(Archive) Funeral Procession in Rohan

Manor of House Hrugarth

Rich and glowing, dark heartwood from deep forestlands far to the north and unsighted east has been well utilized to floor this main hall, the one room where most action in the Hlaford of Forensvale\'s demesnes takes place. It is a quiet room when empty, the fire\'s crackling in the midst of the hall the only company to whatever thoughts might come. As one stares out a few shuttered windows around the room\'s walls which admit some light to mix with fire\'s luminescence, looking out onto the small village of Forensvale and the outlying plains, one might see little. Looking around inside, little more might be seen: what light pours in merely confirms that the layout of the chamber is simple, yet not severe: here is a dais with two chairs upon it, opposite the carved doors leading in there the dais faces a long central fire pit in a deep trough of nearby-quarried stone, blackened by fire and ruinous age a long trencher table rests near tapestried walls depicting famed days of the Mark between the windows looking out. You stand in the Manor House of House Hrugarth of Forensvale.

Contents:

Aelspeth

Colinor

Obvious exits: Carven Doors

[Colinor(#29577)] The ride here has been anything but sunny. Bleak and foreboding, the weather has seemed to mirror the emotional state of this xompany of men and women. The heavy rains have been followed by fog, broken up occasionally by light bursts of drizzle, which banishes the mists, only to see them return again, mocking. Colinor rides at the front of this company, leading the way to the ancestral lands of his kin...of which there are now but one.

Him.

He looks the part right now. Tall, brooding, moody...a far cry from the sunny, cheerful fellow who had walked into the common room mere days ago. Forensvale lay ahead, marked on this road by an oddly carved stone which seems out of place here in the rolling hills. You all pass that marker, some of the party commenting on others ignoring it completely. Colinor, of course, is one of the latter.

[Aelspeth(#20246)] Gloom.. such overbearing gloom for this usually sunny month is a spirit dampening thing. Aelspeth feels its weight cling to her soul, smothering any trace of pleasure she might once have derived from the pleasant journey northward across the river. She rides near to Colinor, clad in silk of sable and a cloak of crimson wool which bears the tensed fist of Ethias, clan of he who now travels for the last time to his home.

Her delicate features are wrought this day of a greyish stone, locked into a visage of tribute for the fallen hero. Two children are beside her, daughter and son, the former sitting in her saddle with wide-eyes and unspoken questions. Giselle is but three, but still bears the fluid grace and bond with her horse that do all Rohirrim. Abeaoden is a stoic soul, the boy but six or seven. He still composes himself as a Rider, and wears the mark of nobility without a trace of hauteur.

Quietly riding in the middle of the caravan, Aearwen listens to the Silver Guardsman tell tales of battles gone by, each trying to outbest the other. Their laughter rings out as they bicker back and forth among themselves, oblivious to the gloomy day. At one point, her brow furrows with a frown, listening to them recant the battle of Umbar.

Biting her tongue to keep from lashing out, she wearily gazes at the country side Her long blue velvet skirt sways with each movement of her horse, as does her entire body. Shifting slightly in the saddle she mutters to herself and moves the damp material back into a ladylike position. A deep sigh issues from deep within her chest as she realizes their journey to take the fallen hero is about to come to an ending of sorts.

Rorgan arrives from outside, a guard announcing, \"Rorgan of Clan Ethias\" at his entry. Rorgan has arrived.

Angrimbor arrives from outside, a guard announcing, \"Angrimbor of Clan \" at his entry. Angrimbor has arrived.

Angrimbor steps into the room, stopping for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the light. Smiling at Aearwen, he walks towards her...taking in the other folk about.

[Aelspeth(#20246)] The caravan winds its way along through gloomy vales and stretches of more open land, where the plains roll off in gentle waves to the distant horizon. That horizon is obscured this day by the recalcitrant twist of the mournful weather, mists and drizzling bouts of silvery rain keeping clear vision from most. Onward winds the procession, bearing the fallen hero, Eartnan to his ancestral home. Colinor\'s mount strides to the forefront, Aelspeth and her children nearby.. lost amongst a group of Ethian riders, who hale themselves from Forensvale. They are a sober group. Aearwen rides amongst her people.. at the center of the group.

Rorgan(#19834)] Ducking through the doorway, a tallish man with greying blonde hair enters, accompanied by two same-liveried men, black uniforms with blue tabbards bearing a silver shield and white tree, each with a royal armband finely embroidered with a thimble and crossed needles. The taller man, though, is dressed in finery entirely of the colors of the earth and forest. He enters the room with his matched pair of bodyguards and waits some form of acknowledgement.

[Rorgan(#19834)] The body of the fallen Drihten is escorted by a full score of Gondorian soldiers, ten each of the men at arms from Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth, led by a tall knight and an even taller and fuller Lieutenant of the Minas Tirith Guard. Another knot of Gondorians, the Healers at the center, marks the presence of the Tailor\'s Guild of Minas Tirith in the procession, with the Silver Guardsmen gathered around their Guildmaster and the healers as the procession winds its way through the plains.

[Colinor(#29577)] Colinor rides at the head of the procession, his face a blank slate, devoid of expression, eyes touched with brooding. Werrebrand, his dappled-grey mount, seems to mirror his rider\'s emotional state. Head is held low, almost as if the beast, too, is mourning. He wears black, this day, does Colinor. From high-collared tunic to hard leather boots, he is dressed in the color of death. But...finally, he lifts his gren eyes to a spot ahead, for he has noticed something. Others approach on the road. Perhaps it is the people of Forensvale, or some of them. Perhaps...not.

Tiring of the chatter of the Silver Guardsmen Aearwen pulls on her horse\'s reins and guides her mount to the outside of the group. Quietly trotting along, her marked silence an unusual event for this normally cheery and talkative woman. Her eyes rake the countryside, not so much as in interest, but to keep from constantly gazing at the men at arms, Knights, guardsmen and their burden. The black ribbons hanging from the cart, fluttering in the breeze as their journey continues.

[Aelspeth(#20246)] Leading the men of Gondor, proud knights in sorrowful display of respect for a man that has died as nobly as any hero in tales drawn of old, is a guard of Rohirric Riders. Fifty men of Forensvale, clad in scale and tunics of sable, sit at devoted attention, keeping their proud-blooded mounts to a stately walk. At their head is bourne the banner of the Riddermark, flowing stallion of white snapping to full gait with the gusting of a wind that scatters rain droplets. House Hrugarth\'s noble device stands beside it, streamers of black depending from its pole. Even when those up ahead along the road have been sighted, these men do not stop, they continue on.

Aelspeth\'s keen eyes sight them, and though her stallion misses not a beat of a hoof, she casts back her gaze, making certain that her children are beside her. Bearing the regalia of her own offices, she sits with a regal sort of grace, though her features are touched readily with the shadow of a sorrowing grief. Ever and again does she look to Colinor, turning but her face, nothing more, counting their progress through the mists by the regular shifting of her horse\'s weight, never losing the formal semi-stiffness of her posture.

[Rorgan(#19834)] Riding tall on his own splended mount, the man with whom the Drihten spent the last few days of his life is dressed from head to toe in the finest clothes of earth and forest tones, his greying-blonde hair tied back with a length of blue ribbon. With a wave of his hand, he silences the boasting of the Silver Guardsmen and his men move on solemnly with the rest of the procession, the tailor\'s jaw set firmly. The honor guard of the fallen wear their formal uniforms, each man\'s expression grim and purposeful as they accompany the wain bearing Eartnan through the plain.

Rorgan casts an eye toward the healer leaving the secondary knot of the Gondorian contengent, as his eyes, too, seek another place to look than that fateful wagon. Among the horses of the mounted men of the Silver Guard, though, his own stallion stands out, marking itself to be of the breed of the local herds and not that of the lesser steeds surrounding it. The guildmaster\'s left cheekbone bears a relatively fresh scar, a reminder of the same battle in which the Drihten fell, and even his usually merry blue eyes have attained a properly sombre gaze as he now looks toward the members of the family of the fallen and his head shakes with a sad side to side motion in time with the hooves of his horse striding across the ground.

[Colinor(#29577)] Those who kow Colinor would understand that he is, at the moment, a far cry from his normal self...this a testament to the fact that hsi cousin, and only living kin, was important to him in a way which transcends words. Ever does a smile play across his lips with regularity, but not this day. Not since two days ago, when Aearwen brought him the news that he was alone in blood. He was the last and only of his line. His eyes are lifted, now, to a group of riders who approach. Three of them there are, and they bear the banner of house Hugarth, colors flapping fitfully in the chill wind, shedding what little bit of the wet which this allows. The lead rider--a fellow of advancing years, perhaps in his fifties, with greying temples and a full mustache, stops his mount a few dozen yards away from Colinor. The two gazes meet, and nothing is said. Nothing at all. Colinor merely looks the man in the eye, and the man--who wears hard, painted leather armor which bear the house colors--nods, before riding with his men, back to where the body is being transported. They, it appears, shall travel with their fallen leader.

[Rorgan(#19834)] As content as the moment allows, Rorgan continues to ride at the heart of the second Gondorian contingent, the now silent and properly sombre Silver Guardsmen. The honor guard of Minas Tirith Guardsmen and Dol Amroth Men At Arms accompany the body as they are joined by the three Rohirrim. Each man among the Gondorians has been carefully instructed in the proper conduct of the occaision, and each man does his duty.

[Elowyn(#1325)] Being carried on a litter, is the Lady merchant, Elowyn. She is being caried by a couple Rohir what she arranged to help her through her inury to her ankle. Surrounding her are her Silver Guardsmen and her assistants and ladies in waiting. She has a sorrowful look on her face in respect for the slain.

Aearwen watches the group of approaching riders with the banners flapping in the breeze, the sound carrying to where she rides. The chill dampness a fitting atmosphere for this somber journey. Her troubled eyes watch those banners, finally dropping to the men that carry them. Noting their solemn expressions and stiff stance, she swallows with much poignancy, as not one single word was spoken before the men moved into place to accompany their fallen leader to his final resting place. Turning in the saddle, her eyes shining with tears, as if looking for comfort among the many Gondorian faces riding with her. Shaking her head as a single tear slips from her eyes, her hand reaches up to wipe the tear away. Tightening her jaw, determination tightens the muscles, as if willing herself to be strong. The flapping banners an eerie, haunting sound over the silence of the group.

[Aelspeth(#20246)] Down through the vales does the somber progression move, with the wind rising slightly as if desirous of having the banners flow back over the fallen in rippling tribute. Those accompanying the slain Drihten have fallen into a silence that is eerily punctuated by the creak of leather and wood, and underlain by the steady pulse of hooves. Time passes.. the mists weave their tendrilled touch throughout the members of the party, kissing stoic cheeks, Rohirric and Gondorian alike, with the memory of the scene. And eventually, after small eternities have passed in sorrow-laden tribute, a bend is turned in the great road that splits the fields of green.

Forensvale sprawls out ahead, neat little village tucked into a dip in the plains. Her ordered homes betoken a comfort that is not to be felt upon this unseasonably chilly day by those who grieve for a noble spirit lost to them. Down, down into the town where people have come out to wait do the horses pace.. Colinor\'s dappled mount in the forefront, the rest steadily following.

[Galdorim(#22020)] In his best uniform is the Lieutenant in charge of the SIlver Ship Company for the grand city of Minas Tirith. He has on a stoic face as he marches ahead of his men. He stands taller as he leads the honor guard of Gondorian ahead of the wagon that bears Eartnan to his last resting place. His blue eyes keep an eye on the honor guard to make sure they act respectfully and with honor.

Colinor rides closer to Aelspeth, and in the forst outward display of emotion since the news of his cousin\'s death was broken to him, reaches across to take her hand, linking himself with her, giving it a gentle squeeze as he looks up and beholds the ordered homes of Forensvale. He can see the worried looks on the faces of the folk who gather now to watch. The men, the women, the children...but he can bring them nothing but sorrow this day. There is nothing else to be had at the moment, for a great man has fallen, and ll must stand and take heed of this loss. Elowyn pages: my this is grim Galdorim pages: How are you doing?

Aearwen gazes at the faces of those gathered to watch this mournful procession, her sad blue eyes catching many of their gazes as she respectfully bows her head to them in honor of their fallen hero. A high flush covers her cheeks as she rides into Forensvale, struggling to hide her own raging emotion as if visions of the fallen Eartnan run through her mind. Swallowing hard as she sees Colinor reach across to tenderly take Aelspeth\'s hand.

Elowyn looks over at Lady Aearwen and then ahead to the tall proud Lieutenant of the Minas Tirith guard. She gets a sly grin on her face as she recalls something, but then her face shifts back to the face of sorrow in respect for the fallen.

[Rorgan(#19834)] The men of the Silver Guard continue on with their Guildmaster, each as stoic as the name of the land they come from. The tailor is no exception, as he rides among these men, only him and six others present remember the man that is being laid to rest, yet the others maintain the strictest sense of decorum impressed upon them by their Commander ere they left their homes behind.

[Aelspeth(#20246)] But those people know, riders have galloped on through the night ahead of this sorrowful party to bear the tidings to the village. There is sorrow upon the faces that come to line the road as the procession wends its way into Forensvale, the silence that enveloped its passage completed in the quiet of those that have gathered to do their slain Drihten honor. The manor of House Hrugar lies not far beyond, and after looking deep upon the faces of the villagers, to it does Colinor lead the caravan of mourners. There is an assumption of responsbility in his eyes, though of what duty few would know.

Aelspeth eases her stallion nearer to his mount, fingers tightening in silent support as she keeps her solemn expression in the darkling afternoon. Colin bears up upon a spreading lawn, allowing those behind him to fan out, and the bier that bears his kinsman to rest before the door. Orders are given, though no speeches.. no tributes to the glory of the fallen, those.. those will come with the dawn. For now, men are arranged along both sides of the body.. men of Gondor.. men of Rohan. And Eartnan is bourne inside his home, to lie in state in the main hall for the duration of the evening beneath the banner under which he fought.

[Galdorim(#22020)] With just a glance from Galdorim, one of the honor guard who was falling out of attention snap back to his status of full attention as they march slowly though the town of grief ridden folk. A glance from Galdorim scans the rest of the guard with a nod of approval. Then his gaze fall beyond his honor guard to the healers of Gondor. The rest on Aearwen with a fond look, and then his eyes look back forward without a word.

[Rorgan(#19834)] The tailor leaves the company of all the Silver Guard but two, who stick to his flanks as he breaks away from the main body of the procession and rides slowly up to the kinspeople of the fallen Drihten. He reigns in his horse near the pair and awaits some form of acknowledgemetn.

[Colinor(#29577)] It is now that Colinor prepares to enter the manor, having dismounted, someone having come to tend to his mount, and that of Aelspeth. He stops just short of the entrance, however, realizing that many eyes are upon him. Many ears needing someone...someone to look to for guidance during the comign days and weeks. Perhaps longer. And so he turns, in a totally uncoreographed move, to face those who have gathered here, lifting his eyes, his manner becoming more intense...this young bard becoming more sure of himself. \"I shall hold vigil with the body of mine cousin, the Lord of this place. It is my duty as the last remaining blood of his veins to do so. All those who would seek him out in other circumstances, seek ye me, for I shall keep this land within the family name.\"

A hint, rather a blatant one, that he is stepping into the shoes of his cousin, which he knows are far too large for him to fill...but he has to try. It is with no measure of happiness that he makes this announcement. Far from it, and quite the opposite. He is a man of words, is Colinor, but thisday, these words are the best he can muster. There shall be time for pondering tonight. Time to think on what he will say, what he will do...but his course has been laid out before him in one very important way. A decision reached, a decision made. It is done for the night. Without another word, he enters the manor house, leading Aelspeth, his beloved, by the hand, children following along behind them.

A solemn look upon her face as Aearwen watches her beloved Gondorian men honor this fallen leader chilling with pride as they snap to attention and march slowly into town. Staying astride her mount for a few minutes longer so she can gaze over the crowd and watch the procession move into town. Catching Galdorim\'s quick glance, she briefly nods her head, but nary a smile curves her lips on this day of mourning. Watching the faces of the people as tears and mourns of sadness fill the air as the cart bearing their beloved leader passes before them. Shaking her head at the incredibly heartfelt sadness of this event.

[Aelspeth(#20246)] She pauses there though, fingers owned by Colinor. Framed in the door of the manor, she turns to look gravely upon those who have come.. come to honor a man dear to he whom she loves. Deeper breath is drawn, shifting the play of light over the satin in which she is garbed.. it\'s stark ebon cast only enhancing the pale shadow of her features. \"Great lords and ladies who have thus come from your far land to pay great respect to the Lord of these lands. On behalf of his sole kinsman do I bid you welcome, though it be in sorrow. Enter herein and find solace and rest for this evening and all the days that you should wish to remain. Vigil will be stood, as is the custom of our people, all who would join us will be welcomed with saddened, but grateful hearts.\"

Not a smile from the tall, slim woman, her shoulders set with the pride of the plains, the brush of nobility upon her brow as she inclines her head with liquid elegance. Then.. only then.. does she follow Colinor in, to see to the placing of the bier.. and to stand there, in silence, with her betrothed, through all the dark hours of the evening.

[Aelspeth(#20246)] That that kiss brings a softening --however slight-- to Colinor\'s tense frame. As thunder peals ominously in the distance, and the door opens, he fits in well against the dark backdrop of brooding, rainy sky which is just now becoming suffused with the palest light from a sun which is rising, only to be blockaded by stubborn clouds. It is cold out there, a front having moved in. Omen, perhaps, of things to come. He pauses there for a moment, sweeping his green eyes across the room, the joy gone from his face. Joy which had touched his features only an hour or so ago, when he had entered this place. And so it is that he leaves, following Aelspeth, out into the rain and the wind and the solitude, where things may be discussed. Out in the rain, where a man can cry, and perhaps...no one will notice.

[Koribeorne(#14354)] With the bright afternoon sun high up in the sky, the village center finds itself a place of several people. Many greet eachother as they pass, moving along with their business. There is, however, one figure that does not seem to fit and it is not difficult to determine why. This figure wears a hood that keeps it\'s face covered and towers over all those near by, even though it appears to be stooped over. The figure stands on the outskits of the area, motionless.

[Rorgan(#19834)] A tall man with greying blonde hair sits astride a slowly walking horse, aiming it toward the camp of Gondorians at the edge of the square. He is accompanied by two same-liveried men, each in black uniform covered by a blue tabbard with a silver shield and white tree. Though both the horse and rider appear to be Rohirrim, the camp he enters and the bodyguards who accompany him are most certainly Gondorian. A short while later, Rorgan emerges from the camp, the same two Silver Guardsmen at his heels as he begins to wander about somewhat aimlessly in the square, taking in the sights that surround him.

Walking slowly through the center of town with her many escorts, Aearwen stops now and then to look around. Her attention is captured by the many sights and sounds of this new town. Smiling and nodding her head as she passes friendly strangers, its obvious this auburn haired beauty is enjoying her walk.

[Galdorim(#22020)] Striding out with the rest of the Honor Guard is Galdorim. He turns around and brings the small group of 20 men to attention. He nods approvingly. \"You do well, Men. You are dismissed till the funeral. Dismissed!\" The men fall out of attention as Galdorim turns his attention to the other departing Gondorians. His eyes fall upon the lovely Lady Aearwen as he starts to make his way towards her.

[Rorgan(#19834)] The wary eyes of his bodyguards soon stray toward the hooded stranger, and the two men begin to mutter amongst themselves until Rorgan wheels upon them and demands, \"What?!\" The two men take a step back from the tailor in unison, their eyes giving away the cause of their concern, and Rorgan looks toward the hooded stranger now, as well, and with a brief nod to his men he says, \"Then we\'ll just have to go introduce ourselves, won\'t we?\" He smiles a cold smile to the men and begins to approach the cloaked figure. The bodyguards hands each rest upon a sheathed sword, but the arms of the tailor swing free, giving the figure the benefit of the doubt as is his mein.

[Koribeorne(#14354)] As the Gondorian begins to move towards the hooded figure, it stops in its path, powerful arms cross over it\'s chest. The cloak hides the identity and gender of its wearer, but it can not hide the shear size of the creature. There is something bearlike in its stance as it waits for the man to approach.

[Rorgan(#19834)] The sheer size of the hooded figure brings even the Guildmaster up short of what would be considered a comfortable distance. He blinks and frowns slightly and then looks about to be sure there are more than enough friendly faces near enough to assist before demanding, \"Stranger! Show your face and be known!\" Though their fear shows plainly enough on their faces, the two bodyguards each take an extra step forward, flanking the tailor with hands wrapped firmly around their hilts. The older of the pair, a grizzled man of about thirty years growls, \"If the tailor\'s blade strikes it before yours, boy, Commander Azragath with have those stripes you wear.\" The men place their feet at shoulder width in the dust of the street and their weight shifts to the balls of their feet. Rorgan simply waits a response from the hooded figure, his body language belying no hostility whatsoever toward it as he stands firm, awaiting a response.

*note - Weariness from hours of RPing overtook us and we halted here*

eight shifts to the balls of their feet. Rorgan simply waits a response from the hooded figure, his body language belying no hostility whatsoever toward it as he stands firm, awaiting a response.

*note - Weariness from hours of RPing overtook us and we halted here*