Bree-landers

Glimpses of fictional original characters from The Lord of the Rings Online.

[breelanders]

[gallishger]

““You’re upset that I actually did help. You’re afraid that if I keep on showing up and actually helping, that you’ll like it. And liking it will lead to relying on it, and by relying on it, you’ll be less of the you you’ve made yourself into… a kick-ass you that you like and I like, too. But you’re afraid that if you learn to rely on me, then one day, when you really need me to show up, I won’t. And then you’ll be angry at yourself for believing in something you’ve only seen in the movies, something that I’m determined to prove to you actually exists.””

—

JimmySteve : Season 1, ep 6 "Killer Carl"

[breelanders]

"We bow to begin. We bow to end. We are not enemies."

"We bow to begin. We bow to end. We are not enemies."

"We bow to begin. We bow to end. We are not enemies."

The chorus of soldiers repeated the lines with strong voices and heads held high. Row by row they lined the practice field, standing tall in attention as their leader barked to them.

"We are not enemies, but we must train as if we are. Respect is earned, not given freely. Each and every time you spar a brother-in-arms, it is a learning experience."

Draedan stood and listened as always, cocky smirk dressing his lips. There was always this rousing speech before training, but Draedan only heard half of it. His mind was more focused on the fun that would come after. The thrill of victory was potent, especially with a well-matched opponent. Their leader came to stand before him, but Draedan didn't make eye contact. He had learned that, at least. The leader continued.

"Either you learn to lose, or you learn to win. Do not hold back in practice, or you will hold back in battle, and holding back means the difference between dying and living to see another."

Draedan knew he was being watched. The mixed heritage of he and his brother Daegyn had brought them unwanted attention in the years since they had joined their local regiment. They had something to prove, and while his brother had won praise and promotions through the ranks due to his charisma, work ethic, and excellent fighting skill, Draedan's flippant, defiant attitude meant he was testing boundaries and his disciplinary record reflected that. The officer running the drill called him by name, finally causing him to turn his amber gaze on the man.

"Draedan, you and Ersken. Daegyn, pair with Samuel. The rest of you form up!"

Daegyn looked between his twin and Ersken and then gave his brother a playful, warning glance, then turned and set his hand on the young boy's shoulder. Samuel was their newest recruit, and was as green as they come. Draedan shook his head bitterly at his brother and watched them walk away. The boy would likely not see his next name day.

He was brought back to his senses with a firm punch to his shoulder. Ersken was as tall, but outweighed Draedan by at least three stone.

"Enough daydreaming. We've got a square off," the man said with a grin that showed two of his missing teeth. Ersken had been handsome once, but the scars, missing teeth and fingers, and receding hairline had made him less so.

Draedan narrowed his eyes playfully and swatted the hand away.

"Winner buys drinks," Draedan offered to the other man's amusement, and the two men set off for the training pitch, each with a broadsword slung over their shoulders.

[breelanders]

[breelanders]

There is little difference between dreams and nightmares, and one can become the other quite easily. The old adage that a dream is a wish of the heart is faulty and mistaken. Dreams are not always pleasant and palatable. They easily slip away from us and become nightmares that persist and haunt us no matter how hard we try to get away from them or forget. What does one do when the nightmare haunts our waking hours, taunts us from shadows, and whispers to us from the back of our minds? When sleep eludes us and dreams slip through our fingers, that is all that is left. There are fates worse than death.

[simplytolkien]

[simplytolkien]

[breelanders]

The cottage was a tiny, one-room dwelling set in the corner of a small village just outside of Bree. The outside was nearly immaculate, with fruit trees that lined a short path from the main road, a small plot that yielded fresh vegetables in season, and a well-tended herb garden in the back.

There was a small shed attached to the back of the cottage, and if one were to venture inside, they would see many jugs of fermenting fruit, ready to be made into wine or vinegar.

Inside, the rough-hewn furniture was simple but sturdy. The thick scent of herbs filled the place. Baskets of them hung from nearly every free space in the rafters alongside boughs of lavender and braids of wild garlic. Earthenware pots lined shelves, with more dried, medicinal herbs tucked inside.

A small fireplace kept the place cozy. The bed was a relative luxury, with a down-stuffed top and hand-embroidered quilts to keep its occupant warm and comfortable. At its foot sat a trunk decorated with a large embroidered scarf. Two windows allowed in warbled light from the outside, and stained glass hangings made it twinkle and cast a more whimsical glow throughout on a sunny day. The floor was swept clear, and small braided rugs took up a good amount of space. A cozy chair sat nearby, with a basket full of wool yarn.

The entire space was homey, cozy, comfortable, and personalized for its one occupant. It was the kind of space one would look forward to returning to at the end of a long day, but upon returning, there would be only one flaw: it would be empty.

[book-of-scenes]

Photo by Julissa Helmuth from Pexels

[animalvibes]

Actor and Musician Michele Morrone

[breelanders]

...and might as well find another *cough*

[transbordastes]

Via Michele story

[breelanders]

Rhet needed a face claim, so I found one.

[kevkinghorn]

[breelanders]

The falls didn't care who sat by them. There was no judgment, no disapproval, and no unwanted advice. They were quiet and peaceful, even in their loud cacophony, with a melodic sort of white noise that would put a person into a trance if they stared long enough. And they minded their own business.

This had become her private place, where she could go to think, or to cry, or just to be alone without anyone making demands of her. When she was younger, that place had been beneath a bridge, tucked away with musty earth and mushrooms. Here, the air was free and clean. She could breathe deeply and allow the gentle spray to sooth her tired eyes and frayed senses. She didn't have to hide.

Her hair had grown quite long since she became a mother. She didn't know why she had decided not to cut it. She could not remember her mother ever cutting her own hair, and she had died with it nearly to her knees. Perhaps that is what mothers did; grew their hair, with streaks of grey and circles beneath their eyes.

She wish her mother could have met her children. As estranged from her as she was, she did love her, and knew she that love was returned, even if she never said it. She wanted her counsel and commiseration. She wanted to cry on her shoulder when it became too difficult. She wanted to tell her all of the things she had learned in the years since Jack was born, and to compare them to when she was that age. That would need to wait for the afterlife, she supposed.

A wind tousled her hair and she drew her shawl around her shoulders. It was not a gentle, kind breeze, but cool and sharp; strange for a summer evening, even as far north as they were. She turned her gaze to the sky and sighed. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she would be alone with these thoughts forever. If her mother had lived, perhaps there would be four additional mouths to feed under her roof, instead of the three she had been given. Perhaps she would not have given into the despair that drove her to drink the pennyroyal, something no one would ever know.

Except the falls. The falls knew every secret she had ever kept. They were her companion now. They listened and kept on falling. And when the trance was broken, she would go back to the little home at the edge of the lake to the family she had left until the next time.

[djuune-deactivated20200719]

[theequus]

[forndom]

[brilliantlybeloved]

[breelanders]

The crisp air nipped at her nose. She had been walking for what seemed like hours through the dense brush and was tiring quickly. Still far from home, she set the bundle she had been carrying at her feet and paused to lean against a tree to catch her breath and drink from her water skin. The sun was sinking lower over the far ridge of low foothills, alighting the copper hues in her hair. She shook it free from the plait she had secured it into so that it tumbled over her shoulders, and set her head back against the sturdy trunk. She didn't want to go back. There were memories and reminders around every corner that she didn't want to revisit. Was there anyone left who would remember her? Part of her hoped there was. She knew there was at least one bridge she had not completely burned to the ground, but it was shaky and uncertain. But even that was greatly out shadowed by the part who wished to be anonymous with a clean slate. No one would know how broken she was if she didn't tell them, right?

[simplytolkien]

[breelanders]

A warm spring breeze blew over the small herb garden, carrying with it the fragrance of thyme, sage, and marjoram. It had been carefully laid out behind a little cottage tucked against a steep cliff in the village of Grenglin. There was just enough sunlight and shade there for the plants to thrive. It was cool in the summer, shaded by a tall oak, and in winter the cliff provided cover from the winds that would whip through the valley and provide a chill. Its caretaker stooped over a row of sprouting fennels and plucked unwanted weeds from the tiny shoots. Even in the spring, she wore a large straw hat to shield her pale, sensitive eyes from the sun. It was monotonous, but oddly calming. Not that she needed any more calming. Her life was boring by most standards. She had the same routine day in and day out. Each morning drank the same tea, sat in the same chair as she welcomed the day, picked at the weeds before they became too difficult to deal with, bundled and hung herbs to dry in an arid corner of her tiny cottage, took them to the village market, came home, made herself a humble dinner, and went to bed. The days were sometimes punctuated with oddities if she had a visitor or ran an errand, but her days were largely all the same, with few surprises. It reminded her of how her life was like in a different place and time when she was younger, more innocent, but also more naïve. So she clung tightly to this simple way of life. It was predictable and comforting, but most of all, it was safe.

[simplytolkien]