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January 18th, 2005
04:38 pm
In pride, in derangement, in dispossession, in murder, in vengeance, in defeat - beautiful.
An edict, then, from those puffed-up cowards in the West (some grudging respect for Tulkas, perhaps, but ultimately even he quailed). Caranthir can only laugh to see that he has been such a thorn in their sides as to merit specific mention. He has promised his brother not to bring battle, but the idea of sailing west and taking it to the Valar in some unspecified way still appeals.
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December 20th, 2004
08:51 pm - And as I wait, they multiply, and the world is forgotten...
Seated on a rock near Menegroth, Caranthir surveys the ruined landscape of Doriath. He bears this land in and of itself no love, but he and his family have taken up residence here, and they, after all, are the Valar-cursed ones. It becomes difficult not to take the attacks personally.
I know not if you can hear me, Valar, but this I say to you now: I scorn you, all of you, and your pretenses of all-holy goodness. If you wish for a battle, I will gather the survivors here, and a battle there will be. If they are afraid, I will gather my family. If they quail, my brothers will come with me. If even they should fail me, I will take ship alone and bring the battle to you. I swear no oaths by Eru or by Taniquetil this time, for I have learned that bitter lesson many times over, but mark my words.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjitheme-w/2-angry.gif) angry
Current Music: ...and the prayers are lost, forgotten by us...
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November 15th, 2004
02:14 pm
Caranthir spars with a maple not far from Menegroth, practicing flourishes and finesses with little or no real place in battle along with the old standard slashes and thrusts.
There will be no hundred arrows this time, no fire, no numberless armies coming to crush me as I watch. And no eternal peace, either. There is no place for me in such a world. Or any of us.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjitheme-w/15-happy.gif) indifferent
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November 8th, 2004
02:21 pm
I had a wife once, you know. She was tall and strong and fair as could be, and then one day during the Bragollach she was separated from me and my soldiers in the fighting, and orcs surrounded her and she died with a yell and a slash with her sword at the orcs that had brought her down.
I never abandoned her. Never.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjitheme-w/30-thoughtful.gif) contemplative
Current Music: let us praise the masters of slow death!
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October 2nd, 2004
10:32 pm - Do...ri...ath...
Walking, travelling. Flash. Darkness.
Ground. Trees. Strange trees. No path, no stream. Voices - some familiar, some strange. Family.
Together.
Now.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjitheme-w/121-surprised.gif) lost and stunned
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September 12th, 2004
09:26 pm - In his brother's house.
It is strange, being alone in this fortress with his brother. All his life, Caranthir lived among large crowds - brothers, servants, soldiers. Now, he has moved from desolation to slightly less desolation. The cold and wind only add to his feeling that it's him against the world - or perhaps him and his family against the world; Maedhros is with him here, Maglor is likely out there somewhere (he never came to Mandos), and the others - they have to be back. They must be. He will stand with them and they with him and together they will be stronger than anything. And Caranthir will again be at home among a crowd.
These fortresses up North bore the brunt of the war's fury. Further south, south and west, there must be somewhere intact. Nargothrond was protected but showed itself too openly and was destroyed. Doriath was protected (in large part by Caranthir's family and their warriors - in his mind, he spits and makes an obscene gesture at Thingol). Perhaps there is life there.
Current Music: Nação Zumbi - Propaganda
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August 28th, 2004
04:45 am - Away...but whither?
Running to Maedhros when in need was something of a tradition among the Feanorians in Beleriand during the First Age. And so, though that time has come and gone and Maedhros has died and most likely stayed that way, Caranthir's instincts and muscle memory carry him down the banks of the Greater Gelion, along the road to Himring. The ruined state of the land and his lack of a horse make it slow and difficult going. There are few plants and fewer animals about, and the river is choked with ash; Moryo was an accomplished hunter in his youth and spent his share of time in the wilderness, but this was not among the difficulties he contended with.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjitheme-w/46-scared.gif) anxious
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August 20th, 2004
04:07 am - So much has changed, oh yes...
Caranthir rises from his bed and surveys the fortress. Things are more different than he thought, it turns out. The first thing to strike him is the empty, eerie silence - soldiers, servants, guests, all are gone or dead or Eru only knows what.
He walks to the armory, girds on a sword, and dons a suit of light armor. The strangeness has put him on his guard; even should there be no cause for wariness, he cuts a far more impressive figure in armor than naked or in a simple robe. The armory is emptier than he remembers, and many of its contents are damaged or strewn haphazardly on the floor. It is the same throughout the fortress. The food stores are empty but for a layer of muck on the floor that may once have been the vegetables and meats that were kept there; the stables contain only a few horse skeletons. Outside, there is no sign of the woods that stood nearby, nor of the grass that once covered the hill the fortress occupies. The walls themselves show signs of damage, from fire and other sources.
Dor Caranthir is dead, though its lord may live once more. He takes no time even to bid a last farewell to what remains of his land, but hurries west, eager to put distance between himself and this ghastly parody of the country he once ruled.
Current Mood: distressed
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August 19th, 2004
03:54 am - ((Character sketch, etc.))
My name is Morifinwe Carnistir Feanárion - Caranthir, in the language of those who would have had me forget my own. My parents are Feanáro and Nerdanel - the fire-spirit and the man-smith, while I'm analyzing names. Both of them were satisfied with sons in their own images, though, and I was largely forgotten. Any attempt at smithing me largely failed.
I am not going to tell you my life's story; enough chroniclers have recounted it by now, many with far more skill than I will ever have at these things. My strengths lie more in fighting and governing than in composing lays. I will, however, tell you that I am generous and compassionate with my friends and ruthless with my enemies - possibly the most effective way to keep people from wanting to be one's enemies.
I died at the hands of one of Dior's men while standing by my and my father's and brothers' Oath - perhaps only fair, I had killed Dior's wife and was becoming overconfident. I seem to have been rehoused now, back in my fortress in Thargelion. I know not why.
Not much has changed, it seems.
Current Mood: thoughtful
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