Gyrfalcon

Frerin stood with his back against one mighty oak, hammering the flat of axe against the steel boss at the center of his shield, the loud, steady clang drawing attention his way. His companions shook their heads in the brief instants they had to glance his way, but they were not who or more importantly, what he was trying to attract. Indeed, his signal quickly drew the attention that he was hoping for.

A Warg loped out of the shadows at the base of the hill, and snarling horribly, threw itself at Frerin, great teeth snapping.

Frerin chuckled and bashed the Warg in the side of the head with his shield, sending it skidding to the ground, stunned. Another pair of the beasts thundered towards Frerin, but he had time enough to drop the heavy blade of his axe on the Warg's head, sending it to eternal slumber.

"Come on puppies, surely you can do better then that?" he taunted. As if to prove him right, both Wargs charged and leapt at him. A sudden arrow from the side drove into one Warg's eye, and it's graceful, predatory flight became a loose-limbed jumbled roll past Frerin. Deprived of support, the other Warg met Frerin's axe face-first and joined its companions in death.

Grunting, Frerin pulled his axe free of its skull and shook it, Warg blood spattering the frost-covered leaves at his feet. "I faced better at the Battle of Five Armies!" he roared into the darkness, axeblade black-red in the flickering light of the bonfire.

Another Warg charged up the hill at him, enraged by his taunts. With a wide grin, Frerin met it, dwarvern-forged steel against fang.

Frerin grumbled and sweated under his heavy burden, despite the chill weather. He had volunteered to shoulder some of the supplies the mule had carried, figuring that their heavy weight would not slow him nearly as much as any of the others, humans, elves and hobbits the lot of them. Perhaps he could have split the load with Jin, but one look at Jin's bulging load told him that Jin could carry few extra supplies.

So Frerin grumbled at each loose rock that threatened to turn under his foot, and at the slick patches of ice that threatened to topple even the steady, solid dwarf. But inside, he thought and worried, wondering who might have slain the pack mule to slow the party, for it had to be one of the companions. The wound was too neat and precise for the Orcs, his people hated enemy, and such subtly was completely outside the realms of most Orcs anyway. If Orcs had stumbled upon them, they would have been fighting the monsters off in the middle of the night, not finding a dead pack mule in the morning.

No... now who had the necessary skills to sneak in silence during the night and slay the mule without notice? He immediately discarded his kinfolk, Stoomp... well, he wasn't the sort, and he didn't have a sharp enough knife anyway. Jin constantly carried a lit lantern with him, and would have easily been visible. Likewise, the rotund hobbits seemed unlikely suspects, though Yeager, the sharp-eyed one, was possibly quiet enough... otherwise, Megwyn or Garnon or Turin were all likely suspects as well, human rangers well-versed in moving silently...

That was the problem, there were too many possible suspects, and thus he'd have to keep a close eye on them all.

Especially that Garnorn.

(Vote cast for Garnorn/Panther)

Sorry for that Mynx, I figured it'd be a good running gag, not that Jagk would actually turn homicidal over accidents and mishaps (which is what your post suggests).

Either way, I'll avoid using Jagk as a target for any more mishaps.

*chuckles* I think it'll be unfortuantly common. Sorry Mynx, but it just had to be done.

Frerin strode down the middle of the street, ticking things off his fingers and paying little mind to the people who had to step out of the determined dwarf's path lest he run them down. "Got my axe sharpened... my armor's freshly oiled... I got all my travel supplies..."

his mutters were interrupted by a happily shout "Mr.... other dwarf!" someone shouted, and he looked up with an "Eh?"

Coming his way was... one of the hobbits, being held upright and trying to peer over his shoulder as whoever was holding him staggered back and forth. "No, left Stoomp! No, no... your other left! Now right... now straight... straight Stoomp!" he shouted frantically as they weaved back and forth across the road. Somehow, miraculously they managed to make their way to where Frerin was standing in shock. Stoomp let the hobbit go and leaped forward wrapping Frerin in a tight embrace and then managing to lift the dwarf straight off the ground!

"Ach, put me down, will ya?" Frerin said, trying to wriggle out of Stoomp's tight embrace as his ribs started to protest "You got a hug to put a bear to shame, that's for sure!"

Stoomp let him down, looking so abashed that even Frerin's gruff heart was touched. The beardless dwarf started to mumble an apology as Frerin clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing to be sorry about, lad, but watch the hug on the humans and elves, I'm not thinking their ribs'll stand up to it!"

To distract Stoomp from feeling sad, Frerin changed the subject. "Now, you have everything you need to travel, right?" Stoomp looked up blankly for a moment and then grinned widely, nodding. "Why don't we take a look at it then, make sure you that you didn't forget anything."

As Stoomp swung his pack off his shoulders, Frerin remembered that he'd not introduced himself yet beyond the council meeting. "I'm Frerin, by the way. I saw you at the council... Filkiormous... er... I guess I forgot the rest of your name." he said to the hobbit, who was bent over, gasping for breath still. The hobbit waved a hand "It's more... then most non-hobbits... get on their first... try." he gasped.

Stoomp opened his bag and smiled widely at Filk. "Karmoose." he said firmly, before looking at Frerin, screwing up his face in thought. Stoomp wrinkled his nose and attempted to pronounce the name, "Frrr...frrr.." This was so not easy, "Frr....in." Yes, that was close! "Fwin!" he finally said triumphantly.

Frerin blinked and then sighed "Fwin works as well, lad." he said, bending over the bag, his nose twitching at the scent of... pulped banana? Reaching in gingerly, he pulled out the remaining half of Stoomp's breakfast. "I think you dropped something in here." he said, and Stoomp took the half of the banana, peering at it carefully.

"Let's get your pack cleaned out, lad, and then you'll be ready." Frerin said as Stoomp nibbled at the pulpy banana, making a face at the taste of road dust on it and threw it over his shoulder.

As bad luck would guide it, it splatted right into Jagkatha's face.

(Many thanks to Sweet for her help with Stoomp on this!)

*chuckles* Ah fun, a week early. I started panicking, too. >_> Gotta go order a Mother's Day present soon.

Well Pennite mothers, you get TWO Mother's Days! Happy Mother's Day to you.

Frerin frowned, the expression hidden by his thick black beard as he watched the growing tummult further down the table. Elves were normally calm and collected, like a master craftsman at work, but that Elf shouting what had to be curses in that odd langugage of theirs seemed more like a pocket of hot air underground - ready to go up in flames with only a spark.

Shaking his head, Frerin bit into the boar ribs he had been holding as he watched the aborted fight. Whatever else you might say about the tree-loving elves, they at least treated visitors properly. In addition to bread, fruit and nuts, they made sure that there was plenty of meat, and Frerin was glad for it. He had only one complaint, as he sourly drank from a mug of water, having tried the elven wine and detesting it as too sweet and too light. They had no proper ale! That was the problem with the elves.

Grumbling quietly, he chewed fiercely on a rib to free the last shreds of meat from it and dropped the cleaned bone on his plate next to the others. Letting his gaze wander the feasting hall again, he decided to talk to the more dwarf-like of his fellow dwarves and find out if he was from the Iron Hills, and if so, what news of his former home there was. pushing his chair back, he stood and made his way towards his fellow dwarves, noting the continued glares from the elf named 'Jagk' continued to glare at the more befuddled of his kindred.

Thanks for waiting patiently, madhatter. First of all, congratulations on losing a slight sense of being a hotdog - your weenie award is no more.

Not bad at all, madhatter, and good to see you back with us.

Ack, I haven't had the time to sit down and dig out my Lord of the Rings books... going to go find them now. *time passes*

Frerin - Dwarf of the Kingdom Under the Mountain

One of the many dwarves that came to the Kingdom Under the Mountain from the Iron Hills when Thorin Oakenshield called for aid in defending the treasures of his kingdom after the death of Smaug, Frerin stayed along with many of his companions to work the mines and forges of the reborn Kingdom Under the Mountain. Frerin has come south to Rivendell as a messenger from King Dáin II to let the Council know of rumors of the orc's growing power in the north.

Frerin is gruff and doesn't have much love for elves, though he is fairly tolerant of humans and hobbits given the trade from Esgaroth. He's an expert smith, something he's not likely to have much time doing while traveling, but is also a solid fighter, capable of more then holding his own with his waraxe and shield. He's normally attired in chainmail when traveling and carries his shield, marked with symbol of the Lonely Mountain on his back.

He's willing to travel with the ring-bearer to destroy the One Ring in the hopes that this blow to Sauron's power will also hurt the orcs that threaten his home.

I agree, welcome to the Pen.

As for the subtitle, I tracked the language down to Maori, but the dictionary does not provide the best translation. What I have is:

he pou kotahi, nga mihi atu ki a koutou. ahakoa he iti, toku whatumanawa konei

a column once, ??? acknowledge along dear you. Although a low, my heart here/this

For me, the poem evokes the thought of a bird of prey caught in a storm and breaking free, screaming in victory over the winds.

I'll bite. I'll come up with a good character concept and update this post with it.

Congratulations, Patrick! Let me know what title you want and I'll add you to that group in the membership list.

Happy Birthday, Mira!

Happy Easter to you all!

Ooo... chocolate carrot!

*picks one up and eats it*

Sleep well Yui-chan... and you still rock.

Thank you, Yui-chan, you rock as always.

Daryl trotted down the hallways of the Pen, a wide, rolled bundle balanced precariously on his back. Carefully executing a right turn he trotted into the Caberet Room, into a bustle of preparation. Various Pennites worked hard to set up tables of vegetarian food, carefully coaxed from the plants by those of the Pen with druidic inclinations. Others filled balloon and tied them off, or worked on adding decorations around the room.

Gyrfalcon saw Daryl and grinned, stepping over to his friend and lifting the bundle off his back. "Thanks for retrieving that, Daryl." Gyrfalcon said, hefting the bundle and calling over Bravery the Pen Dwarf to help him string it across the entrance. In short order it unfurled as they tied it off, and read simply

"Happy Birthday, Gwaihir!"

Eeep, I don't know why I didn't respond to this yesterday. My apologies to both Valdar and Aardvark - happy birthday to you both!

It's good to see you around again, Falcon...

in short order: Congratulations on the new, better-paying and more appreciative job, your girlfriend and you getting along well, and making it to your third year of college. It sounds like it's been a heck of a trip, but I sincerely hope it just gets better from here... you deserve it.

Go Falcon!

OOC: I wanted to do something in character, but the muse isn't working with me today as I would like, so I'll say it here instead... Happy Birthday, Tanuchan, and I hope you have many more to come.

Eh, first I'd need to track it down and watch it, I think it stopped playing at the local theater already. My initial impression of the movie was so bad I didn't bother to go see it when it first came out.

Eh, they really billed it horribly then. I remember seeing the previews for Lord of War, and from reading the plot summary, what I got out of it was they were glorifying a gunrunner who helped supply some of the most brutal warlords in Africa.

Not exactly my idea of a good storyline.

I'm glad the previews must have been off, unless it was more a case of 'showing the horrors of war by following someone gleefully selling the tools of war'

I was standing near one of the tunnel entrances on the right when the shooting began again near the front of the column. Instinctively, I hit the prewarming trigger on my bulky weapon and turned to face the tunnel, the fans in my powered armor going into high gear. In this initial column, I was one of the few wearing the full powered armor suit, and with good reason.

"Fire in the hole!" the scream came over the commline, and suddenly forms were moving in the darkness of the tunnel, heading straight for me. I heaved my weapon into position, chanting to myself "Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon!" as one of the insects leapt at me, claws outstretched and fanged mouth open. Automatically, I had hoisted the weapon to follow my eyesight, and when the LED on my HUD went from yellow to green, I pulled the trigger immediately.

A burning wall of plasma smashed into and through the insect, sending its burning carcass flying. Laughing wildly, I wrestled my weapon down, the searing lance of plasma slicing straight through the closest insects and expanding in great clouds of rapidly cooling plasma, melting insects further back into indistinct blobs or cooking their internals so they cracked their own shells like well-cooked lobsters. An explosion rocked the tunnel and sent me to one knee, and pieces of rock and far-flung chiten clanged off my armor and helmet, but I ignore it, hosing down the tunnel in front of me as sweat streams down my face, the coolers in my suit running fullbore but unable to keep up as waste heat from my weapon and the plasma in front of me combine to overload them.

My companions fall back, shouting and covering their eyes from the intense anctic flare of the plasma, but the visor on my helmet cuts the glare enough so I can see what I'm doing, hosing the stream of plasma back and forth across the tunnel, holding the flank all by myself.

Finally the bugs start running, and I let my flamethrower fall silent. Well, flamethrower isn't the right name for it, but the name for the old weapon this replaced stuck with it. Where the original flamethrowers used a mixture of flammable liquid and flammable gas, the current weapon operated using a miniture fusion engine that I carried on my back, and shunted plasma from the fusion process to a magnetic bottle. The first trigger I pulled kicked the reactor to life, and the second opened a magnetic tunnel down the barrel, guiding the plasma out and towards whoever I wanted to set on fire. Once it hit air, the plasma quickled cools, but by the time that's happened, whoever I've hit with it is pretty much dead. At close range, not even power armor can stop the plasma stream for long.

"Keep moving!" the order came, and I fall back into line, my armor pinging as it cooled, the front's paint burnt off by the intense heat, leaving the red armor splotched black and silver. I greedily suck on the water dispenser in the helmet, eyes wary and watching the tunnel. I know the bugs will be back.

Happy Birthday to you, reverie... 28 years, not bad! Hope to have you around for twice that length of time or more.

Hehe, enjoy your trip Solivagus, and don't worry about being absent so song after coming back... Real Life waits on no person, sadly. *grins* We'll be glad to see you when you come back, as always.