Thread: Fellowship Of Forodwaith (Karameida & darkangel76)

The northern waste of Forodwaith was cursed, frozen by the Witch King of Angmarbetter known by all as Lord of the Nazgul and right hand to Sauron. In an attempt to induce fear, the Lord of the Nazgul had set an eternal winter upon Forodwaith, his plan to sway them all to the call of his master, the former bearer of the One RingSauron. Many had fledincluding King Arveduileaving Forodwaith barren and leaderless, in a state of chaos and conflict! Dark magic swirled about the north, a poisonous magic slowly seeping into everything, taking root, causing panic and hysteria. The Witch King, satisfied, looked down from his perch in Angmar with pleasure knowing that he and his master had nothing to fear from the northern wastelands any longer. And so, Sauron continued his search for what had been rightfully his and now resides in the hands of the most unlikely creatures. However, to keep the fear alive and thriving, the Lord of the Nazgul continues to send reminders to Forodwaithmessengers and heralds that remind them of the power of Angmar and what will happenmuch like it did to those who'd tried to flee the call, much like King Arveduishould they attempt to give aid to any but them, to Mordor. The fear is strong and the wintry cold has been so bitter and long, lasting for generation after generation. The people have grown weary as Sauron searches and in their weariness, their hope for any summer has now dwindled to nothing along with their hope for any sort of happy future. The land of Forodwaith is mostly untamed wilds, though there are pockets where those who've remained do dwell. The Cape of Forochel is the most prominent and runs around the Ice Bay. The humans native to Forochel call themselves the Lossotha tribal people who know how to survive the harsh wastelands of the north. They are very leery of outsiders and both cautious and superstitious due to past dealings and their history with Angmar along with ongoing winter they've endured for generations. The peace among the tribes is shaky, the balance held together by the finest of threads. Besides the Lossoth, others have indeed made homes in the region of Forochel in the Forodwaith wastelands. Other than the native Lossoth, other humans along with dwarves, halflings and even elves have found their way. Though it's uncommon to see those from the southwith the exception of dwarvesoften termed as warmlanders by the Lossoth. But now is the time for winter to endor so come the whispering hopes of many a traveler who make their way into the northern wastes. The magic is spreading, the winter colder than ever. Things are brewing in Angmar and the peace between the Lossoth tribes is wavering, the Suri-Maja tribe growing the most restless of all. Trouble stirs in Forodwaith and it no longer affects just the north, but all of Middle-Earth... Will winter end...can anything stop the dark magic and Angmar? TA 3018, March, present day... Though the horrible sounds had faded, Maranwe could still hear the shrieking screams of her mother the moment the goblinsthe orcshad appeared... An angry mace found its target as it pierced the Maran's mother's body with a mighty crack, breaking flesh and bone as it caused her willowy body to crumple and slump into a heap on the frigid ground. Maran let out a shout the moment her Elf eyes saw the violent vision unfold, but it was immediately stifled by a large hand before a sound had a chance to roll off her full lips. Her brother, Orrin, almost roughly pulled her aside and threw her to the ground. His lips teasingly brushed against her ear as the goblins swarmed, their weapons brandished and glinting in the harsh silvery rays of light that had shone down from the moon overhead in the inky sky. You must run, Maran, Orrin whispered. Run and don't look back. His words were clear and distinct. Gently, a hand stroked Maran's slender neck and brushed her snowy hair in a loving gesture. Go on to Forochel and do what we set out to do. Maran shifted suddenly, her gray eyes locking onto her brother's. Almost immediately, she could feel them pricking with tears. She knew what he was doing. He was saying goodbye... As Maran continued to run along the outskirts of Kauppa-Kohta, she wished she'd had more time. More time with her parents, her brother. But the goblins had been many and she was their only hope to help their kin now. She needed to see things through, to help them all if it was possible. It was what her family had wanted and why they'd set out on their journey from Rivendell in the first place. Rivendell... How she suddenly missed it. Its warmth, its song. But now wasn't the time for grieving. That would have to wait. Frightened, Maran pressed onward, her heart heavy as she found herself hoping she'd manage to lose the goblins that had murdered her family and had been hot on her trail since. Her body was aching and in need of rest, her trek having gone on for a couple of hours at least. Running, panting hard, she glanced upward into the dark starless skya bad omen to not see the stars. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment and she silently prayed she'd find safety, that somehow she'd live to see dawn. Meanwhile, in the settlement of Pynti-Peldot, the wind was howling outside causing the windows to rattle and shake. Though such weather seemed to be common in Forochel, Brynne was hardly used to the harsh climate. A shiver ran along her spine and she reached for a heavy shawl that was draped over the chair set across the way from her modest bed. Her room was so much smaller than the one she'd had back in her home in Dale... ah, to be back home... She truly missed her parents. Her mind drifted as she pined for them, her dark eyes welling with tears as she longed for a day when she might be reunited with them once more. But such a day seemed hopeless. Dale was so far away, the journey back treacherous. And after the unexpected attack, there was great uncertainty as to whether it was safe to even attempt returning. If only there was a way she could receive word about Dale, her family... just knowing they were safe would set her heart and mind at ease. Brynne pushed at her dark hair and heaved a sigh, her eyes shifting over to a pair leggings that she'd been mending for one of the local huntersone of the Lossoth of Pynti-Peldotwho frequented the Inn of the Snowy Eagle. She was nearly done patching them up, adding in a lining for extra warmth. Since arriving in the frozen wastelands of Forodwaithafter being so abruptly taken from all that was safe and familiarshe'd slowly been trying to repay those who'd been kind enough to help her and rescue her from the wildmen. She felt fortunate that the people of Pynti-Peldot were willing to let her stay, to prove herself a worthy seamstress. Running her hand over the stitching, Brynne smiled. But it faded as she heard the windows of her room jostle against the windowpanes, almost threatening to break open as the wind continued to sweep through the village. Her hand dropped away from the fabric and she walked over to the window, biting down on her lip as she stared outside into the inky black. The sky was dark, starless, though the moon shone down in silver strands of light. Still shivering, she backed away from the window and turned to leave her room and go downstairs. As Brynne headed down the dimly lit corridor that led to the open room where the patrons of the inn tended to meet and congregate, she could feel her heart begin to pound. Without realizing it, her tiny hands clutched at her shawl, pulling it tightly about her slim body. She could hear the voices of those already milling about, engaged in conversation, sharing a drink or three. A bit nervous as she always was, she stepped out into the midst of the crowd feeling out of place and so awkward. A hand reached up and began to fidget with a stray lock of brown, fingers twisting themselves within the strands as she made her way to where the barkeep stood. Slowly, she sat down and swallowed hard, her eyes darting about as she tried to blend in though she knew such a thing was impossible.