#adventuresmeme

The sound of twigs snapping and leaves being crushed under heavy feet had been what alerted Tornik to the situation. The clearing, normally peaceful, was filled with these sounds along with harsh animal grunts, and what he saw made a chill run straight through him.

The bear was large, rearing on its hind legs in a stark outline against the blue sky. It was not an old bear, with ragged fur or scars, and he thought this might be somewhat of an advantage. Because there was someone else in the clearing: a slight form which Tornik took to be a female, likely an elf from what he could see of her head. The main problem was the girl was not walking away from the bear, but rather toward it, as though she was either incredibly reckless, or an incredible fool.

Gritting his teeth in anger, Tornik raised his crossbow and took careful aim at where the bear’s heart would be. He did not want to shoot the animal if he could help it, so he thought to distract it first.

The roar was one he had long practiced, and become quite good at. In fact, he could make a variety of sounds now, each mimicking certain animals. He had thought it would be of good use in case of a dangerous situation, living alone in the wilderness as he did now. As it echoed through the area, he kept his aim steady.

The bear, confused, dropped to all fours and began to back away. It had heard a roar which sounded like a much older, dominant male bear. It could not see the bear but would take no chances. At last it turned and loped through the underbrush.

“Aren’t you interested?”

The question made Tornik think. Was he interested? She was a fine-looking dwarf with a thick, well-groomed beard that would set any man’s heart racing. Any normal man, apparently. She had many male suitors but kept returning to flirt with him, regardless of the level of attention he had previously shown her… which would be none.

For a reason he could not explain, he was definitely not interested. No one had ever set his heart to racing, woman or man alike, and he had never thought about why that might be, or whether it meant something was wrong with him. Maybe there was, and maybe there wasn’t. He found it did not matter either way to him. Further, the thought of being with anyone in an intimate fashion did not hold any attraction to him. Why would he want to spend time on that, when there was so much more he could do to further his woodworking and skills with a crossbow?

“No.” It was a brusque answer, but folk were mostly used to his surly ways. The dwarf woman stared at him for a long moment, shrugged and walked away. Maybe she would have a bit of heartache, but she would get over it. There were many others who would have her.

(a memory of a relative)

“I think you’re right, you know.”

These were the last words Turi had expected to hear at the moment, but they were not at all unwelcome.

Slowly she turned her head to face her eldest brother, Fren, knowing he would see the red rims to her eyes but at the moment not caring. “You do?”

“Well… of course I do.” Fren was not eloquent in the slightest and did not pretend to be. He spoke what he wanted to in the simplest of terms, and that was a trait she happened to admire. “I think you have a right to decide what you want. I may not understand how you feel, but it’s your life, isn’t it? There’s nothing I can do about Mother and Father. They don’t want to listen.”

Turi turned her head away again, back into the wind’s bitter chill. For a while it had seemed as though her tears should have frozen as they steadily dripped down her face. Of course there was nothing he could do. They did not want to listen. They did not want to understand.

“Come on, you need to get out of this cold. How about I make you something hot to drink?”

(a vivid memory)

There was not much she remembered from the earliest days, beyond fear.

She did not even remember when her father had first found her and taken her home, to the warm safety of a comfortable place she grew to know and love well. Even the first days there were blurry, being viewed through the veil of her emotional turmoil. Certainly she did not remember much of anything until she knew she was there to stay. That was when things became worth remembering.

Then there was nothing beyond the warmth, and happiness. She quickly came to love her father, with his large but gentle hands, attentive manner, and deep laugh which never failed to bring her a smile as well.

There was one time in particular which stood out to her, and that was when she was allowed to go outside with him for the first time in months. They had walked hand in hand through their home under the mountain, snow crunching beneath their feet, and out to the stable where he had placed her onto a pony while he sat behind, keeping a firm grip so that she might not slip off. All of this she watched with wide-eyed wonder, especially as they began to ride into the wilderness beyond the gates.

(a friend/best friend memory - or I think so - the symbol isn’t exactly the same? ;p)

“Are you alright?”

The familiar voice froze him again, though it should not have. Slowly Garavon nodded, trying to will his hands to stop shaking as he adjusted his grip on the spear he still held clutched in a desparate grip. His breathing had just begun to slow, along with his heart, which he surely must have imagined hammering against the inside of his chest.

Avornor seemed to come into view cautiously, as though determined not to startle him further. After a moment he stood in front of Garavon and peered up into his eyes from the slight difference in their height. “Are you sure? What happened? You can tell me, if you want. It is only me.”

It was only Avornor. It was not twenty pairs of eyes staring at him, waiting for him to do something, to do anything, only to stand completely still as though rooted to the ground like one of the gnarled trees which loomed overhead.

The instructor had only asked him to demonstrate a combat routine with his spear, one he was quite good at when they were all doing it together, when everyone’s eyes were focused on their opponent, and not just on him. The surge of panic which had flared in his chest had made him stand still… and then made him walk away.

“I ran,” Garavon said, squeezing his eyes shut tight as if confessing a terrible misdeed. “I was scared. I should not have… But I am weak. You should know by now.” The silence which followed this made him open his eyes again to see his oldest friend shaking his head with an expression full of concern.

“You are not weak. You? Least of all. I have watched before, and you are the best out of any training to become a warden. No one else pratices so hard. Every time I have tried to visit your home lately, there you are with a spear or javelin in hand, improving yourself.” Avornor’s tone contained both admiration and utter confidence. It was as though he knew what he spoke of.

“I am not sure-”

“I am sure. You are not weak. We can work on this together. Trust me, Garavon. Or are we not good enough friends? Have I ever led you astray?”

This raised the barest smile from the younger of the pair. “If you want me to tell you honestly-”

“Yes, yes. But all the mischief is another matter entirely! I am not about to abandon you and let you face this alone. I never have, no matter what.”

Somehow Avornor’s words relaxed him, and his breathing became easier. Perhaps there was hope. Even if he could not fully overcome this fear, it could be made more manageable with time. And he trusted Avornor; despite anything else, he was a true and honest friend.

He accepted the hand extended to him in love, finding his own steady once more.

(a fading memory - for some reason I chose Saerben :p)

At one time there had been a lover.

Saerben could no longer recall if they were male or female, fair or dark, of a height comparable to his own or of one quite dissimilar. They had been an elf, certainly; he had never left Rivendell during the first hundred years of his life and had not associated with anyone beyond his own kin.

Perhaps he had been happy to be half of a pair then. Now he did not belong to anyone, and certainly not any thing other than the craving which drove him to seek more wealth and the feeling of power, of being in control. There was little he would not do to achieve these longings. If he caused others to suffer as a result, it was not an inconvenience to him. It would be fair for them to experience pain, as he had.

Love was insubstantial and inconsequential. It was fleeting and fickle, like a rain cloud which promised to burst open on parched land, then moved to a verdant field and wasted its life-giving water there instead. If he struggled to remember, that must have been what happened to this distant memory of a love long lost.

Wealth made no promises it could not keep. The bright gleam of gold would obtain whatever he wished in life, be it objects or position. There was not much else he wanted.

Foooonith :B

(describe their usual smile) This makes me squee for some reason. ;-; Faeneth has a really bright smile usually, when she is happy, which can be most of the time if she isn’t bored or dealing with any of her sad issues. She already looks sunny with her pretty blonde hair, but the smile just lights her up even brighter (at which point Gary is guaranteed to be swooning somewhere :p)

(do they look up or down while thinking) I think she looks right in the middle. …And sees something in the distance which interests her, so she forgets all about what she was thinking and runs off toward that instead. XD

(describe something they like without naming it) The silence is one of his favorite parts, usually only broken by the faint rustling of pages, a soft murmur here and there regarding intellectual topics. However, one is not expected to talk, which he sometimes finds more comfortable than otherwise.

The scent can be notable as well: parchment old and new, a hint of leather, sometimes dust, though usually not to an excess or unpleasant state if it is cared for well enough.

Words are like old friends to him, and acquiring knowledge brings great joy, and so he has spent many long hours there in quiet contemplation and the pursuit of wisdom.