Post by Bessain on Apr 24, 2006 15:30:00 GMT -8
This thread was moved from the original LOTR section.
Heart of a Theif; Mind of a Genius
« Thread Started on Jul 25, 2004, 10:10pm »
Bessain
He was known by many, some as a highwayman, others as a theif. There was little difference in the two names, but they suited him well. By those in the villages, he was known as: Déoran the Cunning. In the theives guild, well hidden in Gondor, he was known as: Bringer of Storms. It didn't matter what people called him, each voice he put on, each disguise he wore, all led back to one name: Déoran.
Déoran wasn't a tall man, nor was he known for the skill of his blade. He was not built for fighting, and did not find any need to do so. In one way, you could almost say, that he had many different faces. He used each and everyone to his utmost advantage.
There was a slight breeze about him and it blew his dark cloak and hair gently, back and forth. His hood shaded the gaze of his orange eyes. Life in Bree pushed on and on, as busy as ever. His shirt of chain mail made soft clinking noises, as it folded to his movements. People pushed and brushed up against him, as he strode through the busy streets. He finally found a place to sit, and quickly took his seat on an old ale keg that had been carelessly thrown aside. From his shirt pocket, he pulled out a map. Déoran ran his hand down the route he needed to take.
Knowing his destination was not a problem, getting to his destination was. He was not in anyway much of a traveling man. He didn't have the survival lore to do it on his own. He always needed a guide. The biggest problem he had, was finding one. Who would willing lead him near Ephel Duath? Most people were not that foolish. He brushed his hand over his cheek, gently stroking his unshaven chin. His mind buried deep in thought. This task was proving to be difficult indeed. He was a great distance away from Harad and Ephel Duath.
All the noise in this town was making it very hard to think about anything. He needed to take his mind off of this for awhile. Stealing something always made him feel better. He folded up his map and stuck it back in his worn tunic. His boots made soft clicking noises as he walked down the street, each step held an excited spring to it. He stuck his hand out, just as he passed a rather large looking man, and in one swift movement; the man's money sack was gone. Déoran smiled and ear to ear grin as he pocketed his new found sack.
"I could go play the highwayman, right now" he thought to himself as he watched a wagon coming up the road. But he had enough money for an ale and expensive meal in the Prancing Pony, calling his money sack. He wasn't that hungry either. Maybe he would go pay a visit to the wagon owners. He could shortly be owning a horse, in a few seconds.
Normally, he would have gave into his desires to go steal a horse and cart, but he had buisness at hand. A friend of his was waiting for him in the theives corner.
Pheonix
Aroden the swift as he was called by the people who even knew he existed, he too was an old member of the thieves’ guild only known there as: The Shadow Stalker in there minds. Armed with his dagger, Gondorien (sp?) bow, and his most powerful weapon, his mind, stood in the thieves’ corner, hidden in the shadows where only ones who knew where to look would find him. His hood hung over his gruff face, his finger slowly stroking the scar that reached from the corner of his eye to his jaw line, a reminder not to let people have the best of your trust. Where is that boy… he thought as he glanced down at the sack he had slung over his shoulder, it was full of a very valuable materiel and it was high priority that it not left either his, or Déoran’s side.
Aroden’s dark green eyes pierced the darkness of the ally way as he heard the click-clack of horse hooves on the cobble stone floor. Quickly, but as stealthily as a phantom he pulled out his dagger and readied to give the man a deadly blow in the gut if he were to be someone that was not of his brethren. The sound of the horse slowed to a stop and the sound of a rider dismounting was heard then nothing more, no foot steps, but he knew better, he was walking towards him. Seeing who the man was he leaned his head into the moon light, “your late… were you followed?” he said to Déoran, a devilish glint in his almost glowing eyes. He slid the dagger back into its small sheath and covered it with his cloak and leaned back into the shadows.
Few others slowly walked the ally way, waiting to buy someone’s goods and take them to another place for some profit. “What do ya have to sell? Maybe I’ll have some liking to them.” He said in his usual rough, harsh sounding voice. He too had some stuff to get rid of too, a blue jewel pendent he snatched from a sleeping maiden and a fancy pendant he almost didn’t get away with, he had stolen it from an elven lady while she was out of her room, she happened to leave it there and he acted fast to get it. “get rid of your items that you have gotten and then listen to my proposition.” He said as he turned to a man walking by him “you there, what will you give me for these.” He said as he held up the belongings. The man reached for them and his hand was quickly slapped down. “Look, but don’t touch, you wont get away with your hand next time…” he said staring coldly at the stranger.
The two quickly made a transaction and Aroden strapped the satchel of coins to his leather belt, it too under his cloak. Finishing his transaction he turns to Déoran. “Now, I have your shipment, but… I have gotten it here; take me to where your going or I shall sell it to someone who wants it badly here. What say you? Speak.” The two were old friends but when it came to business, compromises were always in the mix.
Heart of a Theif; Mind of a Genius
« Thread Started on Jul 25, 2004, 10:10pm »
Bessain
He was known by many, some as a highwayman, others as a theif. There was little difference in the two names, but they suited him well. By those in the villages, he was known as: Déoran the Cunning. In the theives guild, well hidden in Gondor, he was known as: Bringer of Storms. It didn't matter what people called him, each voice he put on, each disguise he wore, all led back to one name: Déoran.
Déoran wasn't a tall man, nor was he known for the skill of his blade. He was not built for fighting, and did not find any need to do so. In one way, you could almost say, that he had many different faces. He used each and everyone to his utmost advantage.
There was a slight breeze about him and it blew his dark cloak and hair gently, back and forth. His hood shaded the gaze of his orange eyes. Life in Bree pushed on and on, as busy as ever. His shirt of chain mail made soft clinking noises, as it folded to his movements. People pushed and brushed up against him, as he strode through the busy streets. He finally found a place to sit, and quickly took his seat on an old ale keg that had been carelessly thrown aside. From his shirt pocket, he pulled out a map. Déoran ran his hand down the route he needed to take.
Knowing his destination was not a problem, getting to his destination was. He was not in anyway much of a traveling man. He didn't have the survival lore to do it on his own. He always needed a guide. The biggest problem he had, was finding one. Who would willing lead him near Ephel Duath? Most people were not that foolish. He brushed his hand over his cheek, gently stroking his unshaven chin. His mind buried deep in thought. This task was proving to be difficult indeed. He was a great distance away from Harad and Ephel Duath.
All the noise in this town was making it very hard to think about anything. He needed to take his mind off of this for awhile. Stealing something always made him feel better. He folded up his map and stuck it back in his worn tunic. His boots made soft clicking noises as he walked down the street, each step held an excited spring to it. He stuck his hand out, just as he passed a rather large looking man, and in one swift movement; the man's money sack was gone. Déoran smiled and ear to ear grin as he pocketed his new found sack.
"I could go play the highwayman, right now" he thought to himself as he watched a wagon coming up the road. But he had enough money for an ale and expensive meal in the Prancing Pony, calling his money sack. He wasn't that hungry either. Maybe he would go pay a visit to the wagon owners. He could shortly be owning a horse, in a few seconds.
Normally, he would have gave into his desires to go steal a horse and cart, but he had buisness at hand. A friend of his was waiting for him in the theives corner.
Pheonix
Aroden the swift as he was called by the people who even knew he existed, he too was an old member of the thieves’ guild only known there as: The Shadow Stalker in there minds. Armed with his dagger, Gondorien (sp?) bow, and his most powerful weapon, his mind, stood in the thieves’ corner, hidden in the shadows where only ones who knew where to look would find him. His hood hung over his gruff face, his finger slowly stroking the scar that reached from the corner of his eye to his jaw line, a reminder not to let people have the best of your trust. Where is that boy… he thought as he glanced down at the sack he had slung over his shoulder, it was full of a very valuable materiel and it was high priority that it not left either his, or Déoran’s side.
Aroden’s dark green eyes pierced the darkness of the ally way as he heard the click-clack of horse hooves on the cobble stone floor. Quickly, but as stealthily as a phantom he pulled out his dagger and readied to give the man a deadly blow in the gut if he were to be someone that was not of his brethren. The sound of the horse slowed to a stop and the sound of a rider dismounting was heard then nothing more, no foot steps, but he knew better, he was walking towards him. Seeing who the man was he leaned his head into the moon light, “your late… were you followed?” he said to Déoran, a devilish glint in his almost glowing eyes. He slid the dagger back into its small sheath and covered it with his cloak and leaned back into the shadows.
Few others slowly walked the ally way, waiting to buy someone’s goods and take them to another place for some profit. “What do ya have to sell? Maybe I’ll have some liking to them.” He said in his usual rough, harsh sounding voice. He too had some stuff to get rid of too, a blue jewel pendent he snatched from a sleeping maiden and a fancy pendant he almost didn’t get away with, he had stolen it from an elven lady while she was out of her room, she happened to leave it there and he acted fast to get it. “get rid of your items that you have gotten and then listen to my proposition.” He said as he turned to a man walking by him “you there, what will you give me for these.” He said as he held up the belongings. The man reached for them and his hand was quickly slapped down. “Look, but don’t touch, you wont get away with your hand next time…” he said staring coldly at the stranger.
The two quickly made a transaction and Aroden strapped the satchel of coins to his leather belt, it too under his cloak. Finishing his transaction he turns to Déoran. “Now, I have your shipment, but… I have gotten it here; take me to where your going or I shall sell it to someone who wants it badly here. What say you? Speak.” The two were old friends but when it came to business, compromises were always in the mix.
