Making Waves

The largest forest in Middle-Earth, an Elven stronghold was established here among the Nandor by the Sindarin Elf Oropher and later taken over by his son, Thranduil.

Making Waves

Joined: 08 Jul 2014, 02:20

19 Nov 2014, 21:03 #1

It had been an Age since Ugurz had eaten so well.

Relatively speaking, of course—Silvan guards weren't exactly high-class fare as far as elves went, but they filled his belly just as well as any high-bred Noldo, and he liked watching the commotion that surrounded the rotations, when the morning staff found their eviscerated companions heaped outside the gates like the butcher's leavings. He would never have chanced going for the regiment that went out into the forests to clear out spiders' nests, knowing the best of the old Eluwaith made up its ranks, but the doorwards were easy enough to pick off, and usually went quietly besides. He'd managed to get six of them in the span of four months, which was not, he liked to think, any small accomplishment. Usually when he hung around to terrorize any one people for that kind of time frame they usually wised up and set the dogs on him.

But Oropher's brat probably had bigger things to worry about, and Ugurz was all too happy to take advantage of the reprieve that granted him. In fact, Mirkwood's somewhat lacking security had emboldened him to take a quick sojourn into the city itself late one very slow night. He'd done the same the next night, then the next, going a little further into the bowels of the mountain each time, though he never dared killing an elf on the inside, knowing that might trigger a domino effect he didn't have the interest in starting just yet.

Besides, he had bigger fish to fry, as it were.

Being a king of a beleaguered people with no Ring of Power to aid him, Thranduil was remarkably easy to keep tabs on. Ugurz had, in a fit of inspiration, slipped quietly into his private chambers on a latter expedition night, pawing through his effects and fingering the fine silk of the garments in his clothespress. At first he'd meant only to explore, have his fun, go on with the knowledge he'd successfully broken into a king's solar for kicks, but the allure grew too great, and he'd made a sport, over the course of a week, of making small, subtle shows of his presence. First he took a hairbrush. Then he ripped a hole in the counterpane of his bed, something no bigger than a tear that might have been made by accident. Once, Thranduil had left a half-finished glass of wine out, and, deciding to make an act of philanthropy of it, Ugurz had finished it and left the empty goblet perched innocently on the table.

Elrond Peredhel would have had that undead lump from Gondolin sicced on him long ago if he'd dared try this in Imladris, though he also had Vilya, which probably would have tattled at the first opportunity. With no such tool at his disposal, Thranduil would only have what exhibitions Ugurz left him to go on, and, really, it was only in the spirit of fun—Ugurz wasn't dumb enough to mount any violent assault just yet, well aware that while the Valar tended to keep out of Arda's business in the latter Ages, they might well send over Eönwë just to lop off his head if he overstepped too much. So for the time being, he played around with his errand, skulking around Thranduil's chambers while he was out seeing to affairs of state during the day, and harassing his guards in the night.

It was long after midnight when Ugurz finally decided to up the ante a little bit, shadowing through the air shaft he had turned into his byroad in the last few weeks and wending through the long paths of Mirkwood's narrow causeways until he came upon its inner sanctum, silent even for the sound of his wings drawing tightly furled to his back. Moving the door aside with painstaking care, he crept into Thranduil's antechamber again, ears trained for any sound that might give him some notice that the king was awake and pacing, as he supposed kings were wont to do, even at this time of night.

But when nothing obvious seemed to register, he finished crossing the room. He knew it like he knew the back of his hand after weeks of careful study, but that didn't stop him from making a beeline for the place he usually knew he'd find a bottle of wine situated on. Oblivious to whether or not Thranduil was safely asleep in bed—he supposed, as he uncorked it and took a swig straight out of the bottle, that he'd almost been hoping for a run-in—he leaned himself up against the knurled stone wall, amusedly taking inventory of the changes the midnight darkness made on the room geography. Little could be said for the Sindar, but their ability to provide him endless hours of amusement during the long, boring summer hours had worked out very well in his favor.



hrf tell me if anything needs to be changed :V
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Joined: 16 Nov 2014, 23:00

23 Nov 2014, 15:10 #2

It was one thing when a scout died here and there. Their job was a dangerous one that required them to travel far out into the ever darkening forest. With every passing day, Greenwood the Great seemed to become less great and less green. But it was another thing to lose six doorwardens in the past four months and corpses of the people he ruled over had been thrown outside the front gate. Never before had any of the evil creatures slowly creeping into his realm come so close to his halls and, yet, this creature doing it all had never been spotted by anyone, nor did anyone know what it might be.

And the just as troubling things had started to occur inside his chambers in his halls. A misplace brush here. A wine of glass he could have sworn he had not finished there. A hole in the counterpane of his bed one morning. All events that could easily be explained away to a forgetful mind...if the Elvenking had a forgetful mind, that is. But ask any of those Silvan Elves that he ruled over and they would tell you that their King didn't ever forget anything. He knew where he placed his brush. He knew whether or not he had finished his wine. He knew if any damage had accidentally occurred to his bed.

At first, Thranduil did not make the connection between what was going on outside his gates to what was now happening inside of them. After all, how did a creature go from killing and eviscerating Elves to moving around, using, and damaging a few objects? It could have all been a coincidence that he had an unknown problem outside and an unknown problem inside to deal with, but the Elvenking did not believe in coincidences. Whatever was happening inside of his chambers could be the creature working its way up to deciding to start killing inside of the halls.

It need not be said that Thranduil was willing to do everything in his power to prevent a single more death occurring, whether it be inside his protected halls or outside in the ever growing more dangerous forest. This creature seemed to know exactly what hours Thranduil was out of his chambers, but the Elvenking knew that it would only be a matter of time before it got bold enough to attempt to sneak in at some point while the Sindar was inside. Patience was all that Thranduil needed. He would have the beast cornered sooner or later.

He was laying in bed but he wasn't sleeping. He was rarely getting any rest these days. Thranduil's sword lay beside him. It was better to be safe than sorry. Tonight might be the night that the creature decided to pay him a visit. If this thing could get into his halls and into his room unnoticed, then it stood to reason that, if he planned on doing any killing inside, Thranduil might very well be his first target. It might also go after Legolas as well, leaving the Silvan Elves of Greenwood temporarily leaderless, making them easy marks for whoever wished to do them as much harm as possible.

Thranduil was on the alert for even the quietest out of place sound, and he soon heard the door opening. At last he could see what or who it was that had been causing him and his people so much grief lately. He grabbed his sword and stood up. Choosing to forego any light that would alert the creature to his state of wakefulness, Thranduil waited until his eyes had grown adjusted to the dark before moving towards where the sound had come from.

He wasn't sure what he expected to see but it certainly wasn't the sight that did greet his eyes. So, it was some spawn of Thuringwethil that was behind it all. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face," he said, although his tone suggested that it was the furthest thing from being a pleasant experience. Thranduil didn't even know why he had said anything at all. He should just kill the creature and be done with it. There was no point in conversing with such a monster as he was.
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Joined: 08 Jul 2014, 02:20

28 Nov 2014, 06:21 #3

Had to hand it to Oropher's sprog, their cellars were always brimming with the kind of vintages mortal men dreamed of. Ugurz had once enjoyed enough good fortune to have secured a whole two glasses of some ancient stock Cirdan had saved from the wreck of Balar, and while he was well aware there would likely never be anything he would ever have again in his life to match it, whatever populated Thranduil's stores was always the high point of his evening. Even his current drink, inferior snack wine that it was, put the best of Harad's to shame—he could well gorge himself to excess on it, if he let himself.

But he didn't. There was something tense in the air and he could practically feel it, even through the dim veil the wine had cast over his senses. He was practically grinning in delight when his host finally condescended to end his suspense, the dark shadow of the entrance of the room resolving into his tall, slight form. How pretty he was. Effervescent Noldo he was not, of course, but the Sindar did have a few good apples in their mix every now and then, and Ugurz found, only a few arm spans away from the Elvenking, that he wouldn't have minded breaking with his own tradition a little to put a few puncture marks in his throat, Eönwë be damned.

"The pleasure's all mine, Your Majesty!" he laughed, sweeping his arms out and bending in a wide, theatrical curtsy, a trickle of the wine remaining in its glass streaming out and onto the floor with the motion. "Hope you don't mind I've helped myself to a few of your bootlickers. They were idiots, though, so technically I was doing you a favor."

He didn't return the wine to the tabletop, though prudence dictated he probably should have been a little more careful about how he comported himself: there was solid rock at his back and the only exit was currently Thranduil's domain, but details like those could always be negotiated in a pinch. The only real issue was that the king had a sword, which was advantageous only for the length of its reach. Straightening in place, he drained the last of the cup, then dashed it against the wall, delighted by the cacophonous noise it made as it shattered into a neat handful of pieces.

"So." He grinned, a full view of both rows of pointed teeth available for Thranduil's perusal. In light of the business with Luthien, he was fair sure his parentage wouldn't be controversial to the brat of the oldest of the Iathrim, but it never hurt to be candid, either. "What now, Majesty? Take care you don't cut yourself on that butterknife in your hands, else I might be blamed by your guard."
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Joined: 16 Nov 2014, 23:00

02 Dec 2014, 04:02 #4

Thranduil had not told any of his people about the mysterious (up until now)events that had been going on in his chambers. Mainly that had been because he had not thought to make the connection between events going on outside of his halls with those going on inside his rooms. And then he had also not wanted to panic his people because some of them would have been overly concerned (never mind that it turned out they would have rightly even so concerned). He almost regretted not telling anyone now because his guards would have been stationed outside his chambers right now. Thranduil did not doubt he could handle this creature alone but to know that backup would be a short call away just in case would have been a comfort that was lost to him now.

It was bad enough that this piece of filth had decided to defile much of the Elvenking's own personal belongings and bad enough that he had to see with his own eyes the vampire finishing a cup of the finest wine that could be found in all of Rhovanion-and possibly the rest of Middle-earth as well. But then Ugûrz had to go and insult those people of Thranduil's that he had killed. While his views on Silvan Elves had greatly improved over the years, there were still some that he could do without. However, that didn't mean he thought they deserved to die. "I believe it is my job, not yours, to decide such matters." And even the most idiotic Silvan Elf in his realm was not deserving of death.

The Elvenking's gaze remained unwavering as Ugûrz decided that finishing his wine wasn't enough. Just as the vampire needed to be careful what he said and did, Thranduil needed to do the same. He couldn't proclaim to know a lot about Ugûrz's kind, besides what little he had ever heard of Thuringwethil, so he wasn't going to unnecessarily provoke him if he didn't have to. As much as he hated to think about it, he might have to let the creature go free because it might be better than dealing with a foe of unknown strengths and powers and dealing with the backlash of having kept Ugûrz's forays into his chambers a secret.

"I see only two options," Thranduil answered him, "I let you leave here alive, upon you agreeing never to step inside the bounds of my realm again, or I kill you." Evil creatures couldn't be reasoned with. Thranduil had encountered enough of them to know that. In his heart, he knew that this was going to come down to a fight. It would come down to who was stronger and faster, and Thranduil did not plan on seeing his father again for a very long time to come.
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Joined: 08 Jul 2014, 02:20

06 Dec 2014, 19:42 #5

Ugurz's smile broadened. The area beyond the room distinctly lacked the incidental sounds and hints of an escort, so it was, perhaps, proof that Thranduil had enterprised this confrontation alone. What kind of idiot king went around without cover when there was obviously something dangerous roaming freely around the keep? Ugurz was strongly tempted to do everyone involved a favor and use the faint veneer of civil conversation in his favor to seize forward, take him by the neck, and sweep him sideways and see if they ended up with someone more prudent in a position of authority, but then, the inhabitants of Mirkwood might well go to Galadriel, and then he'd have the owner of a Ring of Power after him, and that was all but a death sentence.

So he refrained, instead raising one eyebrow down at the sword facing him down as if only vaguely bewildered by the implicit threat.

"You drive a hard bargain, My Liege," he drawled, tapping one long, black nail to his lip in thought. Neither of them had the upper hand quite yet, as far as he could tell from his own vantage point, but should the situation degenerate into a fight, he had enough faith that the battle-tide would favor him; the disadvantage of an enclosed space could be made up in other areas.

But, well, hosting skills had to count for something, and Thranduil had been a very pleasant host; perhaps that merited an opportunity to make up for the unforgivable rudeness of throwing him out like an unwanted street dog who had been caught rifling through the trash. He grinned again, and in one quick, sure movement, he kicked himself off the ground and darted over the Elvenking, the leathery mass of his wings billowing out to soften his landing, cramped by the want of free space in the room, but large and, in his humble opinion, something to be awed at in the half-darkness anyway. He landed a respectable few feet behind Thranduil, only barely within range of his sword, but close enough to give the impression he wasn't up for mounting a full escape attempt just yet.

"I like it here, you know! Lots to do." Lots to eat. "You could even say I'm fond of this old cesspool. So how about a third option?" He took a step forward, pulling his wings tightly to his back again; they were tough, made thicker over the long years of subsistence-living, but that was one place he was consistently unwilling to gamble on, even in the interest of putting on a front. A sword-shaped puncture wound in one would complicate his itinerant lifestyle, after all.

Reaching one long arm forward, he freed a single long tendril of Thranduil's hair from behind his ear, tugged the end, then drew back again with quicksilver speed. "You stop being a wet blanket, and I won't drain you dry right here. Besides." He cast a glance sidelong at the portico the Sinda must have come through, crossing his arms. "You couldn't uphold your own ban anyway, you can't even keep your forest healthy. You could throw me out, Elvenking, but let's not kid ourselves here: you're only king of a very small part of this place."
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