A truly short and simple RP idea I had. I’m really enjoying the shorter “snippets of each character” writing exercises. This one, I call “Questions.” We all think before we drift off to sleep, and often we’ll tally lists or think about our day. Every question here is unlabeled, and not prefaced. Enjoy this tiny snippet into everyone’s innermost consciousness! Oh. And in some cases (I hope), good luck figuring out who is who! 😀


…Did I make the right choice? Should I leave to find you?


…What’s wrong with me?…


One day, I hope to know the answer to this simple question: did it feel like thunder and shake your whole world, as well?


Will you embrace who you are, or cast it aside, my love?


If I didn’t wake up tomorrow, it would be worth it. How is this possible?

At Rest: More Rest

This is entirely Woodsong’s fault. We were roleplaying, entirely too late, and I was inspired to write this. All of my characters at the moment have had a very interesting few days, and tonight seemed to be the culmination of their current story arcs. Please enjoy a second part to the wonderful little meme that Laenlis started: At Rest. :3


North east of Bree, a young woman laid in her small bed, continuing to cry tears that no longer came. Her brown eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Sniffling and rubbing her face into the rough pillow cover just made her all the more miserable. She sat up, punching the pillow with all the strength she could muster, over and over again. Thud, thud, thud, thud. THUD. The final thud was her head slamming into the pillow. Miserably snuffling now, she sobbed silently and turned her face to the wall. Hopefully tomorrow she’d wake up from a normal dream and be normal.


Further south, still in Bree-land, a much older woman drooled in her sleep. It was the languorous sleep of someone who had exhausted themselves fully. Shifting instinctively, she clung to the man lying next to her. His arm curled around her, causing a brief lapse from unconsciousness. She blindly tilted her chin up, whispering secret words and names no one else would know yet before drifting off to sleep again. She drooled on him.


To the east, a few ridges over, a young man finally settled into bed; he barely beat the sun to its rising. He groaned happily at the feel of the soft bed and almost immediately drifted off to dream of blue eyes. On the floor rested a perfectly copied piece of literature, his bold and whimsical handwriting begging to jump off the page and into its intended recipient’s imagination.


Not too far away, long hair wrapped itself around its owner’s face, causing her to wake with a jolt. Sweat dotted her forehead, another bad dream quickly playing through her memory. Laying back down and listening for the soft breathing of the small person next to her, she let that rhythmic breath lull her back to sleep. She missed home.


Down the street, a very young Elf maiden laid in bed but did not rest. She walked in waking dreams with her beloved. They laughed and danced beneath mallorn trees before resting in a patch of flowers. They spoke of their meeting by the river, and of her namesake from that evening. The name he gave her, the one she now carried until they were to be wed. Slowly, they began to fall asleep together. In her small bunk, the Elf smiled.

Wandering Poet: Snippets

Tegil inspects her for a few moments before turning his head to the moon. “The most beautiful sight I have ever seen was at night, on a full moon; south of here. I was walking along the road when I was overtaken by a scent. A beautiful smell, flowery and fresh. I followed it and ended up in a meadow. Upon looking around, I noticed one plant shining above the rest, white. It glowed almost as if it were silver. I immediately ran to inspect such a unique seeming plant. It was a flower, gleaming even more clearly than opal or any pearl. The full moon’s light gave it a luminescent quality unlike anything I had ever seen before. I stayed until the sun rose, and it seemed as if the flower hid from the sun’s rays. I have since learned the flower is called a primrose. They only bloom at night, and in the summer time. Yet ‘primrose’ does not accurately describe such glorious beauty.”


“As the moon lazily drifts across the sky, it allows us to take stock of what has passed us by; throughout the day’s busy and arduous tasks, to rest is all of us the moon does but ask.”


“Ah! Dear barmaid, permit me a poem before you take my order. Freckles dot your face like stars in the nighttime sky, and your hair glows red like a delicious strawberry pie! I would be honored if you would grace me with a wine, red, like your locks.”
“Behold! I spot a man dressed in hues of lavender! I wonder what a walk through his thoughts would render! You all should call me Tegil, as that is my name!”
“What a tall and courageous woman you look! And more than that, what a wonderful cook! What more talents lurk beneath that red hair? Perhaps you dance, unless I err?”


“Nay. You are as a rose, with many petals and layers; both beautiful and mysterious. Yet, you hide behind thorns for protection’s sake. I cannot blame you for being suspicious, but please.. do not belittle yourself.”

Dreams: Different Homes

The weather was growing more and more pleasant by the hour – that is, colder and colder. She had begun to see snow along the ground, and secretly rejoiced. That joy was quickly overtaken by a small whine again. Shifting her dark blue eyes to the small bundle wrapped in furs, Tuija gave her daughter a wane smile. The girl hadn’t stopped complaining since they left Snowflood: she missed her friends, the wagon was hard, she was getting colder. That was to be expected, though. Children were never good travelers, especially at Lempi’s age. Once she saw the white huts and felt the cool breeze upon her cheek, she knew her daughter would understand why it was so important to return. The message that was brought to her from a trader, a note saying that Leikko of Sûri-kylä was willing to formally accept her daughter as his grandchild, it brought Tuija a joy she had almost forgotten.

Time warped, and much to her delight, she and Lempi arrived immediately. Her daughter, pink nosed and ill-equipped (Bree-blood was thin, she learned) to survive in this frigid weather, pulled the fur tighter around her. “Maaa, I’ve seen it, can we go n-”

Lempi’s current complaint was cut off by a raising of her mother’s palm, a gentle laying of fingers upon her lips. Tuija’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of her home once again, reverting back to the tongue of her people. “Shhh, love. Listen to the wind, it welcomes you home.” Lempi looked around, and Tuija watched with apprehensive joy. Just to see her daughter surrounded by fluffy white snow, dark blue eyes watering at a cold gust, filled her heart. When that little girl looked back up to her, still speaking in the Westron that she grew up hearing, and said that one awful sentence, her heart fell through the pit of her stomach.

“Ma, I want to go home to Snowflood and see my friends.

Tears filled her eyes and Tuija turned away to hide them. As she did such, the ground fell from beneath her and she tumbled through the sky. She eventually landed on her feet, Lempi nowhere to be found. Slow, cold, horrible panic began to set in. Where did her baby go? Where’s her daughter? Running through what seemed to be thawing antarctic tundra, small dead pieces of grass littering the icy mud, Tuija screamed her daughter’s name until her throat was hoarse and her voice left her. Finally kneeling on the ground, her knees instantly being dampened with the thaw, she cried. Warm tears slid down from her face, dotting her pants with small dark splotches of liquid.


Tuija’s head snapped up so quickly, she was sure it would keep flying backward. Working her throat and finally finding the courage to scream her daughter’s name one more time, she pushed upon the ground and ran in the direction of her beloved child’s voice. She finally saw a small dot in the distance, pressed onward. Her baby came into view, but now she was an adult. Tuija’s eyes grew wide and she stared at the fully grown young woman, a mix of her mother’s eyes and hair, framing a face almost wholly her father’s. “Lempi?”

The young woman whipped off the traditional Lossoth garments she wore, and threw the fine hunting bow to the side. It lit on fire. Lempi, a righteous fire in her own eyes, stared back to her mother with a mixture of contempt and sadness. Her voice startled Tuija further, as her daughter spoke both in Westron and with the voice of Tuija’s father, deep and stern. “My father also named me Aimee. That is my name. I am leaving to go home. Do not try to stop me. I do not belong here.” The woman turned to leave and walked into the cave that had seemingly appeared while Tuija was focused on her daughter.

Screaming once more, barely a shrill sound that was more pain than words, Tuija tried to plead with her in Westron. She went to follow Lempi into the dark cave, sure she could convince her daughter to not leave her. She would go with her, anything; please don’t abandon me. The darkness of the cave was absolute – she no longer saw, and the cave swallowed her whole. The entrance was suddenly gone, and she was alone again. No daughter, no light, and no hope. Tuija wept bitterly.

Her eyes shot open, sitting up with a gasp. Tears were pouring down her face; tears that she immediately wiped away with the fine blanket on her bed. The dream was too real, too poignant to be anything short of the spirits trying to tell her something. Tuija shifted to rest on her elbow and lounged, still rather shaken by the dream. She softly murmured once again to her infant daughter in the language of her people. The baby was awake, her mother’s crying clearly had woken her. Tuija kissed her on the forehead, then sat again and held Lempi to her breast. Her voice cracked as she whispered in her native tongue, “I’m sorry.”

Dreams: The Past, But Not

((Expect a dream from every character in the next day or so. Some deal with their pasts, some will highlight a part of themselves they didn’t realize was there, some are completely random. I hope you enjoy this little series. I was just struck by it last night. :3))


“Come to dinner, darling one!”

A short little girl – no more than four – heeded her mother’s call, bright golden-red hair bouncing happily into the farm house’s main room, blue-green eyes twinkling with anticipation. “What’s dinner, ma?”

The tall and usually stoic woman looked down to her daughter and couldn’t help a soft smile. Her Rohirric accent was still thick, even years after leaving her people. “We will have stew tonight. Now go, call your father and wash up.” She swayed gracefully back to the fire, stirring her concoction one last time; her daughter pranced away with much the same grace, calling for Daddy.

Reality swirled around them, but no one seemed to mind; the next Loriwen knew, she was sitting at the table, a few years older. Her hair was in pigtails, like she hated, but she had to look nice for mourning. She didn’t mind, if only because she was so sad, herself. She had only met her Uncle Thurwald once, but he was a real nice man with great stories and the best laugh of anyone ever in the whole world – well, except for Daddy. They were going to wear black all week and she had to look nice. That meant no playing outside or sneaking woodcarving behind the house when Mommy wasn’t looking. Her parents stood up and held each other, then parted on one side and motioned for her to join them. She quickly hopped down from the chair and rushed over to be comforted.

As soon as she reached them, everything shifted. Loriwen felt the same, yet she was a young woman getting married. She didn’t feel very happy for it, but it was a good match. He didn’t care about naught but inheriting his parent’s farm; she was just too old by the village’s standards to stay single any longer. It wasn’t normal. They both agreed, as childhood friends, to stay just that: friends. It was acceptable enough, giving small kisses in public and never expecting more from the other. As they kissed, they froze. It seemed as though they stood still while time flew away from them.

When they parted, both were older. Holt was beginning to grey early, only thirty-two. She herself was almost thirty. He was off to work in the field again, working on keeping the squash safe from the impending summer – it had been a horrible spring with too much rain. How did she know that? She just did. He walked off, and she waved; then quickly rushed to change and go into town. Once she walked out the door again, the door became the door to the Pony. She was suddenly carrying a small basket that only had a few loaves of bread in it. Unfortunately, she managed to walk into a scuffle on the porch of the Pony, and she was quickly and unintentionally pushed off the edge. Landing with a thud, everything changed again. Suddenly a strange man – she knew his name was Tarlanc, somehow – walked over with his friend Brant. Brant, she knew if only by face; he was one of those rich Heartwood boys, the one that managed to get himself lost for a long time. Gossip spread fast amongst the housewives. She would know, she was often the butt of it…what with her still not getting with child. The stranger with dark hair and eyes that seemed to shift reached down to help her up, and she couldn’t take her eyes away from him, even as it seemed like he couldn’t take his away from her. Where their hands touched, it was like an ember: a long-lasting and smoldering heat that, with the slightest provocation, would ignite into a flame. Everyone, even that rich boy Brant, faded away completely.

Then they were behind the Pony, hidden by trees. Weeks had already passed somehow; he looked at her, calling her “Loriwen” as he always did. He was the only one who ever called her by her full name. It made her knees weak every time. He held her hand in much the same manner as they did when they met. She already talked to Holt, he didn’t care she was sneaking around with the strange Gondorian sailor; not in the slightest. He’d snuck around with other women, too. But Holt didn’t know the true decision Loriwen came to in that moment. She looked up to Tarlanc – so much taller! – and caught her breath once again. She was running away. Staying in a friendly but entirely dead marriage was something she couldn’t do; not now, not that she found someone who made her feel so alive. Her hands reached up, grasping the grinning man by the long, dark hair; she yanked him down for a rather passionate kiss.

When they parted, she was in Dol Amroth. She didn’t know how she knew, given she had only ever heard stories of the port town, but this certainly fit those descriptions and she just knew. Her tall man had already pledged himself to her, and they walked by the docks hand in hand. Even that simple act, with the sea salt and warm ocean breeze washing over their senses, made her heart soar. She closed her eyes, standing on the end of a pier as her scandalously new betrothed (or husband? He certainly acted like it was the latter) protectively wrapped both arms around her waist.

Loriwen’s eyes opened, and she saw ceiling. All which had just happened played through her mind at lightning-fast speed, ending when she blinked a few times. A yawn finished off her confusing reverie, and she turned to see a bare shoulder illuminated by the silvery moonlight. Her eyes drifted over to his face, jaw agape as another loud snore escaped. It was still the face from her dreams. Dreams. It was just a dream. A convoluted, entirely made up dream. Well, at least they ended up together in it. She smiled and quietly brought a hand to his forehead, brushing her hand down his face, cupping it quietly. She’d always run away with him, if given the chance. They were meant to be together. Scooting up to kiss his forehead, she snuggled back into him. His arms automatically went around her protectively – just like in her dream. Loriwen went back to sleep, hoping she would dream of a future this time instead of a completely disjointed past.

Lempi Lawson: Present, Future, and Really-Future!

So I got it in my head (thanks to the ever-wonderful Laenlis and Celeveren and their planning ahead) to get an actual face on Tuija’s daughter, Lempi. This is how I envision this young baby growing up. I have ‘shopped up a current (baby) picture, a girl picture, and a young woman picture. I think I did a faaaairly good job of finding similar features and matching the eyes/hair well enough. Her features are more like her father’s, rather she got most her coloration from her mother. Well, except for those cheekbones! Apologies for a “longer” entry, as there’s three pictures! I hope you enjoy. Tuija is my one character I’m allowing to be just plain gorgeous, and some of those genes certainly passed on to her daughter. (Link if you’d like to compare. :3)

Lempi Lawson: Infant
Baby Lempi


Lempi Lawson: Girl
Lempi as a young girl


Lempi Lawson: Young Woman!
Lempi Lawson: young woman.

A Letter: Humble Request

Loriwen read the letter once more, then nodded as she folded and put it into the envelope. Hopefully this letter would be polite enough that she’d get a response in fair time. Hopefully the letter wasn’t too formal, either! But then again, Helvia suggested using the title “Lady.” Loriwen could only imagine how fancy this Suleth woman was. She headed off to give the envelope to her mail carrier directly, making sure she had his promise it would make its way there by the end of the day. It wasn’t too far a distance. Deciding to enjoy the crisp weather instead of scurrying back inside, she randomly decided to go for a walk.  As she ambled aimlessly, hands in her pockets, the little letter bounced its way closer to Brougham. Inside the neatly sealed envelope, a simple piece of parchment was folded thrice to ensure it fit. It read:

Lady Suleth,

Hello. My name is Loriwen Snowberry of Bree, a friend of your sister-in-law, Helvia. I have recently become pledged to another, and am looking for a metalworker of some repute to help me create a rather unique ring. Your kin suggested you to me, and now I am writing in the hopes you would have the time and inclination to take my request. You would be compensated accordingly, of course!

My idea is different, and I am unsure how likely it is to create in the first place. It is a metal ring, of whatever metal you feel is the most hardy, with a ring of carved images set in it. I am a woodcarver of skill and would have this ready for you as soon as you asked for it. I truly thank you for any consideration you give this request, and humbly ask for a return correspondence if you would be interested in taking the job.

Many thanks,
Loriwen Snowberry
6 Long Street, Wildore

Loriwen: Sneaking Out!

((I really don’t know what to say, I’m just on a writing roll recently. Yays! ^_^ Also, Laenlis, feel free to have him react however you so desire – this is just her opinion on what would go down!))

Loriwen Snowberry actually donned a cloak, pulling the hood over her bright hair. Not for warmth, but stealth’s sake. She hoped Tarlanc wouldn’t miss his hooded cloak; oh well, he was over in Snowflood anyway. He probably wouldn’t even notice, considering he wasn’t home! Looking through her windows conspiratorially, she slipped out the front door quietly. Hopefully the slightly too heavy and large cloak concealed both her trademark locks and the rather cumbersome pack on her back! She carefully picked her way through the village, hoping no one recognized her. The stick-strewn paths were immediately recognizable, like coming home. She slipped into the nearby woods with barely a “swfff.”

Was it a good or bad thing that the most exhilarating part of this whole experience was the fact that she snuck out? It’s not like she promised to stop, she just said she’d try. Here she was, sneaking off like some young kid off to try kissing for the first time. She scanned the ground, peering around with a trained eye. Sticks snapped, leaves crunched, and the woods smelled like wet earth. Loriwen was just beginning to get caught up in the beauty of the morning, and then the cool autumn breeze threatened to blow the cloak’s hood back. Pulling her hands up and dragging it down, she sighed and continued her mission.

She remembered precisely the length and width timber she needed as she picked her way further into the woods. The better wood – sometimes even some yew – made its way back toward the bear caves. The bears should be asleep anyway, right? If not, it’d be awful close. Time seemed to drag as she looked and looked. Loriwen had just began to give up hope of finding the right piece when her hearing – sharpened by “sneaking around” – quickly caught a sound she didn’t want to encounter: munching. Glancing around, alert as ever, she spotted a rather hungry looking wolf chewing on a thin hare. That did not bode well for her afternoon. Carefully tip-toeing backward, she stepped on a branch she thought she avoided. The crack echoed throughout the quiet woods and she held her breath. Oops. Sure as anything, the wolf jerked its head up. Of course, she was too close to run…too many sticks, this time of year, too. She had one option.

It was hard, given the too-large cloak and rather bulky pack, but adrenaline kicked in and Loriwen climbed that tree faster than she’d ever climbed a tree before. She was briefly reminded of the time she woke up in a tree; that was an interesting day. That’s the time she broke her foot, falling out of that tree. She still had no idea how she got up there… Quickly snapping back to the present, safe but fairly well stranded up in the tree, she watched the wolf stalk over and circle the tree. Thankfully, the damn thing couldn’t climb. The waiting game began. She’d managed to out-wait wolves before, and she could do it again. This wasn’t her first dance. Pulling out her flute, she began to practice notes with it. Oh, she was horrible at it! It did, however, tend to flush out smaller wildlife. Whether it was from their tiny squeaks of horror, or if she was actually some woodland goddess of the flute, she never could decide.

Loriwen sighed and continued her tooting. At a bare minimum, maybe she’d intrigue some hunter into figuring out if she was a dying Elf or something. It was times like these she wished she had a good bow, an arrow, and some actual grace to use it proper-like. She hoped this didn’t take too long, she did want to make her way into town to buy the keys for this clarinet. If this waiting game didn’t end in good time, she’d have to wait until tomorrow to do it. Well, what will be will be. Shrugging, she tooted one last time and put the flute away. Pulling a string from her pack, she giggled at it as she stuck two of her slender fingers into the loop. It was the string she tied around Tarlanc’s finger last night, while he snored away. He definitely had larger hands and fingers than she did. A soft smile came unbidden, and she gladly let herself drift off into rather inappropriate thought.

Around mid-day, two hours later from the way she judged the sun’s position in the sky, she was jolted out of a particularly nice reverie by some growls and shouting off in the east. She looked around, and sure enough, that ruckus had gotten the wolf’s attention more than she did. Crossing her fingers, she listened as she heard yelps and a man yell profanities. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she could barely see them through the sticks: brigands, about a two minute run away. A rather vile curse softly escaped her lips and she began to hope they would draw the wolf’s attention away instead of find her. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to being wolf-dinner, but she really wasn’t keen on the idea of being kidnapped. Tensely perched on her branch, she watched with the utmost alertness. Eventually a man screamed – not profanities, but a real scream. One of the wolves had clearly won the fight for food that afternoon. She winced, her stomach turning a bit as she tried to not imagine what was going on up ahead. Loriwen looked down, and saw her wolf shoot off at a dead run toward the still screaming man. No doubt to fight over innards or some sort…ugh, she just made herself sick again.

Realizing she needed to leave and now, Loriwen quickly shoved the string she was still holding into her tunic, near her heart, and quickly jumped the few cubits to the ground. The jolt of landing on solid ground shocked her a bit, wincing again at her knees. She turned to sprint off in the direction of the road, and ran smack dab into the tree in which she’d just spent the past few hours. Rubbing her nose, she staggered back. Still hearing the howls and hearing one man yell for the rest to leave, she knew she had very little time to get out of here – possibly broken nose or not. Sweeping around the tree and grabbing the piece of wood she had spotted earlier, Loriwen made a dead run for the road. Clumsy or not, feet not always listening to your brain or not, when your only options are “get kidnapped,” “get eaten by wolves,” and “don’t trip,” even Loriwen Snowberry doesn’t fall.

At least until she reaches the road. Her attempt to jump the rock wall did not end well, her left foot catching on a loose rock and throwing her off balance. Loriwen went down in a heap of wood, cloak, and limbs. Groaning and looking around from her spot on the ground, she realized she was a lot closer to town proper than she thought! Ugh, someone was going to recognize her for sure. She crawled to her knees and slowly stood up. Tested each ankle: right one, alright; left one, a little sore but she’d be able to walk fine. Finally out of danger and near a lamp post, she took this moment to lightly poke at her nose. Ouch! Maybe not quite broken, but that was going to look bad. It didn’t feel like she broke any of the bones or cartilage, but it still might take months to heal completely. That part didn’t bother her: she was used to constantly being on the mend. She would have to explain this to Tarlanc, though. A soft groan escaped her and she rolled her eyes as she imagined how it would go. He wouldn’t even yell, he wouldn’t even be angry; he’d just tell her how he wished she’d be more careful, for his sake. And she would feel horrible. Damn kind, loving man. Bending down to claim her bounty, a rather sturdy and bright branch of yew, she sighed. At least it wasn’t a complete waste of time. Slowly scraping her way back to Wildore, Loriwen Snowberry went home, where she would wait for the surely inevitable guilt trip that would soon come home.

Cedar-woman: Picture

((This is one of my better Photoshops – now that I have Photoshop again, I can really work in my element. Meet Tuija Lawson, my newest character. She is Lossoth, a self-imposed exile of her people. She is from Sûri-kylä, and has a baby daughter named Lempi. Her name means “cedar tree,” so she is Cedar-woman. Feel free to click on the picture, as it will give you a picture of the original woman I used. I have no idea who she is, and take no credit for the base image! This is just an example to show you how I altered the picture. Also please note her light scar on her chin. Here is her in-game description:

Her eyes are such a deep blue, they almost appear to be dark gray. Jet black hair, never in public seen uncoiled from her hair net, with occasional whisps that frame a rounded but beautiful face. Her skin is as pale as cream and weathered by extreme conditions. A small scar laces across her chin, from the left corner of her mouth lashing down to the right side of her jaw.

She appears to be no more than twenty-five, her gaze untrusting and keen. She rarely speaks; when she does, it is with a broken and heavily accented Westron. She is a rather curvy woman, her baby often in the sling on her shoulders or resting on her ample hip.

The babe, no more than half a year old, is always by her side. The little girl shares her mother’s hair and eyes, but has a more ruddy complexion and different facial features.