This is the sweet sweet face of victory.
After a week of hardcore roleplay diplomacy, guarding our camp against seige and an EPIC final battle, my faction (one of five) reigned victorious!

I’m dirty and exhausted, but bubbling with stories from quest and ideas for the next. I want to tell you everything!


You know. I know people do larping and do battles and stuff but… has anyone thought of doing larp camping or larp hiking? Just imagine it. You get together with your friends, a small party of 3~6, maybe more. You all dress in your gear, knights, rangers, wizards, bards. You have your flint and steel, packs of food, you go out into the wild and have your adventure. I’d imagine it would be something like the lord of the rings or the hobbit. Is it odd that that sounds like a fun challenge? Just leave the modern world behind and go on a quest.

Desperate measures

A Drabble Games fic requested by @guhnerketeer, featuring Thorin

33: “Don’t worry about me.” 

Based on “Imagine having to give CPR to Thorin and the Company teasing you about kissing Thorin” from ImaginexHobbit.


The eagle landed – more smoothly than you’d expected – on the rugged summit of a massive spur of rock that jutted up into the golden dawn sky. You tumbled off of its back none too gracefully, thankful to be back on solid ground, and lay with a steadying sigh on the sun-warmed stone.

All around you, the other eagles were delivering their cargo, and the remainder of the company arrived by ones and twos, reuniting with shaky smiles and concerned headcounts. Your own eyes quickly fell on Thorin’s battered body where he lay only a few steps away, and with fear gripping your heart like a fist, you scrambled to kneel at his side.

“Thorin,” you murmured, jostling his shoulder and finding him unresponsive, then, louder, “Thorin!”

His pulse was thready and faint beneath your fingers, and no breath stirred beneath your ear when you leaned close to test it. You vaguely felt anxious eyes on you as you set about trying to remember the fuzzy details of the CPR class you’d taken in what seemed like another lifetime, racking your brain for the ratio of compressions to breaths, muttering words of encouragement to yourself as you gently tilted Thorin’s chin upward with trembling hands.

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