Greetings to you all! (and Rhyn's shoddy poem)
Hello Kin of Second Breakfast!
My name is Rhynwaite Wanderfoot, and I am very glad and grateful to be under consideration for membership by yourselves! I am a middling ageish hobbit from the vicinity of Needlehole. Admittedly a novice at burglary in spite of my age, I am yet eager to make something of myself in spite of a history as a ne'er do well vagabond person with a misspent youth. Having been reclusive and hermit-like for some years, I may be a bit bashful and shy at first. But I'm sure that in your company, that will pass.
I tried to make the ending of midnight Elevenses in Michel Delving tonight, but was late. No one was there, is the event still happening regularly? I probably showed up at the wrong time...
It may be perverse to thank your kindness with bad poetry, but there you are. Perhaps someone can teach me the art in days to come!
Nearways to Bree, in the village named Combe,
A sorrowful beauty now makes her home
Bereft of her father, her family, her kin,
At the hands of grim bandits and treacherous sin
The village of Archet burned in the night
And too few good people escaped from that plight
The death of her sire took a terrible toll
And near broke the heart of fair Gail Catchpole
Tears streaked her face, the rivers of grief
It seemed not even time could bring her relief
Only one thing could bring a rest to her soul
If rescued could be her dear Pa’s fishing pole.
Heroes there came, and heroes there went
She waited lonely, her hope nearly spent.
But then came a day when that hero was you.
One who was kindly, courageous and true!
Great battles were fought in ruins and wood
Against your brave fury, no Blackwold withstood
She laid her heart’s prize in a clear water pond
And so passed her mourning, into the beyond
Of heaven and memory cherished with love
For above sorrow’s storms, the sun shines above
And starred jewels on black velvet glitter at night
Because of your kindness to a young maiden’s plight.
Never treasure so rich or so great a prize
Was gifted by kings or Elves lofty and wise
For valor and deeds of magic and sword,
As Gail’s sweet smile that is your reward
Though lost forever in sorrow she seemed,
This day your heroics her hope you redeemed.
With Best Regards,
Rhynwaite
A wonderful poem; thank you for sharing. ^^ I think evening Elevenses has been on hold? I know Bread & Jam is still going regularly, however, so if that is at a time that works for you, I'd try that one.
See you in game!
Hello Kin of Second Breakfast
I tried to make the ending of midnight Elevenses in Michel Delving tonight, but was late. No one was there, is the event still happening regularly? I probably showed up at the wrong time...
Welcome Rhynwaite! Sunday Elevenses (am Elevenses) is still hopping as far as I know, but the Monday night (pm Elevenses) has been pretty non-existent lately. Bread & Jam on Friday nights roars with up to 12 bands on average throughout the night. B&J starts at 9pm eastern, and runs until everyone falls asleep (usually until 2am at the least, sometimes until 4am even).
=)
What a lovely poem! You have a gift ^^
Welcome to the kin, Rhyn! Like the others said, evening Elevenses is on hold for now, but you’re welcome to join us at Bread and Jam (Friday 9pm outside the Prancing Pony) and Sunday Elevenses (11am at the Bird and Baby Inn). See you in game and let me know if you need anything :)
-PN
Oooo poems! Lovely! Very happy to have you in kin! :)
A lovely and touching poem. You do have a gift.
Belegaer (9); Evernight (23) - 1 Myrtle Court, Thatchacre; Gwaihir (18) - 6 Brookbank Street, Grassvale; Laurelin (25) - 5 Myrtle Court, Berrybridge; Sirannon (25) - 2 Wending Way, Thatchacre
Good greetings to you all, Kin of Second Breakfast!
I am Artelpe Llachlin, a child of High Elves, a student of Rune Keepers, and currently a recruit to your fine Kinship. I'm afraid Master Rhynwaite needed to retire. Adventure wasn't quite what he had expected it to be, it turned out. Many years ago I served in the siege of Mordor under the High King Gil-Galad. There I suffered a terrible wound that took me long years to recover from, if recover I did. Thanks to the healers of Imladris, I lived, but greatly diminished. Power and virtue that was once my birthright as an elf conceived in Valinor ages ago has left me. I am weak and crippled from the experience. Accordingly, I am following the advice of Master Elrond, and travelling the lands seeking to remember my old life, the memories of which are lost among the long years of nightmarish waking dreams I was imprisoned in during my recovery. I am relearning the art of Rune Keeping. And I am trying to find healing for my heart and spirit during my travels.
Impatient and despairing, I called upon the Valar, asking that if I had found favor through my deeds of heroism so many years ago, that they might now assist me in regaining my power, for everywhere I travel today there are signs that an evil is stirring, and growing in the shadows. The Valar answered. Tonight I awoke at the gates of the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria, feeling a little stronger, and more courageous. I am not yet at my full power, but hope is kindled in my heart that I may yet regain it. Vaguely I almost remember voices whispering to me that I should seek Legendary Items and concentrate on strengthening my spirit with Virtues, to prepare for the dark years ahead. But if they told me how to do these things, I cannot now remember.
That, for good and for bad, is the tale of Artelpe Llachlin, who now stands before you. I hope friendships will grow between us, though I may seem distant and shy at times.
May all your days be blessed!
--- Artelpe
Tunes and Ales for One
In Rivendell, in Imladris,
A wandering minstrel came to play
Not a rare occurrence this,
Quite commonplace and everyday
Master Bard Pontin Finnberry
Sang within a lonely hall
Singing songs both sad and merry
To enrapture and enthrall
Strumming strings set notes to soar
wove magic verse without a name
I’d never heard the songs before
My heart knew them all the same
Of elves departing havens grey
Trolls that gnaw on dry old bone
Hobbit sweethearts young and gay
He sang his songs for me alone
As we need food, drink, and breath
Our souls and hearts need song to thrive
Without it, life’s a living death
A cheerless struggle to survive
Magics not just heals and fire
Precious are the melodies
That sooth the soul and heart inspire
And troubled spirits set at ease
If I’m dreaming and I wake,
The songs will still remain
And if all else I should forsake,
I won’t forget it’s sweet refrain