Well, as there is only one RPG thread , wich is somewhere in the middle of the story, I thought, let's make another one, so people who don't want do jump in there can start in a new one. The story begins in Mirkwood, in the halls of king Thranduil, who has asked the most skilled warriors, best pathfinders and smartest tacticians from all over Middle Earth to come to Mirkwood. The mission isn't revealed yet in order to keep it secret. Feel free to join as any race of good, or evil. So, as most of the ones who have joined the original are men/elves/dwarves, wild men of Druadan would be cool for example. I myself'll play both Thranduil at the begin, aswell as Ragnar, a Iron Guard.

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Ours is the fury!

The jewel-adorned saddle flickered with light as the premium-bred steed trotted it's magnificent form into the halls of king Thranduil. It's rider snickered at the elvish palace, he far preferred his own dominion down in the south of gondor, it was much more tasteful than the drab selection of shrubbery the elves called architecture. A 'young' elf approached him to aid him in dismounting his steed, to this he pounced on the oppurtunity to somehow patronize an eldar; he arrogantly dismounted before the servant could reach him and 'accidentally' knocked into the lad, brandishing an 'apologetic' smile and a firm pat on the shoulder (perhaps too firm for the elf, who crumpled somewhat under the strength of the pleasantries).

Salmien Cruzo was a renowned duelist who had served for a brief time under many of the halls of the west, he rarely travelled farther than the gondorian border: he found the rohirrim to be uncivilised and he thought the dwarves as smiths whom were undeservedly adorned with countless praise from all across the land (yet again- he preferred his own smithies). However he had occasionally enjoyed brief meetings with Saruman in Orthanc and had even spent some time up in the ruins of arnor as he was intrigued by the rumours of an heir to gondor.

He left his horse with the lightly bruised worker and proceeded into the inner chambers, paying no attention to the guards and thusly fooling himself into the palace. His ride had been long and he fancied a woman for the night, upon eye-ing one of the finer looking elf girls he approached her, brandishing his southern, tanned chest. He threw her a jewel from his belt buckle, which she caught with that annoying elvish agility they all seemed to possess, he had hoped to watch her pick it up, so her could get a good look at her assets (he had to make sure she was up to standard). She eyed the jewel, and after deciding it was little more than a fragment of stone, threw it straight back at him, to which he was both shocked and amused: "Typical elf" He thought "Stuck up and arrogant! Lucky girl could've experienced the southern serpent!"

Defeated, he headed into the gardens of the palace (still undetected by the elves, he was very good at fitting in where he shouldn't) he reminisced about the poor girl who had just missed out on the best night of her life.
"Oh well...." thought the duelist from Dol-Amaroth "...at least the wife will be glad."

Emerging from the dense forest into the clearing of Thranduil's Hall comes a dark brown steed with a tall rider, cloaked in grey. On his back is slung a finely crafted long-bow and a quiver full of arrows, at is side was sheathed a sturdy, pale sword. He is wearing a sure-coat of leather armour over his forest-green tunic. Out of his hood flows long blonde hair and he has a stern complexion on his face.

He rides over to the stable and gives the stable-hand the reigns, then dismounts. He hands the worker some coins for his service then strides into the great halls of the King of Mirkwood. Upon entering he his approached by two elven gaurds, who immediately inquire who he is. Removing his hood, he replies to them, "I am Raganos, a skilled march-warden from the great forest of Lothlorien, my abilities with a bow are superior to all my Lorien kin and honoured by the Lady of the Wood herself. I have come on request from Lord Thranduil"...

As I'm using Ragnar for the other RPG, I'll choose someone else for this one. Not sue who.

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Ours is the fury!

Salmien rolled his eyes as the elf regurgitated his life story to the poor guards. He strode up to the elf and gave him a firm pat on the back;
"Good for you buddy" he announced "might not wanna announce your talents that loudly, lotta you pointy-ears consider yourselves keen archers. I hardly doubt your claims are making half of them cry in their itty bitty tree houses" He led the elf over to a bench in the hall and continued the small talk, he flung himself into the bench and proceeded to drink from a jewel adorned flaggon of wine which hung from his belt.
"So elfy, why you really here, besides your, self proclaimed, archery skill?" he enquirered "I mean why is an elf outsourcing his archers? Pretty fishy If you ask me..."

Sitting down, Raganos eyes the strange Southern man carefully, not exactly liking what he sees, and replies, "I am here upon the request of the Lady Galadriel. News from Lord Thranduil reached her and she personally asked me to travel here upon Thranduil's summons."

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Ours is the fury!

"Well of course you know who i am, don;t be so proud of it! It surprises me not that even the elf women know my name!" Cried the southerner defensively.
He shot a brief glance at this other elf, Ragasomething, before returning his attention to the somewhat prettier elf before him: "So, Methy, are you the one who we should be talking to? I believe this quest will pay healthily no doubt? My services do not come cheap, regardless of how old and frail you may be." He chuckled, the life of a human was short and full of adventure if lived correctly, an elvish life was bound to drag on for centuries with only a scattered handful of interesting events to take place. Despite what the elves thought, Salmien was very self assured of his, somewhat maniachal, outlook on life and believd elves to be an inferior race, despite the rather obvious advantages of being an elf.

Just then, silver glinted and a razor sharp throwing knife embedded itself deeply just to the left of Salmien's neck. A tall, fair elf that Salmien had not noticed before stepped out of the shadows, walking towards the small group. He was wearing a long grey/green cloak that that seemed to shimmer in the light, and by his side was a dark grey horse that seemed to need no prompting from its master. Around his belt was arrayed a small collection a throwing knifes and one long elven blade that was concealed in a sheath. He wore a dull grey helmet and every now and again a bright shirt of shining mail was visible. He dismissed his horse to the stables with a quick whisper and then walked over to them and retrieved his knife. Then he stopped, saying: "You would do well not to speak so disrespectfuly to the elf-maiden, Salmien. For while she may be more slight of frame than you, she is more mighty in wisdom and power than you will ever be with the sword.'
Then, suddenly changing his mood he said: "Greetings, my name is Dinval" and with that he took a seat and said no more.

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'Though my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior'
-John Newton

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Ours is the fury!

Dinval answered: "I am the lord of a wandering people whose secrecy is their saftey. Long ago the Enemy swore to destroy us, thus we have remained unknown since then for fear of him renewing his oath and taking his revenge on my people. Because of this I would rather tell no one my people's whereabouts, I will say only that we were once great friends of the high king and we now roam from place to place, living where we may and slaying those of the Enemy that we meet. But I will speak no more on this matter for fear of my tongue betraying me"

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'Though my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior'
-John Newton

His longsword was out the second the elf had retrieved the dagger, he kicked the filth back with a frim shove from his boot.
"Who do you think you are?" Howled the southener "No matter your disposition towards me, it is goo manners to never openly attack one who has risked life and limb traveling for days to assist you!"

He had examined the knife that had been thrown at him while it stood in the pillar beside him, he already knew what steel it was forged from, what forge was used to form it and how to break it with a single strike, he may be arrogant but some of it was rightfully deserved. He'd dueled the sons of Denethor and won, he'd dueled the prince of Dol-Amorth and won, he had never lost a duel in his life. The fear elves would usually inspire in their foes was lost on him, he saw them as simply skinnier humans and far from being a master race.

"You see me as a worthless companion fit for ridicule, eh? Then face me elf! Show me why you think you have the right to throw your outdated junk at one who came to answer the call, same as you did!" Called Salmien, now calmer than he had been earlier. "If you share any of the wisdom you trust your betters to possess, you would fall to your knees and apologize like one who can tolerate petty imperfections from those you have never met"

He'd dueled elves before. They all seemed the same to him, saw themselves as greater and expected their opponents to do the same. Never once had an elf been humbled by Salmien when defeated, they would all demand death or retreat, claiming they were still an eldar and above the petty squables of man. He expected this one to do the latter, but would love the chance to embarrass him infront of the other elves, it was high time they respected him for something.

Methild moved her hand towards her elven blade when she saw the longsword. But, thinking a fight wouldn't be the right way to solve this problem, and knowing this duelist could defeat her with ease. The only one that'd be able to defeat him would be the heir to the throne of Gondor. 'Come, my friends, shall we stop fighting each other and start talking friendly. And you Salmien, I know you are skilled, but don't think you could defeat one of us with ease. With only swords I'm sure you'd win, but an open challenge, with all weapons allowed, that would give you a hard time. And what is your problem with elves? You are partly Elf too. Weren't you from Dol Amroth? That's how you got you agility I guess.'. After speaking those words, she took her staff, pointed the stone on top of it at the fireplace and spoke some magic words in Elf-language. With a mighty burst of light the wood in there was set ablaze! Then she lowered her staff, took a seat and tried to start a conversation with the others.

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Ours is the fury!

"she is right. If i meant to attack you then I would have aimed for you neck. We have both wronged and both have been wronged and for that I do apologize. If we start a fued before we have even learned what we are called to achieve it will fail before it has begun. Whatever quest Tharundil has called us to will require fellowship and unity, those things will never be started by a fight"
Dinval walked towards Salmien, still on his guard but extending a hand of freindship...

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'Though my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior'
-John Newton

"Is anyone in need of my services?" asked a cold harsh voice, unbeknownst to the others, for he had entered silently and secretively. "What might be your business in these parts?" he added, softening a little.

Ulfor, the last known living descendent of Ulfang, approached the company of people before him, who had drawn their weapons. He was suprised to find that one of them was a woman, for in all his days, he had not known anyone but the Easterlings to allow the women to fight. He was using, what e liked to call an open disguise, he would immediatly reveal his real name, and here he was from, and yet he would tell them about how much he had been wronged, and how he had learned to to hate the Lords of Umbar, for hate them he did. But of course, if the job pays, he thought.

"Feel free to slay me now," he said aloud, for I am Ulfor, last living descendent of Ulfang, and I hail from Umbar. I do not however mean to harm you, for 25 and a half years of abuse at the hands of its two Lords has left me with much resentment. I offer my services as a spie to you, and as a man who can provide you with much inside information on the 'Enemy'."

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"I am the Flying Spagetti Monster. Thou shall have no other monsters before me"
-FSM.

Salmien slapped the open hand away with the flat side of his blade, providing extra care not to cut the fragile elf.
"There, we are equal now. In the future know a little self control."

Salmien took to Ulfor openly, he had many friends from Umbar, and had even lived there for a short while. He was familiar with the corsair fleets, and was well aware that, while mercenaries, they were still human, and not as blind in their occasional servitude to the dark lord as perhaps the easterlings or the orcs. He placed his hand on the mans shoulder and flipped a coin into his hand.
"I have no quarrel with you ser." He looked to his, rahter annoyed, alvish friends "and either should they, you have not wronged me nor you them. If they do not take to you friendlier than they do to me then they are great fools and even greater hypocrites to their 'infinite wisdom'!"

Methild got annoyed by the words of Salmien.'But, he'll never learn, the chance of getting Salmien less bored by elves is just as great as the chance of turning a goblin into a tactical mastermind', she wispered to Dinval. Then she turned to Ulfang. 'You seem to speak the truth. If you want to help us, and perhaps want to get some gold, you can join us on our mission. But, as long as we are not totally sure we can thrust you, you'll only get to know a part of the plan. Now, lord Thranduil wants to start the briefing, get out until he is done, please'. Right after Methild spoke these words, Thranduil came out of a door, accompanied by his guardsmen.

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Ours is the fury!

Behind the company of people, a bow twanged, and a pale-feathered arrow hit the door, alerting them to the presence of another. "Greetings my friends, I have travelled far to come here. Firi, son of Flairi, is my name, and I mean you no harm." The Dwarf put down down his bow, gently laying his axe beside it, followed by his quiver. "I have no quarrel with Elves, or Men of Dale, or other Dwarves. It's the foul creatures, the Goblins and Orcs, that I hate and resent." Firi pointed to the scar running across his face, from his forehead, through his left eye and nose, to the right of his mouth.
"An eye of mine they may have, but I have killed many of them." His right eye looked over the company, where his other should have been was covered with a faded white eye-patch, and a black dot of Orc blood in the middle gave the impression of the other. "I came here to join those speaking to the Elven King."

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C.A.P.T.A.I.N. = Crazy And Proud To Admit It Now
http://chrisgomhobbyblog.blogspot.com/

"And you are welcome my friend," said Dinval "for your father was a great freind of mine though you did not know it, but let us spare greetings for another time and accompany Thanduril and learn of what we are called to do."
And with that, Thanduril nodded his head and the company set off again to find what lay ahead of them...

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'Though my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior'
-John Newton

"Aye, I grow weary of all these fancy entrances. It's high time we got our task and got on our way!" exclaimed Salmien.
He had by now retracted his blade into it's jewel encrusted sheath, he felt comfortable the elves wouldn't get too cocky and try anything again. Salmon was glad that a fellow human had arrived, but was greatly dismayed the other man was yet another man with a tainted record to the elves. He had wished for one of more tactful humans who can tolerate elves, his jingoism was giving humanity a bad name and he wished someone could clean up after him. Salmien was glad to see a dwarf, they are handy in a fight, especially with a duelist about.

Back from his thoughts, Salmien leapt to his feet and followed Dinval towards Thranduil to receive his mission.