrence to them. The darkness was that heavy no memory remained. Findis stood next of Salmarin, but said nothing. She had drawn her hands together and stared at her feet. “We will not be taking any life, as all nature is gone. The Orcári dwell in this wasteland, gnawing on the bones the fields are littered with. Nuisances, but no match to us. Valarauko are different. Emboided withMaia spirits they are serious threats, as the same for the firebreather we captured while ago. Many more of them there must be. We stand on a precipice.”
The last word was to Manwë himself. Almost sixhundred years had passed now since the Darkening. Yet there was no answer as for both Eärendil and Elwing had to make a choice. They had been pardoned to which kindred they wanted to belong, either man or elf. But as Elwing chose the firstborn, Eärendil chose as well. After that choice Eonwë was summoned to see the three companions of Eärendil return to the mortal lands. The ship they had come with remained behind and they got another boat. Salmarin was present to see for the first time in his life what truly mortal people were. And even they looked quite fair, there was nothing sparkling about them. Their names he never learned, but that was no loss. Mortal as they likely were, these lands were not meant for them. The Minyár had heard about this choice and chatted pretty heated about it, as something as Pereldar was unacceptable, when it came to mortals and immortals. Salmarin was clear about it: “Over the mountains little comes their way and if the gap was closed nothing comes over the peaks a all. They aren’t used to sudden changes, and especially if it is not a creation of us. Those who live in Tirion living with the Noldor of Finarfin, they judge less. We have a good sense of what happens out there, and concern to keep this safe. I prefer Tirion better than Valmar. None of the Minyár are the same.” The three companions left the harbour, guided with special winds from the west now. Eärendil and Elwing stood on the quay of the city. But despite their choice they would not remain here either. There was opposition to that, even neither of them were aware of that.
There was last council to take place with the Valar. Salmarin would not be there, Ingwion and Finarfin had to attend, Indis and her daughter neither. Feonwë would be absent too. Eonwë had to attend as well. But before the last summoning, the three commanders sat together. “A latest change,” began Ingwion. “We split the host in two, and advance from two directions. Best is Finarfin he goes west,via the place refugees are still. And I sail north to make an advance from the town Findis and Salmarin found. Finarfin knows the exiles better and we do not.” Finarfin knew more adaptions would be made. “Two front assault?” asked Eonwë. “Yes,” confirmed Finarfin. “I see,” said Eonwë. “Envision Melkor as big fat Ungoliant sitting on her nest, content with what he has built. A continent in ash, ravished by fire,” spoke Ingwion with a burning light in his eyes and a smile that sent a shiver down your spine. “He got his armies of minions, his balrogs by thousands, his firebreathers by hundreds, bigbelly walkers by the hundreds. For three hundred years he won campaign after campaign, driving the exiles out their strongholds, harassed the humans who stood in his way. He is mighty, confident, certain, nobody will oppose him. He feels it’s time to set his eyes on this realm once more. He can win it maybe easily, for in Eldamar are no signs of serious preparations, except a few ships. It has been our strategy so long, build an army outside his view. The mission was an success, there are no armies waiting on the shores for us. He is hidden deep underground, weaving his web and ensnaring his results.”
Eonwë listened to the son of the Highking Ingwë. The prince had all insights of his people, and his chosen captains were as mighty in lore and poetry as in wielding weapons and strategy. “One from the southwest and the other the northwest. Melkor will never be expecting that,” he nodded. Finarfin grinned. “And that is precise how it can work. He will probably focus on one front, and not on two.” “The plains are good for mowing down the Orcáni. Gather up your Muinanárë and cast their forces aside. The firebreather we captured, he was burned out by white light. The power of Laurelin and Telperion in the days of the Trees,” said Ingwion. They had prepared for sixhundred years. The day of reckoning had come. “My people will sail first, and prepare the road for the main body to come. I’ll make sure there is a landing point for you, and then we sail on,” he added. “You could better take lead of everything,” said Eonwë dry. “I have a say, yes,” replied Ingwion straight. “People know me as Ingwion, my real name is Ingil Ingwion. I talked this through with the Highking. My father debated it with Manwë, it is granted we go, and you will coordinate the entire battle on land, Eonwë.” The Minyár had been more than once stiffheaded. And this already had played a role at the Awakening in Cuivienen. Imin had only taken members who he had woken himself, and not by the others. That was the reason the Minyár were fourteen members on the Journey. “Eonwë, I will take the southern route, and can meet up there with the Edain Houses. And maybe I will see my daughter Artanis, and my sons Findaráto, Angaráto and Aikanáro. I don’t know anything of their fates, or victories or even losses.” Eonwë hadn’t much choice than to accept this for now. When they arrived, the present situation could be so different, all plans were altered again. It was good at least to have a strategy in mind. He knew well that the Highking pretty often met with Manwë and Varda and talked over matters concerning the Valar themselves. Eonwë suspected that many of the present Minyár even had Maia blood flowing in their veins, but those details he hadn’t proof about. Fourteen was not a very healthy number for reproduction, that much Eonwë certainly knew. And there were no darkhaired members among the Minyár. They lived practically on the doorstep in Valmar. It was the hometown of the Ainur and himself as well.
Eärendil, the Silmaril and his ship were set in the sky, all according to the plans of the Valar, and was tasked to sail the heavens as a beaken of hope for those across the sea. For Elwing was a tower erected by the ocean, away from the towns. For even they had chosen to be elven, they were not permitted to live over the mountains. Eonwë suspected the Highking did have a hand in that. The result however was not satisfactory to the Minyár either. In Alqualondë and Tirion was no sound to be heard. As the northstar rose in the firmament, they too stood gazing in wonder, unaware and unbeknownst this was really for the citizens of Middle Earth. “This makes sailing a lot easier,” pointed Nienna out, as she stood with Finarfin, Eonwë, Findis, Salmarin and Ilmarë watching. “Indeed,” said Findis. “Then those Silmarils are finally in a good place. After so much horror they caused. What happened to the creator? He is not around.” “Likely dead,” replied her brother disinterested. Fëanáro was not missed after the revolt that brought so much death and destruction. Banned forever any Oathtakers were never to return. The Falmari wouldn’t have it. This was a good solution, as Elwing could see Eärendil back when he returned from his daily voyage. Over the mountains was Valmar filled with hot discussions about the change in the firnaments. He had left it all, not wanting to listen to their banther, and hear more tolerable voices than lined up with his own thoughts. Except for a few Minyár were impossible sometimes and they had unfortunately the ears of Manwë and Varda alike. Eonwë placed it out of his mind. There was a serious battle waiting now.