The Grey Guard cordially invites any mature and friendly player on Laurelin to join us in our adventures throughout Middle Earth. We are an active kin that have been around since May 2007, making us one of the oldest kinships on the Laurelin server, with members from all over Europe as well as other parts of the world.
The primary agenda of The Grey Guard is to have fun, which among other things involves fellowships, raids, light RP and just standing around while chatting away in kinchat (which is mainly OOC by the way). There is a very relaxed atmosphere in the kin and we try to help each other as much as possible.
If you think you would like it in the Grey Guard please feel free to contact one of the officers in-game (see below for a list of TGG officers) or visit our website at www.thegreyguard.net
Officers: Maexe, Nehariel, Eiadric, Nodlos, Landril, Saffenanor
Now here's a little story to give you an idea of who we are...
Who are The Grey Guard?
It was dusk and the grey, brooding sky was turning even darker. Howling winds whipped the rain across the green, wooded landscape and the road had turned into a muddy strip a long time ago. Neither bird nor beast could be seen stirring. It was as if everything and everyone was waiting for the storm to pass. Everyone except a lone rider on the muddy road. His horse moving forward with wet heavy steps. Its getting worse! thought Éiadric, How long can it possibly rain in this godforsaken country? He had not seen the sun for a week since he had crossed the Greyflood River going north and was getting very fed up. He shivered and tugged his heavy leather cloak tighter around him and pulled his hood down lower.
Listening to the howling wind and rhythmic clops of his horse’s hoofs he drifted away in deep thought, eventually nodding off in a half slumbering state. Hours passed as he trudged along.
Suddenly he started with a jerk and noticed that he was back in the dark rain and that his horse had tugged at the reins to wake him up. He looked around and saw that he had reached a big wooden gate. To his left and right was a ditch running along a great big hedge.
“Are ye deaf man!?” asked an old man in front of him, holding his hand over his eyes against the heavy rain. “I said, what’s yer business in Bree?”
Éiadric quickly gathered his wits and replied “My business is my own. I have travelled long. And I seek shelter, a warm fire and hot food”.
“Alright… alright... Business is your own.” Muttered the gate keeper to himself “Each one touchier than the next these days.” He stepped closer, seeming more at ease and pointed up the hill behind him. ” You’ll be wantin’ to head to the Pony. The Prancin’ Pony that is. Just follow the road right up the hill. Ye can’t miss it. Fire and food they’ll have… and ale if you’re thirsty. Though a room would be hard to come by these days. Seein’ as how many strangers’re about”.
Éiadric thanked the old man with a forced smile and a tug of his hood and then beckoned his horse forwards. He trudged slowly up the hill and found that it didn’t take long to reach the bend at the top where the inn lay. He could see the warm light from the windows and could hear the muffled sounds of cheering and singing from within the inn and sighed a deep sigh of relief.
He swung stiffly off his horse and started moving towards the door when a rosy cheeked hobbit came out. Éiadric was just about to tell the halfling what he wanted but was interrupted before he had a chance “You’ll be wantin’ to stable your horse sir?”
Éiadric went to answer but once again the hobbit was too quick “And you’re after a good hot meal sir, and a fire to dry yourself I’ll wager.”
Éiadric nodded and stuttered “A-a-aye”
“Just you get inside sir, and out of this wet rain.” said the hobbit grabbing the reins of Éiadric’s horse. “Not that there’s any other kind I suppose.” he added with a hobbity smile. “I’ll make sure this here beauty’ll find herself a roof over her head and some fresh hay. You go on in sir.”
After watching the hobbit walk off with his horse Éiadric opened the door.
At once, warm, smoke-laden air, and loud music hit him like a wall. Some patrons looked up and complained about the open door letting the rain in, but by and large his entrance went by unnoticed. Laughter and merriment was heard from all corners of the tavern and the smell of ale and fine pipe-weed made Éiadric genuinely happy. Happier than he had been for a long time.
As if out of nowhere, another rosy-cheeked hobbit came up and showed him to a chair not far from one of the warm crackling fires. He swung his wet heavy pack off his shoulders and set it down with a thump as he glanced around and nodded his greetings to the patrons next to him. Some comments and laments about the nasty weather were exchanged and soon the hobbit came back with a nice hot meal and a big mug off cold, frothy ale.
After his meal Éiadric rummaged through his sodden pack, and from the bottom he dug out a small worn leather pouch. It was his weed pouch which he had carefully placed in the deepest, driest reaches of his pack. He took out his pipe, prepared it, lit it and leaned back with a content smile on his face. The other patrons around him had long ago returned to their conversations and were now largely ignoring him. He stared into the fire. It crackled and sparked. The flames danced their mesmerising dance and soon Éiadric drifted away. His thoughts once again, wandering far, far away…