..THE (Forbidden) SCROLL TEXT

 ..THE (Forbidden)

SCROLL TEXT

.....

My Story:

In what now must be termed the Fourth Age of this middle earth, I Nathverin do mark down the experience as a firsthand witness of that great departure of those firstborn children of Eru's Elvendom, as memory for testament's sake.

From the hidden eastern woods, we traveled to these western havens only to find that the last of the White Ships were boarding and bound for the Sacred realms beyond the world's rim. It was Vendumar, that leader of our gathering who refused the unstated mandate to bid farewell, even at Lord Cirdan’s insistence which he disregarded.

“For we stay lingering behind as reminders of Eru’s Hand in the world of Men, that they may not be beguiled as before,” stated Vendumar the black hair.

At this Sheldamar his twin rebutted, “Come now brother, it has been proven time and again that even the most ancient of the Elves are not flawless in their actions, and the influences of the Defeated Darkness have been too deeply imprinted upon the imagination of Men. They are tainted, and shall ever be led by their own marred devices! We are not their Stewards, nor were we tasked to be so against that unquenchable flame that all of Eru's children were endowed with.”

Upon those words did the Lord of their House, Symordare boldly speak in defense of Vendumar’s reasoning, even against the stance of Sheldamar who was to Captain the last Swan vessel, “Indeed! We shall be just that bulwark before Men as both Steward and Memorial of those who now flee, that Eru's Divine presence be enlightened before them.” Those many others who stood by hailed in agreement as an oath.

Baalyic of Greenleaf put forth, adding, “Even the renowned foresight of Lord Cirdan would not refute, this day is unlike any seen before and has become but a milestone of this great change.” Again that remnant of watchers cheered all the more.

But the last Captain of the Swan fleet, Sheldamar parted with, “Cirdan knew all too well the fate we now leave is but in the hands of Men alone. In due time shall they reap the same reward which cleansed the Second age of the world. For this Fourth, Fallen Nephilim Age shall be marked as one of great folly, and one most fraught with doom! Farewell, brother.” Thus, was the great departure of words ended.

All reactions:

3Noelle Williams, Lisa Shalet and 1 other

LORE OF THE LOST SCROLL AND BOX

 LORE OF THE LOST

SCROLL AND BOX

...............

Following the death of Lord Symordare, the first among those watchers of the great departure, his grandson Searfym began having night terrors and visions while fully awake. From the cloth remains of his grandfather’s shroud, Searfym wrote down his impressions of the woes yet to befall them as a prophecy of the neither world. Filled with regrets for not leaving with their kin aboard the Swan fleet, Searfym left in the cover of night that bay harbor’s community of twenty souls. He desired to learn if others yet remained uncounted of their people. Searfym left behind his sister, Lyreah with word that his brother-friend Nathvierin should keep and do as he felt with the crafted scroll.

Nathvierin likewise wrote upon the back side of Serafim’s cloth his own remembrances of that great departure of Elvendom. Later, desiring to honor his friend did he craft an ornate box in which to house the delicate sheet. The Scroll and Box were read before those Watchers. They were most impressed and taken back with awe at the hearing of it. From among them, Galadir said upon the anniversary it should be their tradition to publicly read and recount their own memories of the occasion as well. The Scroll and Box came to be held as a sacred record, and the beginning point of many new things among them. The Relic therefore was kept in the House of Meeting.

It came to pass, with the rise of other Lords among them a day when the sacred Scroll and Box came missing. It fell in the second year of the third King’s reign, that Nuthcorlan was outraged by the artifact’s theft. He ordered every house within the Harbor city, now renamed as Lindolmithar, to be searched and all its inhabitants promptly questioned. If the Scroll and Box were returned, undamaged then no questions and no judgments would be pursued. Yet if after three days from the King’s decree, it was returned and the one in possession of the Scroll and Box were found they would be shunned from beyond the city walls. After that time, again King Nuthcorlan pronounced that after an additional eight days be given, and if whosoever was found in possession of the Holy Record would be imprisoned within the Tower of Varlendur, with the entirety of their Household being put to death. Three years later and still the sacred record of Searfym’s scroll was not recovered yet the King’s word had become law till fulfilled. It became one of many such fears imposed upon the people of Lindolmithar.

...

THUGO

 THUGO MONARU

...................

(Something I wrote.)

The Easterlings had long ago left the rugged lands of Harad and sued for peace to enter into the west. The Blacksmith, Thugo took his myriad of followers cautiously into the Freedlands. All of them pridefully hailed their awarded pardons, symbolized as tokened necklaces, for the winged crowned king of the White City had promised his leave and their new beginning without molestation. On the ending heels of the Great War, they sought brighter days and new opportunities; yet hard-won would any real welcome come to them as strangers in a stranger land. Many of the United Realm’s people still perceived them as thralls of the old Enemy.

Thugo’s people had endured the choking air passing through the Black Ashlands, the scorching heat across unforgiving deserts, and fought brutal beasts through the thick jungles, all in their efforts of escaping thralldom. None yielded to the Enemy’s call for warriors. So, in the West, they could endure the glaring stares and bitter words from the war-torn people they encountered as well.

They followed the Blacksmith for they knew him as one true to his word. But there were few of Thugo’s kinsmen who questioned his ill mind or wondered outright if he had gone mad when he claimed to have heard the voice of Mahsaru, The One and Always. For hearing the voice of God made mortal Men uncomfortable. The unknown was seldom a welcomed thing, especially when it challenged one to change. Thugo had nightmarish dreams and even day visions of horrific things, for the war exacted its toll on the living. The slain heroes or innocent bystanders paid their price, Thugo did not question this but when the voice called to him, he wondered if madness had come. The voice came by way of a desert horned lizard, a woodland cicada, and an ocean-side octopus that had washed ashore; all spoke to Thugo and claimed to be Mahsaru! The voice said, “Follow me to the First Children, and your own seed shall be multiplied. Defy me and all flesh shall fail. Do this and even you shall see.”

See what -- they often questioned him, but every path that Thugo took yielded goodness on his behalf to his people. A well where none thought water was possible, a game when even mighty hunters failed, and honors from a Western King when all others were turned away or slain. Still, the Nasilian people pushed ahead following the Blacksmith prophet, a title he himself disowned.

They headed to the far reaches of the Blue Mountains in the west, on foot, horse-drawn house wagons and tents they trekked. One morning as the people approached the forest of Norwood, with the great peaks in the distance, the Shadol came to the Blacksmith’s working tent, “As Judge of the people I should be jealous of you for gaining such favor with the people, but in truth Thugo I am envious. God has never spoken to me.”

“Marithan, my Shadol – I never --.”

“Be at ease my friend, your words are not needed,” Merithan’s honesty showed in his face, “Yet, I must ask --.”

“I do not know, Shadol. If I did, my dearest of old friends you would be my first confidant. Why we are to go to the Firstborn is beyond my knowing,” now was Thugo’s turn to share his questioning look.

“Do the Elves even remain in the world, or at least at their ancient harbor?”

Thugo smiled broadly, “Of that, I am sure. A man of Gondor shared that they do,” he added, “A shoed horse gained payment in the way of news, my Shadol.”

The tribal leader beamed hopefully, “It is a bright glimmer to know one day that we shall be accepted by these strangers.”