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VENTURES INTO THE REMOTE (RP)

"Aye" Thoruk would say before coughing like he had smoked too much pipeweed at once. "I know her" he'd grumble before letting out a loud "Thank you" followed by a quite quiet "Durin." he would look at Beren, as he got squeezed and tried to get out of Aranels grab, a beautiful sight indeed. "Who is this? He said I fought him before?" Thoruk would ask Aranel, somewhat relieved that he had atleast one overpowered ginger on his side. He thought his powers where beyond measure, but these guys... they came close to even Durin, no, even Mahal himself. "How did they obtain these incredible powers?" Thoruk would think, looking at them, clearly rooting for Aranel at this point.
 
Dimitri stared in terrified awe of this behemoth. Though he had heard stories about the incredible power of Earnedil, there was something about this thing that dwarfed even the Mariner in power. He knew that even the greatest of men had a limit. He turned his attention back to Aule and Teli, specifically the Valar. He was powerful enough to be of great use in anything. Perhaps even reforging Fatebreaker!
 
Daugo started laughing right then and there, surely an odd sight. "Ah, the futility of it all," he sighed, nihilistically jolly. He settled on his saddle and sat in uncharacteristic silence for a while, admiring the view of the Gondorian metropolitan sprawl. "Shitty night, Galador?" he said eventually.

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The boy looked at her for a moment before yelling at the store in a shrill voice. "Some'un's askin' fuh Ronny!"
A gruff voice replied from inside. "Old 'un or Juniuh?"
"Old 'un!"
"A'ight!"
There was a short wait before an impressively fat old man came fumbling out, wiping sweat off his forehead with a silken handkerchief. "And who's askin' fuh me?" he boomed. The lad pointed at Mirecyla. "Well?" said the walrus-like man.
 
”I ordered a cow-hide belt with engraving on it, the engraving says Annatar. You got it for me or what?” She asked the fat fuck crossing her arms while waiting for an answer
 
"Yeah, it was, Daugo. Not the worst, and certainly not the best. But still, as you said, a shitty night," he replied with a faint smile.
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Ha'zi cringed at the fanfare around him, then shuddered as he digested the déjà vu the parade had: cheering crowds, celebrations, a procession of men on horseback who would face a dire threat, and likely an untimely de-

"Snap out of it, Mor. Now's not the time to get squeamish." He smacked himself a few times lightly to get fully adjusted to the day. Once he felt woke enough, he sent a half-hearted apology to Daugo, "Sorry about that. Tired's all. Won't happen again, friend... probably."
 
"I understand. I can't remember the last time I got a good night's sleep. Probably around..." he was saying when he got Ha'zi's mental apology. 'Don't worry, lad, I've been called worse,' he replied, noting how convenient non-verbal communication could be. "Yeah, before the Mordor affair," he finished darkly. 'Scuse me, Gala, I'm going to check on our little moor." He rode a little ahead to where Ha'zi was. "Must be weird, innit? Being so young but pretty much only interacting with us old folks," he said. "Has to get lonely sometimes."

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The fat man blinked twice before nodding. "Ah yes, Miss, if you'll follow me..."
"I can do it, Ronny," said the kid.
"Shut up, I'll deal with her by meself," he snapped back. "C'mon, right this way..." Mirecyla was led to a large office that featured as its centerpiece an ornate ebony desk crowded with parchments and leathery books. "My Lord told me you would be comin'. Wotcher name again?"
 
Mirecyla would follow the man into his office with a smirk on her face. Once entering she would sit down on a nearby chair assuming if their was one and perched her feet up on the desk ignoring all of the paperwork. She was never told to be nice after all... “I have many names, but you can call me Mirecyla.”
 
A thousand thoughts popped up in his head. But the main one was, this was his chance to have something with a woman he actually had feelings for, not some whore in a brothel like he is used to. He took the letters and kept them. He then proceeded to grab her by the waist and bottom and go in to kiss her. He tried hard to stop looking like a tomato.
 
Old Ronny made a face at her impropriety but said nothing about it. "Yea, yea, Mireseel." He wobbled over to a large chest and drew a package from it, setting it on the desk. He took a piece of paper attached to it and started reading: "Proper clothing, a dirk fuh self-defense, a waterskin, a backpack, boots, a small hatchet, a compass, a map, a slingshot for 'untin', blankets..." he cleared his throat, "a pretty large sum of coin, playin' cards fuh when you get bored... Ah, and there's a mule outside waitin' fuh you, saddled and ready with vessels of dried meat and bread. And a wineskin. All's you'll need fuh your journey."
 
Galador nodded, grimacing at the mention of Mordor. "Something like that better not happen on this trip," he muttered, gazing anxiously as his companion strolled away to talk to the dirty Haradrim.
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The approached Ha'zi smirked, feeling as if Daugo was the one that could read minds and not he. "It does get like that quite a bit, but I don't mind since it's either chatting with you guys, who are familiar with me, or the discriminating bunch. As you can, I would far rather converse with the former."
 
"Naturally," he said with a slight bow. "But still, I know I offer truly fascinating and enriching conversation, but I know that, when I was your age, I would've found a bloke like me a little boring. Then again," he added, pensive, "I hadn't gone through half as much as you have, and that's saying a lot. How old're you right now, fifteen? Sixteen?"
 
"Seventeen, actually," he replied humorously. "And I don't really mind. After all, I'm almost always around adults anyway, with the exception of Cardiloc and whatever Iver is. Plus, I'm pretty used to it, since I usually stay to myself, and I rarely got to interact with others around my age in my youth."
 
"Huh. Y'know, I was around seventeen when I left my home. The old man had drunk most of my family's money away, and I was sick and tired of watching ourselves fall into misery. So I left. My uncle helped me out for one or two months, gave me a roof to sleep under, and then I was off. Wandered the Shire in search of idiots to trick into paying me ridiculous amounts of money for imaginary goods. Then, when I became well-known there, I started picking other places. Got to the Blue Mountains one Winter. Fuck, it was cold. I didn't have anywhere to stay, and Dwarves don't give up their gold so easy. Had to steal to survive." He chuckled. "Damn, I was reckless. They caught me once, nearly beat me to death, but I escaped. I didn't have many friends my age either, now that I think about it. Been on my own for half of my life." He smiled wanly. "All that changed when I met Pomona. She was the most amazing person I had ever met. Made all my troubles go away... And then she betrayed me." He looked at Ha'zi more intently. "We're very alike, huh?"
 
"I'll say," he said with a smile. "A bit too uncanny of a similarity, if you ask me. I also had to watch my father fall to the way of the bottle, spending away the money we had left for a cheap drink," he told, his face downcast, but still with a smile tugging at his lips. When he continued, though, his expression warped again, becoming surprisingly brighter. "As for betrayal, well I've been through that more times than I can count, really, so it's nice to finally be with a group that I know won't do the same." He turned to face Daugo, displaying a fake reassuring smile, as he bitterly knew that the role would be flipped someday soon, with Ha'zi breaking the bonds of trust. But he wouldn't allow that to show, so he put maximum effort into plastering that mask.
 
Daugo answered with a fatherly smile. "Of course not. I care about you, Ha'zi. I... I don't want you to make the same mistakes I've made in life."

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Rondenan's face revealed the trace of a scowl, but the expression changed into a slight smirk as he spoke. "His Lordship commands you to go East, to Morgul Vale. You've 'eard about it, right?"
 
Mirecyla nodded her head, while she didn’t know much about the events of the Third Age she did know where all of the major battles and Sauron settlements are “So did he tell you why I’m needed at the keep of the Witch King or no?” She asked standing up with a cough
 
"Daugo..." Ha'zi said, touched on the outside. However, he internally continued this response: "Daugo... why do you have to make this harder for me?"

Sniffling, whether it be from the former or latter, he continued, "Thanks for that," saying it with another distracting beam. "I... I suppose I'll do my best to do so, which shouldn't be too difficult to be honest, with time on my side and all... a little more than necessary, really, if you think about it."
 
Daugo eyed him somewhat strangely, though he returned the smile. It was odd of the boy to be in such a chipper mood; something was off, though he didn't know what. "Us Karoltai have to look after each other, Haz." And, in a hushed voice, "even more so than after the affairs of certain realms of Men."

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"Ain't much in the way of a keep no more, Miss Mireseel, the King had it razed to the ground 'fter the War. The Lord wants you to go there, anywho, he says it'll 'elp your powers grow... He also wants you to pay a visit to the tunnel of the Pass, didn't spes'fy why. That's all I know. You should get goin'; Our Lord don't like being made to wait."
 
"Agreed," he replied, joining in the hushed talk. "I don't trust Belzagar a lick, nor the rest of the high command. He's got nothing there... As if he's only projecting what he would want me to catch onto... And what about Aragorn? We haven't seen or heard anything from him since... since, damn, when we facking returned! There's something shifty going on here... besides us, of course."
 
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