Post by Gedwyn on Jun 1, 2011 23:36:32 GMT
"Outrageous, simply foolish!" hissed Gedwyn as he burst out of the throne room and onto the plaza. In his hand, a scroll of parchment flapped loudly in the late morning breeze much to the distaste of the Gondorian. He cast it into a flame torch that was near by and muttered a brief curse as it was consumed by the flame.
It was around 11 o'clock in the morning. A pale Sun had risen sharply from the West and was nearing its height at midday. Gedwyn's armour, and that of the White Tower Gaurds, gleamed in the light as the White City shone majestically. Gedwyn had just finished another audience with the Steward: Denethor. Once again, a proposal for a military campain against orc forces massing in Osgiliath was denied much to the growing dismay of the young Gondorian Major.
Denethor had been even more private and reclusive than usual since Boromir left for Rivendell. The Steward now spent ever more hours gazing through the seeing stone in the Tower of Ecthelion looking for signs of his son and the mighty gift he had been tasked to retrieve. Gondor was weak and idol. Mordor as always squatted squarely across from the city. The violent bursts of magma and ash were just visible above the peaks of the distant mountains. War was coming...
Gedwyn leaned against a near wall and breifly glanced down at the city below him. Its beauty never failed to calm and inspire him. Down below, the people going about their daily lives knew nothing of war and politics, nor did they enjoy the idol reign of stewards like Denethor who neglected the defence of his realm. Gedwyn's thoughts had grown considerably bitter of late. His wound on his back had grown deeper and hurt more and the attacks on Gondor's borders were becoming more sustained and brutal.
Change was needed, he thought as a swift gust whipped back his brown hair and caused his blue cloak to flutter in the breeze. Gondor knew it and Gedwyn felt that he should be the one to restore the authority of man and repel the threat from the East. He needed support first, and the military was his biggest and most essential target...
It was around 11 o'clock in the morning. A pale Sun had risen sharply from the West and was nearing its height at midday. Gedwyn's armour, and that of the White Tower Gaurds, gleamed in the light as the White City shone majestically. Gedwyn had just finished another audience with the Steward: Denethor. Once again, a proposal for a military campain against orc forces massing in Osgiliath was denied much to the growing dismay of the young Gondorian Major.
Denethor had been even more private and reclusive than usual since Boromir left for Rivendell. The Steward now spent ever more hours gazing through the seeing stone in the Tower of Ecthelion looking for signs of his son and the mighty gift he had been tasked to retrieve. Gondor was weak and idol. Mordor as always squatted squarely across from the city. The violent bursts of magma and ash were just visible above the peaks of the distant mountains. War was coming...
Gedwyn leaned against a near wall and breifly glanced down at the city below him. Its beauty never failed to calm and inspire him. Down below, the people going about their daily lives knew nothing of war and politics, nor did they enjoy the idol reign of stewards like Denethor who neglected the defence of his realm. Gedwyn's thoughts had grown considerably bitter of late. His wound on his back had grown deeper and hurt more and the attacks on Gondor's borders were becoming more sustained and brutal.
Change was needed, he thought as a swift gust whipped back his brown hair and caused his blue cloak to flutter in the breeze. Gondor knew it and Gedwyn felt that he should be the one to restore the authority of man and repel the threat from the East. He needed support first, and the military was his biggest and most essential target...