Post by Olmandis on Jul 20, 2007 17:15:53 GMT -5
The aged dwarf breathed the dampened hall air heavily, letting the scents of forge and stone bring back the memories he'd never quite forgotten. He flexed his mailed hands, as if recalling he once wore this metal as a second skin. With a sniff and twitch of his white whiskers, he sheathed the newly polished blade and strode through the great Hall, his eyes narrowing at each defender he passed, keeping his head help high despite not recognizing the lot.
He strode to the great throne, and gave a small smile to the Guards, the wash of memories flowing in like the coming of a tide. The axes parted and he came beard-to-beard with Dwalin, he spread forth his arms. The old dwarves embraced, and Dwalin took throne while Olmandis took knee, much to the protests of the Lord. "Olmandis, surely you've done your fair share of kneeling over the years, I'd rather you not greet old friends thusly."
A slight chortle, "Bah, Dwalin, ever so modest. It's been ages since we last met. Hard pressed to find you, what with 5 armies in the way. Now, these lads tell me...you need someone with experience, so I must ask, why in Thorin's beard would you send for me?" Dwalin's gristled head took to shaking, but the chortle is echoed, "And I'm the modest one. What we need, my friend, are warriors of right mind and speech, diplomats, at this time. There's a shadow on the land, a blight, and darkness is darkness, be it in our mines, if not our minds, or on the land. We may yet be engulfed."
The other dwarf stroked his beard, musing, as old dwarves do. "So then...what would you have me do?". Dwalin raised his chin, peering out through the polished halls. "There is a great meeting at hand, and we may all take part of what it entails, in our own way. In the mean time, while our brothers head to Rivendell, I have a most curious assignment that requires...a dwarf with a mind for discretion."
Olmandis chuckled, "And since the fair folk are involved a dwarf without his beard buried up his arse when it comes to prejeudice." Dwalin simply nods, "Let's hope your axe remains as sharp as you, friend." Reaching through his beard, he pulled out a sealed scroll, handing it to the old guard, with a nod. "Your partner, Master Ascahilion, will be awaiting your arrival in Frogmorton, do Take care...if these reports are true...". The aged dwarf smiled, his gaze soft even as Dwalin's hinted of concern. Setting his well-worn helm over his head, his bushy brows rose, "If there's one thing I've learned from my years behind a sheild, Dwalin, it's discretion. Now if you excuse me, my lads are out there somewhere in the world, most likely drinking it dry. I best get out there before Grendil and Hansil make their way into every tavern in the shire and frighten all the Hobbits away."
With a grin, and a wrist grip, the dwarves parted. The old Guard looked about the halls one last time, feeling the familiar weight of the sheild on his arm, the hilt in his hand. He looked to the spires fading the distance, and back to courtyard, with a wave to the brothers assembled, and up torwords the greying sky. "Something in these old bones tells me this is going to be quite a trip."
The pony ride was a last look at the snow-covered mountains, before frost gave way to foliage, and the smells of iron-mountain air turned to pies and freshly turned farming earth. He found himself musing, such creatures who weilded hoes rather than spears and whose armies were farmers, not warriors. It indeed seemed too good to be true, at least to last.
The old dwarf bent low as a hobbit in a curious green feathered hat heralded his approach, waving him down as Dwalin's personal wax seal did all the introductions that would be needed. "Good morrow, Master Dwarf, we've been expecting you." The old guards furry brows lifted, "Oh, then you have beer aplenty waiting?" The hobbit smiled, "And fine head ware to boot, welcome to the Bounders."
He strode to the great throne, and gave a small smile to the Guards, the wash of memories flowing in like the coming of a tide. The axes parted and he came beard-to-beard with Dwalin, he spread forth his arms. The old dwarves embraced, and Dwalin took throne while Olmandis took knee, much to the protests of the Lord. "Olmandis, surely you've done your fair share of kneeling over the years, I'd rather you not greet old friends thusly."
A slight chortle, "Bah, Dwalin, ever so modest. It's been ages since we last met. Hard pressed to find you, what with 5 armies in the way. Now, these lads tell me...you need someone with experience, so I must ask, why in Thorin's beard would you send for me?" Dwalin's gristled head took to shaking, but the chortle is echoed, "And I'm the modest one. What we need, my friend, are warriors of right mind and speech, diplomats, at this time. There's a shadow on the land, a blight, and darkness is darkness, be it in our mines, if not our minds, or on the land. We may yet be engulfed."
The other dwarf stroked his beard, musing, as old dwarves do. "So then...what would you have me do?". Dwalin raised his chin, peering out through the polished halls. "There is a great meeting at hand, and we may all take part of what it entails, in our own way. In the mean time, while our brothers head to Rivendell, I have a most curious assignment that requires...a dwarf with a mind for discretion."
Olmandis chuckled, "And since the fair folk are involved a dwarf without his beard buried up his arse when it comes to prejeudice." Dwalin simply nods, "Let's hope your axe remains as sharp as you, friend." Reaching through his beard, he pulled out a sealed scroll, handing it to the old guard, with a nod. "Your partner, Master Ascahilion, will be awaiting your arrival in Frogmorton, do Take care...if these reports are true...". The aged dwarf smiled, his gaze soft even as Dwalin's hinted of concern. Setting his well-worn helm over his head, his bushy brows rose, "If there's one thing I've learned from my years behind a sheild, Dwalin, it's discretion. Now if you excuse me, my lads are out there somewhere in the world, most likely drinking it dry. I best get out there before Grendil and Hansil make their way into every tavern in the shire and frighten all the Hobbits away."
With a grin, and a wrist grip, the dwarves parted. The old Guard looked about the halls one last time, feeling the familiar weight of the sheild on his arm, the hilt in his hand. He looked to the spires fading the distance, and back to courtyard, with a wave to the brothers assembled, and up torwords the greying sky. "Something in these old bones tells me this is going to be quite a trip."
The pony ride was a last look at the snow-covered mountains, before frost gave way to foliage, and the smells of iron-mountain air turned to pies and freshly turned farming earth. He found himself musing, such creatures who weilded hoes rather than spears and whose armies were farmers, not warriors. It indeed seemed too good to be true, at least to last.
The old dwarf bent low as a hobbit in a curious green feathered hat heralded his approach, waving him down as Dwalin's personal wax seal did all the introductions that would be needed. "Good morrow, Master Dwarf, we've been expecting you." The old guards furry brows lifted, "Oh, then you have beer aplenty waiting?" The hobbit smiled, "And fine head ware to boot, welcome to the Bounders."
