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December 4th, 2020

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Age: 115
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November 19, 2020


12/03/2020 06:07 PM 

Spring Morning

First Age – 129

Spring was Thranduil’s favourite time of year. The promise of new life burst everywhere he looked. The fresh leaves on the trees had burst their buds a few days before. The first white flowers of the season poked through the frost hardened soil, bringing with them the promise of truly warmer days. Birds had brought him out of his meditative trance that morning but there was no irritation at it. Their song had changed, now they sang of the prospect of eggs and plenty of food.

The morning had passed swiftly, spent as he always did, training with his bow and in martial pursuits. He’d been focusing on archery that particular morning. Using the war bow, rather than the short bow for hunting. It was a weapon he was growing used to. The pull was heavier but it no longer made his shoulder ache the way it had done the first time. He knew he was getting quicker too. Caseriel was absent this morning; he had recently spent more and more time patrolling outside Doriath that Thranduil was beginning to miss his taunts.

Thranduil would be joining them with his father the next day.

Every pull of the bow hit its mark, every arrow flew true. He dearly hoped that it would be so tomorrow. Of all the elves he wanted to impress, Oropher was top of the list. Thranduil admired his father more than anyone else and was eager to show that he was worth taking along.

After hastily washing off the morning’s dirt, he grabbed a basket with some food in. He knew his mother was behind that action, though she was nowhere to be seen. He’d decided to head out into the forest to the spot by the spring. The stream would be coming to life, and that was something Thranduil enjoyed seeing. The watercress starting to multiply, the fish waking up and touching the sun-lit surface of the water.

It wasn’t long before he was there. The scent of clean leaves touched the air, the music of the stream dancing over pebbles filled the space and birdsong echoed through the woodland. He spread a woven blanket onto the damp ground before settling down with his back against a tree.

His gaze was drawn to the other side of the river and he smiled, “Well, come on then, there is enough food in here for both of us,”
Ellerian stepped out from behind one of the trees, hopped over the stream and settled on the blanket beside him. “No insult for me today?” she asked.

“Why ruin a perfect spring day?” he said. Digging into the basket, he pulled out an apple and handed it to her. She took it and bit into it.

“Perfect?” she said.

“Yes.” He pulled out some other bits of food – bread, some cheese and a few slices of dried meat. Placing some of the meat between two slices of bread, he nodded again.

“Alright, so tell me why!” she said, “Or I’ll say something awful and ruin the day for you!”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Her sweet face fell, the smile all but chased from her face. “Leaving?” she said. The hand that held the apple was paused half way between her mouth and knee where it had been resting. The smile sprang back moments later, “That’s good. Yes. That’s really good.”
Thranduil frowned. “I’m going with my father to join the patrols.”

“You’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she said, finally biting the apple, “I am pleased for you.”

“But…” he said. He bit some more of the bread.

“No, really. I am pleased for you, Thranduil.”


She turned her vibrant green eyes to him and sighed. “Sometimes, you are so dense,” she said. Thranduil searched her face, trying to see what she was getting at. She snorted, “We have spent time together nearly every day since I saw you looking all pathetic at that loom.”

“I was not looking pathetic.”

“Yes you were, you had thread everywhere, your finger was pricked until it was bleeding and the cloth was tenser than… well you,” she said. He conceded the point with a wave of his hand. “The point I am trying to make is that while I am pleased for you, I am sad for myself.”

“Because I won’t be here to irritate you every day,” he said.

She put her half-eaten apple down and took both his hands in hers. They were warm despite the mild chill in the air. He looked down at them, a softer smile touching his face. “Not irritate,” she said.

“You tell me that every time we’re together.” His fingers closed around hers; they were small and delicate, and he worried he might break them if he held too tightly.

“You are frustrating, irritating, unable to relax…” she said. “But you’re so many other things too and I’m going to miss all of them,” she said. He flicked his eyes to her face and a flood of understanding rushed through him. For a moment, he was unable to speak. “See, so slow. Have you caught up now?” she asked.

“I think so.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Think?”

He brought the back of her hand up to his lips and pressed them against it. Her eyes brightened at the gesture, something he wanted to see again. “I know.”

“Then promise me one thing,” she said.


“Come back safe,” she said. “It’s dangerous out there and I want you to come back.”

“I will.”

“You swear it?”

“I have to come back and annoy you some more, I’m not going to let that duty fall to anyone else am I?” he said. She laughed, and that lovely smile lit up her face once more. He leaned towards her, not hesitating and kissed her cheek.

“You missed,” she said. “Try again.”

He laughed. Ellerian tilted her head a little and this time, he caught her mouth. Her lips were soft, softer than her hand. Sparks danced through him, his chest fluttered. Time ceased to matter and his eyes closed. She touched his cheek and he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll come back,” he whispered.

“You better,” she said. She drew back and picked up the apple, “Who else is going to bring me such crisp apples?”

Thranduil found himself laughing again and handed her another apple, “Keep this one for tomorrow, think of me while I am away.”

“I always do,” she said, taking the apple. “No more talk of leaving until later, let’s enjoy the spring afternoon.” That was all Thranduil needed to hear, his attention focused on her and the beauty of the early spring day.

12/03/2020 02:32 PM 

Grammar 1: Run-on sentences

// Before I go any further, I want to make it clear that I am not writing these pointers or tips as an attack on anyone’s writing. We are all here to have fun and improve our writing. They are meant to be a reference, or guide, rather than me telling you this is how you must write. That said, I am going to go through the grammatically accurate way of constructing sentences and paragraphs

I am not going to give you the words to write with, I won’t insult your intelligence or ability by doing so. What I intend to do is give you the glue that holds the words together. See it like building a wall. The bricks are the words, and the grammar is the mortar – it holds the words together. How you set the mortar will affect the strength of the bricks.
I plan on doing several of these via blog posts, each of them focusing on different aspects of writing.

Run-on sentences.

So, I am going to start with run on sentences.

What is a run-on sentence I hear you ask?

We’re all a bit guilty of this one, whether we know it or not. A run-on sentence is one that makes over use of conjunctions – words such as ‘and, but, because, if’. There are loads of them and I won’t list them all.
Conjunctions are used to join independent clauses (complete sentences) together for ease of reading. For example.

Legolas wore a green vest. He wore a brown cloak.

It sounds better when you put them together:

Legolas wore a green vest and a brown cloak.

It still makes sense but is less ‘clumsy’ to read. Problem is, too many conjunctions has the opposite effect. When we get excited with our ideas and let them flow onto the page, we can get carried away. For example:

Legolas was running from the spider and he drew his bow and he fired it at the spider and he shot it in the eye but it did not die it attacked him back so he drew his sword and stabbed it in the face until it died with a horrible squeal.

Wow! There is a lot going on in that paragraph. I wrote it so it was only one sentence. I hope you’ll agree that it is difficult to read. We get the idea that Legolas is fighting a spider, but a lot of it is lost. Let’s break it down and make it easier for the reader shall we.

Legolas was running from the spider. He drew his bow. He fired it at the spider. He shot it in the eye. It did not die. It attacked him back. He drew his sword. He stabbed it in the face. It died with a horrible squeal.


Not really is it. It’s easier to read, but it’s not exciting. This is where those conjunctions come in. Let’s try that again adding some in.

Legolas ran from the spider and drew his bow. He fired at the spider and shot it in the eye. It didn’t die, instead it attacked him back. He drew his sword and stabbed it in the face. It died with a horrible squeal.

I think you’ll agree that the third example is the best of the three. There are many things that we can do to improve it further, but I’ll look at that in another post further down the line.

Key points to remember:
Too many conjunctions = a terrible read.
Full stops are your friend!


12/01/2020 05:04 PM 


First part:

[Another vague attempt at me writing something - practice and all that]

FA 128

“No Caseriel,” Thranduil said shaking his head. “I am not going!”

“You’d rather stay here and sulk?”

Thranduil looked up from the work he was doing and rolled his eyes. The loom was a mess, a mess of his creating and he knew he would be in for a mocking if he didn’t fix it. “I don’t want to leave this in a state like this,” he said.
“Worried you’ll get another verbal bashing?”

“My fingers are not as nimble as yours,” Thranduil said.

Caseriel laughed, “You’ve got that right. I can fix that if you want, then we can both go to.”

Thranduil turned his fingers to the loom and shook his head, “No, I won’t learn that way.” Weaving was a skill that he knew he had to learn, wanted to even but it was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Looking at the tapestries that surrounded their home had always been a source of inspiration for him, and he had vowed to be able to do so himself one day. Today was not that day. Tomorrow wasn’t looking good either. Maybe he would never be as great as those who had created these works – Aenor for instance was a weaver of superlative talent, but he enjoyed the process.

“Suit yourself,” Caseriel said. “Shall I tell her that you’d rather be weaving then?”

“Tell her what you want,” he said, “I’ve decided that I don’t like her all that much anyway.” Thranduil knew exactly who Caseriel was attempting to tease him with and he did not rise to the bait.

“Sure, if you say so,” he shrugged. Thranduil turned his attention to the botched weave he had created and focused on loosening the threads. “Did you ever get her name?”

The tips of his ears burned but he still said nothing. Of course he’d not managed to get her name yet! He’d spent far more time avoiding seeing the auburn haired she-elf than he had with her. Their conversations were awkward, stilted almost and he was sure she was laughing at him all the time. As far as he was aware, they were barely friends.

“Like you did!” Thranduil snapped, unable to keep his tongue still.

“Yes,” Caseriel said. Thranduil snorted. “I will leave you to your loom!”

Thranduil waved his friend off, his attention falsely engrossed on the loom in front of him. The tangle was so bad, that he gave up trying to unpick it with the shuttle, and carefully used a needle to loosen the threads. It was delicate work, even for a novice, and it took a great deal of his attention. He was vaguely aware of time passing as he unpicked and worked at the rotten threads, and he knew he should eat something, but this seemed more important than anything else.

By the time he was approached once again, he thought he had the worst it under control and was about to start moving the shuttle back and forth between the threads once again. He looked up, straight into the blue eyes of the mystery she-elf he had claimed he didn’t like all that much.

She was carrying a small plate of food and a glass of wine. “Caseriel said you weren’t coming,” she said. Did he detect disappointment in her voice? Surely not.

“No,” he said.

She searched his face for a while, it was uncomfortable. “Why not?” He pulled his gaze from her and back to the loom.

“I wanted to finish sorting out this mess,” he said. He heard her walk over and place the plate down on the small table behind him.
“What have you done to that poor loom?” she asked.

“I fixed it!” he protested.

“Did you?” she asked. She shuffled on to the stool he had been sitting on, budging him up. Of course he moved and let her look at his work so far. She was silent for a long time, allowing him to study her. Damn it. This was making a liar out of him. Her skin smelled so fresh, vaguely floral with a note of something else. He was sure that if he tried, he could write poetry about all the shades of red-gold in her hair. “If you paid attention to what I am doing you might learn something, Thranduil son of Oropher,” she said.

Once again, he felt his ears burning. “Look, you see the weave here,” she said pointing at the thread attached to the shuttle. He nodded. “It’s far too tight. Up until this point, it’s really beautiful, but the tension increased and the thread has thinned. It’s what’s creating your problem.”

“Tension in my thread?” he asked.

“Yes.” She turned to look at him again, her head tilted, “But I think perhaps in other places too.” Thranduil stiffened at that, “You see, you think too much, you need everything to be just perfect but it never will be while you’re like that.”

“I don’t even know your name,” he said, “Why should I listen?”

She gestured to the loom in front of him. The thread had relaxed under her care. “Does it mean that much to you? I was told you don’t like me all that much!”

Thranduil snorted. “Caseriel tell you that?”

She smiled. “Is it true?”

“Yes, I think you’re a terrible elf and I never want to see you again,” he said. She raised an eyebrow. His face split into a smile and he shook his head. “You will make a liar of me!” She laughed.

“My name is Ellerian, daughter of Melrian,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” Thranduil asked. She took his hands in hers. They were warm and dry; he was sure his heart stopped beating at her touch.

“I had to be sure,” she said. He frowned again but she didn’t explain further. She was a most confusing she-elf, perhaps the most vague he had ever met. “Now, if you’re not going to come up to the gathering, we should spend the time constructively. Let’s get this bolt of cloth finished? Perhaps then you could take me for a walk in the moonlight?”

“I would enjoy that,” he said. Her hands guided his back to the shuttle.

“Show me how you do this,” she said. With that, he set back to work aware that he was now smiling.


11/22/2020 05:01 PM 

A Chance Encounter

First Age: 127

The first frost had come to Doriath, the chill in the air was as crisp and sharp as ever. Bright, cool sunlight highlighted delicate webs on expertly carved bushes, the pearls of water dancing in the near winter morning.  The wan yellow light filtered through the hazy clouds, reflecting off the gently moving water. It wasn’t cold enough to freeze the flowing water, but it would be cold to the touch.

The ground crunched under Thranduil’s feel, the frost crusted grass bending slightly as his passing. He knew he should stick to the paths and walkways but there was something delightful about the noise. It reminded him that the seasons were to be savoured for their different merits and not to be yearned for after they had passed. He did miss the heat of the summer sun on his back, but there was also something rather lovely about wrapping up in a warm cloak and filling his lungs with the cold air of the early winter morning.

Although he was less than impressed with the task he had been ordered to do by his father, he had made no complaint. The basket hanging on his arm merely served as a reminder that he was not yet old enough to undertake defensive duties. He was One Hundred and Seven! He was an adult and as such, should be able to go with the archers and swordsmen on their rounds. Instead, here he was with a basket on his arm to gather fresh fall for the table. It was beneath him! No amount of arguing would change his father’s mind however, and so he had left. Previous experience had told him exactly how that would go.

Still, the air was fresh and the day young. There was some joy to be had in that at least, and later on he would be able to read some more of the books he’d stashed away and perhaps even some time would be spent with his mother.

Chores first, always that.

As he walked towards the low shrubs towards the woodland area, he thought about his father’s wisdom in that. Oropher was a kindly soul, one who cared for the people he knew. He was inspiring, and Thranduil hoped that when he was older, he would be the same. He also made sure that everyone did something to assist the others, no matter how small. His mother wove the finest cloth; he was wrapped in some of it now, not that he had really noticed how cold it was.

The berries and herbs he had been sent to fetch glistened with hoarfrost, the red looked sharper for it, though the green of the leaves appeared grey. Perfect. They worked and tasted so much better after a frost. The berries would make a delicious jam, and the herbs would be used for healing. They would leave his fingers smelling earthy, a scent he favoured.

Pushing loose strands of hair from his face, Thranduil began looking for the berries that were ripe and ready for harvesting. He had to resist eating them, they were sweet and gorging on them would make him feel unwell – he had learned that in previous years all too well. Before long, half the basket was full and he started on the herbs.

It was then that he realised that he was no longer by himself. Someone had approached without him realising. Thranduil sighed, “If this is your idea of humour Caseriel. It is not funny. It wasn’t funny yesterday, and it won’t be today either,” he said, not keeping the sourness from his tone entirely.

“What’s not funny?”

Thranduil looked up from the leaves he had been cutting, straight into the warm blue eyes of an elf he had never met before. “You’re not Caseriel!” he exclaimed.

“Would you rather I were?” she asked.

“No, I mean yes.” He shook his head, “I am not sure if there is a right answer to this.”

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, auburn hair the colour of leaves flowed over her shoulder. Her skin was as clear and pale as the wintery morning. She was dressed as he was, for the cool weather and for a walk out. “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

Thranduil indicated the basket on his arm. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You’re not out with the other elves patrolling? Why is that?”

He felt his ears burning and his cheeks flushed, “I think I would prefer it if you were Caseriel,” he said. “I am out here gathering berries and herbs at my mother’s behest. She asked me to do this and so I am here!” He tossed his head, hair fluttering with the motion. “Who are you anyway? Why are you bothering me?”

“And I am out here simply to catch the morning air. I heard that there was great beauty to be seen in this part of the woodland, but here I only find you,” she shrugged again and a smile split her face. Thranduil thought that it was a most lovely smile, not that he was ever going to tell her that. The rest of her was quite unbecoming. Although she wasn’t exactly dishevelled, she wasn’t tidy either. She looked as though she had just returned from a romp through the mud and forgotten to dust herself off. It was decidedly unelflike.

“Well, perhaps you should go then, see if there is something better to look at through the trees,” he said. He bent back down and picked some more of the leaves that he required, trying to ignore her in the hope that she would go away.

“What else have you got in that basket?” she asked. He didn’t respond, instead showed her the contents. There were a couple of larger fruits to one side that he had pilfered for a snack later if he wanted one. She leaned over the bush for a closer look; thankfully she wasn’t able to reach in and take it herself. “You have a picnic, how quaint,” she said.

“Just in case I get hungry,” he said, sure she was taunting him for it.

“Of course,” she said. When she didn’t say anything else, he paused, unsure whether he should speak or not. He didn’t know what to say to her, now did he want to appear foolish by opening his mouth and saying something moronic. It felt odd to be silent however, so he coughed.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said.

“I didn’t give it. What’s yours?”

“Thranduil, son of-“

“Oropher, I know,” she said.

“Why did you ask then?” he said before thinking.

“I wanted to see if you would give it freely,” she said. He snorted and shoved the last of the leaves into the basket. Getting to his feet, he picked it up again.

“It is given,” he said.

She nodded then and looked in the direction she had been walking. “As lovely as this exchange hasn’t been, I really should continue on my way,” she said gesturing towards the wilder part of the forest.  It was safe, for the boundary of their lands was far to the south. Thranduil shrugged.

“Pleasant day to you then,” he said.

She smiled again, and Thranduil felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards without thought. She bade him a gesture of farewell with her hand and left him standing there in the middle of the path watching her go. What an unusual creature she was. She had reached the edge of the forest when he realised that she had not told him her name. He wasn’t about to chase after her for it, so he raised his voice instead. “I didn’t get your name!” he yellowed.

She turned back, “I never gave it to you! Let me have one of those shining apples?”

Without hesitation, he plucked one up and threw it at her head. She caught it nimbly before pulling it in and taking a huge bite from it. He waited a moment. “Well?” he asked.

All that came back was joyous laughter. “Perhaps next time!” she called back before walking into the forest. Thranduil was left puzzled at the exchange, but found that he wasn’t angered by it. Perhaps next time he was here, he would see the she-elf again and learn who she was.


11/20/2020 03:57 PM 

Current mood:  melancholy

Thranduil ran long fingers over the delicate branch, a gentle rain fell over the green forest. The musical spatter and rhythmic drops along with the soft rustle of leaves was a beautiful song, but did little to calm the aching mind of the once joyful king. The lilting tone of his subject’s musical voice failed to lift his dour spirits. This time of year was always the worst. The memories always clearer and more painful, harder to deal with. The echoed words of long-ago comfort circled through his mind as his hands trailed the branch. He recalled someone, he remembered not who, had told him it would get easier. It had been a lie.

The loss of Ellerian pained him now every bit as it had when she had died in his arms centuries before. The fiend who had taken her from him, and maimed him, was long dead but that was small consolation for the hole he felt in the fibre of his being. She had loved the autumn, how the colours had spread through the leaves, turning them to fire. Weaving the fallen leaves, golden, brown and red, into festival circlets for their people had been a favourite pastime of hers. She’d sat for hours in the window, the cool breeze touching her auburn hair, working those leaves together. Sometimes she’d add berries, especially if they had been for young ones. She had made the one set about his brow, many centuries before and he had sworn to always wear it in autumn. She had smiled at that. He’d do anything to see that smile again, to have her here with him again.

He smiled, aware that there was only melancholy in the gesture. That could not be. She had been stolen, taken away on the wind of death, leaving him with an emptiness that could never be filled. Not completely. He had Legolas of course. The dear child had done much in the first years to pull his focus away from the all consumptive loneliness. He had loved him and taught him as best as he could, though he had fallen short. There were times that he could have been more tender, less reserved in his affections towards his son.

Ellerian had said that to him while she had lived. She hadn’t been one for grand displays, but love and affection came easily to her. Those she loved knew they were loved, Thranduil was quite different. All he had managed was a gentle touch of a shoulder, or what he had hoped was a kindly smile. He could have done so much more. A kiss while he slept hadn’t been enough, had it?

The leaflet still brought a smile to his face, a true smile, one that reached his star-blue. As awkward and strained as their relationship had become, Legolas was still a shining beacon of hope. His steadfastness to his duty and their people were a true credit and although Thranduil never said anything, he was fiercely proud of his son. He defended the borders as passionately as any of the scouts, though his interest in Tauriel might prove to be a cause for concern. He would spare his son the pain such love could cause if it was in his power to do so. No one should experience this if it could be helped.

His hand let go of the branch he was holding and he turned back towards his chambers; perhaps some time sitting in the window watching the autumn leaves will offer some of the solace that he was forever seeking.


11/19/2020 02:09 PM 

OOC - Rules, Guidelines, that sort of thing.

I don't really like rules and such but I think something needs to be outlined here and there. Just as a tough idea of what I expect and will/won't do.
I like to think I am an approachable, decent person and try my best to be kind, but these are what I think should be done for a good RP experience.

1 - I write Thranduil, you write your person. Let's keep it that way.
2 - I will write with anyone but there are some things I will not do: Non-con, smut for smut sake and anything overly gruesome. Dark story-lines are fine.
3 - Romance. I will write it. I am happy to discuss it, but it won't be a simple thing. I won't jump straight into a pre-arranged relationship without it being discussed first.
4 - I will not do 'single verse' stuff. I like to write anything with anyone and each story is seperate, unless discussed and arranged first.
5 - I have a pretty busy real life, sometimes I won't respond immediately. It's nothing personal, I am probably out and about or working. I will get to you, I promise. Please do not send me repeated messages or pokes.
6 - I have very good levels of English. While I do not expect everyone to have the same, I do expect responses and messages to at least make sense. If I cannot understand what you write, I am not going to reply to it.
7 - Don't be a turd.
8 - Have fun, and try not to take things too seriously!
9 - Be aware that I do not like writing with minors - your 10 year old super warrior just doesn't do it for me. I shall try and be accepting but honestly, chances are I'll call the story to a halt.

That'll do for the time being. You don't need to sign this, or mention that you've read it, just be aware.

Thank you

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