Holiday in the Sun RPG

[piosenniel]

First post by Deorlin

The sun beat down on the white sand, turning each minute grain into a shimmering, dancing jewel. The beach would have been as unbearably hot as an oven, but the breeze coming off the water blew fresh and cool. It carried the tang of sea salt, and a hint of exotic places lying far across the waves. Gulls wheeled in the azure sky, calling out in raucous chorus to the two girls who walked, arm in arm, through the shallow waves that gamboled up as far as the tide line. They were both barefoot, trying to hold up the hems of their gowns to keep them dry. But every so often, a rogue wave would break away from the mainstream and rush up to them, catching them off guard. Then the air would fill with their laughter, and high pitched exclamations, as they tried to outrun, usually unsuccessfully, the boisterous water, which grabbed and foamed at their ankles.

After several such encounters, their gowns were soaked to the knees. Making their way a few yards further in towards the low dunes that ran inland, they collapsed in a giggling heap on the hot, dry sand. Spreading the bottoms of their skirts in attempt to dry them, the two relaxed, the elder one sinking back onto her elbows, the younger raising her hand as a visor over her eyes and gazing out to the horizon.

"Mother won't be pleased at all, you know. All our other gowns have been packed already. We'll have to travel in these - and what a wrinkled mess yours is! Tch, tch!" Elvira shook her head in mock dismay at her younger sister, who blatantly ignored her and continued staring out to sea.

"Mine a mess! That's a good one - yours is soaked almost to the waist! And dirty too, to boot! Phaw! Don't you worry about me. You're the one who promised mother that we would be careful and that you would make sure I didn't get mussed." Gillan snorted, and smiled at the thought of her elder sister's soon to be chastisement by their mother.

"Well, whose idea was it in the first place that we should go wading this one last time?"

"Who suggested we come for a last walk on the beach? What fun would a walk be if we couldn't dip our toes?" After a slight pause, Gil suggested, "Maybe we could tell mother we . . . fell in?"

Elvira looked in scorn at her sister. Ever one for telling the truth, no matter what, she raised herself back into a sitting position, wrapping her arms about her knees. "Gillan, I'm surprised at you! Besides, Momma would never believe such a tale anyway. You and your stories!" Gil, the youngest child in the family, was prone to making up fantastic tales to amuse herself. Sometimes, she got a little carried away and told them to others, as if they had really happened. "What are you staring at all this time anyway?" Elvira demanded.

"A pirate ship. See, there . . . over to the south." Gil pointed with her free hand to a sail, just barely visible above the tops of the green waves.

"The south!" Elvira cried impatiently. "You don't even know the difference between left and right! Pirates!" She scoffed. "It's most likely just a ship belonging to a family on a holiday, like us. Leave pirates to our 'heroic' brother, please - you're too old for fairy tales. Come now, little sister, or we'll be late for the departure, and father will be even angrier with us." he shuddered at the image . . .

Reluctantly, the two rose and shook the sand from their skirts as best they could, Gil giving one last, longing look out to sea. Then they turned and made their way back through the dunes, to the castle of Dol Amroth.

************************************************** *****

"Should be a fine day for traveling, my lord.
Not a cloud in the sky, and a fine fresh breeze blowing in from the west." The old servant held tight to the reins of the nervous bay stallion, as the Gondorian noble prepared to mount. The courtyard of the castle here at Dol Amroth was never empty, except for the wee small hours of the night. Even in those lonely watches of the night, rarely a quarter of an hour passed without some member of the Prince's household, or court, or military hurrying through on some important errand. At this time of the day though, midmorning, the courtyard was full and bustling, with servants, courtiers, messengers, nobles, farmers, traders, travelers, even a good number of foreigners, going to and fro about their business.

The nobleman nodded somewhat absentmindedly at the old retainer, his mind elsewhere. Turning to his wife, who was just preparing to scold a maid for the ill-packed parcel of silk that was just starting to peep through its wrappings, he asked curtly, "Any word of them yet?"

His good wife, without even glancing at him, replied mildly, "No, of course not dear. I would have told you if they had returned, now wouldn't I?" Equally as calmly, she proceeded to tell the maid precisely how the material should be packed and unwrapped the bindings herself, to see that it was redone, and properly this time too.

Grunting with both frustration and the effort of lifting himself up into the saddle, the noble mounted the skittish horse with little difficulty, his expertise as a rider readily apparent. "Well, there's nothing for it then. I' guess I'll have to ride out and see where they've got to!" He cursed soundly as a baker's assistant with a basket of oranges on his head whisked by, right under the stallion's nose, sending him sidestepping like a ballet dancer. Bringing the horse back under control, the noble repeated, "Did you hear me,my love, I said . . . "

"Of course I heard you, dear. And I've already told you twice. I know precisely where they are – at the beach. You know, the one where we all had that delightful picnic with the Prince and his lovely family. You just look for them there. Now run along, there's a good man, and stop pestering me. I've important things to see to if we're ever to leave here by noon. And we absolutely must be back in Minas Tirith in time for the King's anniversary"

Swearing once more to cover the ignominy of his wife's dismissal, the noble clucked to the stallion and made his way through the castle gate, into the streets of Dol Amroth, turning the horse's head toward the beach road.

********************************************

I will remove this comment once the game is in progress.

It is a rule on the Barrow Downs that you must:

REMOVE YOUR SIGNATURE FROM EVERY POST ON THE GAME THREAD.

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Eäris rode through Dol Amroth, still cursing under his breath.
"Run along. Like a puppy!...Gone to the beach! Time and a place for everything and this is NOT the time!..."

A young lad ran across the road in front of him. Reining his horse sharply, Eäris cast a disdainful glance downwards, causing the boy to gulp. Refusing to waste more time on the urchin, he quickened his pace.

Arriving at the beach he glanced scornfully at the sand that impeded his progress. Climbing down from the horse he started towards the dunes, from which he saw two figures approaching.

"Young ladies!" he called. "May I ask why you are on the beach when you know full well we are to sat off home shortly?"

Eäris attempted a repeat of the glare that had been so successful at quelling the young lad, but his daughters refused to be quelled. Both continued to smile. They knew it was beyond the power of their Papa to remain angry at them for too long. A smile threatened to crack his stern features, and the girls exchanged a glance.

Turning Eäris muttered gruffly "Your Mother will not like the state of your dresses I fear. Perhaps if we were to pay a visit to Morwen on the way, she could help? But hurry, for we must set off for home."

A smile spread across his face. Home...

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Hirilaelin]

High in the rigging, Narwen looked out towards the distant horizon. Land. The sea twickled and sparked in the sun, pinpricks of brilliance. Land.

Even though she took to the sea by nature, land was always welcome. A chance to restock supplies, (she hated it when food stores went bad) recruit new members, and maybe get some action. Recently, nothing exciting had been happening. Everybody on the ship was just itching for action.

Looking down to the deck below her, she swung nimbly down, catching herself with her feet just a few yards above deck, like an acrobat. Jumping the rest of the distance, she hit the deck and rolled, standing at the end. As a girl in Umbar, she had been quite and acrobat.

She was hungry. Walking along the deck, her bare feet slapping on the wood, she cameto the galley. Opening the door down, she climbed the ladder to the floor. Chef turned around as she stepped off the last rung. "Hello chef," she greeted him cheerily. Land in sight after a long sojourn at sea always made her cheerful. "Hello Narwen," he nodded.

"Do you have anything for eating? I'm starved. The sea air and all." She grinned.

"Nary a lime I'm afraid. When will we get to port?" he grumbled sourly.

"Soon enough. If you'd been up on deck lately, you would have known that for yourself." With no food, Narwen climbed the ladder back up to the deck, and went to stand in the forecastle. Breezes pushed her long braid around into her face, as she looked out to sea.

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Merri]

Elvira felt a stab of guilt, but that didn't erase her lopsided smile.

"Well, Father, you see-" she began, glancing at Gillian for aid. "We felt overwhelmed by all the confusion of packing, so we- that is, I, decided that it would be a good idea to take a walk on the beach. And we aren't setting off now, are we? Besides, you don't need us."

Elvira attempted the most charming smile possible, hoping it would pacify her father. Then she laughed, and flung her arms around him.

"Dear Papa, you know you aren't really angry with us! We've just come back from vacation. Surely mother won't mind about our dresses too much?" She asked, knowing that she would mind, very much. "And I don't think Morwen would be able to help much- she has enough laundry to do without adding ours on." She let go of her father and took his hand instead, taking her sister's hand with the other.

"Let's go now, shall we? I do believe our outing is over, is it not?"

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Merri ]

[Orual]

The salty sea-wind snapped at Airan's curly black hair and stung her blue eyes as she looked out from the crow's nest, but she hardly even noticed. She fingered her lucky chain--the one she had found the selfsame day that she fell in with the corsairs. So far she wasn't dead, so it hadn't failed her yet.

The water stretched out around her. It was all that she could see behind and around, but now they could all see the land in front of them, as she had so joyously called out a few minutes ago. They had been at sea for a long while, and it would be a welcome respite to be on firm dry land again.

But still she had no doubt that this was where she was supposed to be, here on this ship. She did miss her father every now and then, but she wouldn't have gone back to him for all of the treasure in the world, for all the treasure she could ask for was here, with the corsairs.

To be sure, it had been difficult at first. It was still difficult. She was a girl, and a little girl, so it was hard to earn the respect of her shipmates. She hadn't been on board very long, and was still struggling to gain acceptance. Sometimes she was bothered by the way they all treated her like a child--still being a teenager, she was the youngest on the ship. But when it came down to the line, she knew her shipmates could trust her with their lives just as she could trust any of them with hers. There was never that sort of respect and trust with her old friends, back at her father's house: not that there were many. And by the time she had run away, there were none. Finally she felt part of something--she was home here. She was, for once, at home.

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Nyx_Skyback]

Zul'jin looked around the cheerful and animated bar. People were taking with one another,Shouts and laughter always filled the air. The smell of ale and wine could be smelt from outside. He walked up and sat at an old table. It was large, round and smelt of steamy food.

A batender walked up to the table where he sat and asked him what he would like. She was very beautiful, long blonde curly hair, a green dress that could light up the whole room. He face was fair, her lips bright red. Her eyes were pale blue. Her high heel shoes were pitch black. Her finger and toe nails were bright red just like her lips.

"Just some chicken legs and some steamy mashed patatos, with gravy please." He said

"Well of course. It will be ready shortly." She replied

He watched her walk back into the kitchen. As soon as she walked in it seemed like she came out with a steamy plate of food for him.

"Thank you." he said

"Your welcome, I made it myself." she said

Her took a big bite out of his chicken. "This food is delicious." complimented Zul'jin

"Thank you." she replied

Zul'jin ate his food like he had not eaten in a long time, and he hadn't. All he had for two weeks was stale biscuts and over cooked meat. He gave the bartender ten gold coins for her wondeful cooking. He thanked her and walked out of the bar. The salty air nipped his face as he gazed out onto the sea.

[Hirilaelin]

Finally they had docked. Narwen decided to get to a bar or tavern first, as her hunger was knawing a hole in her stomach. Walking down the street she saw many other people, mostly corsairs like herself, going about their business. She stopped in front of a likely looking tavern. The sign read, "The Broken Mast." A ship with its mast cleanly snapped in two was painted on the sign, which swung in the salty breeze.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Heads swivled to see the newcomer, curious. She straightened herself, and stepped up to the bar. "Barkeep!" she called over the din of people talking, gambling, and what-not. A fat man stepped up to the bar, wiping his hands on his none-to-clean apron.

"Yes?" he replied to her call. "I would like a pint of your finest please," she addressed him. "Be just a minute." He lumbered away, calling for one of the barmaids to serve the lady at the counter ale. In a moment, she was happily sipping what the barmaid had said was "the finest grog in Umbar." Setting her mug down, she looked around the tavern. In one corner she could see an elaborate game of change taking place. A dagger was flipped, and people would bet on where it would land.

Narwen nodded to herself, and slipped off her seat and sauntered over to the corner, where six burly men where playing. She addressed them politely, "May I join?" They took one look at her, and guffawed. "What is so funny, my good men?" she asked them quietly, though her fist was tightly clenched around her mug handle.

"You play?" one laughed again. "A girl? Haw!"

"Yes, I would like to play," she insisted, her blood boiling hotter by the second. "Well," said another, "might as well let her. It's not my money that's going to be lost." Narwen glared at him, but sat down, pulling a small jingling sack out of her pocket as she did so, and setting it on the table. One of the man picked up the small dagger, and said, "Place your bets." Opening the bag, Narwen laid five gold coins on the table and announced quietly, "First inner circle." The other men placed their bets.

The man gripped the dagger expertly, and flipped it up. It flashed as it came down, a jewel in its hilt gleaming. "Thunk," it went, burrowing into the wood of the low table. The first inner circle. Narwen smiled at the astonished men and scooped the gold into her pouch. "I guess it's just luck," she said, now grinning widely. Again the daggar flashed up, and again Narwen claimed more gold. The men were starting to get angry. Narwen decided that she had better leave.

Standing she said loudly, "Thank you for obliging me gentlemen, but I think that I will be on my way now."

One of the men stood. "I want my gold back," he growled. Narwen smiled and said silkily, "Your gold? I think that it is my gold now."

Another man stood, and another, ringing her in. "Give up the gold girl."

Putting the now heavy pouch in her pocket, she turned to leave, but found her way blocked. Spinning, she buried her elbow into the nearest man's gut, making him grunt with pain and surprise. "I'm leaving, and this is my gold," she said again, but more heatedly.

"Oh no you don't you cheating snake." A man rushed at her. Narwen sank into a crouch even as he came on, readying herself. As he rushed her, she dodged to the side and came up behind him, viciously slamming her elbow into his kidneys. Even as he sank to the floor, the other men charged forward, yelling.

By now, the other patrons of the tavern had gone silent as they watched the fight. Narwen went to work on the bulky men, weaving in and out, landing blows in soft areas. Though tall and slender, she could still fight.

As the last of the men sank to the floor, the crowd raised a cheer. Narwen grinned. That had been... Refreshing. It had been a while since she had really fought. She now grinned at the crowd, acknowledging the crys. But it truely was time for her to depart now. Sooner of later, these men would come to, and they wouldn't be happy. Flipping some coins to the bartender to pay for the damages, she walked out of the door, the pouch clinking at her waist.

But, she reflected, she still had not gotten anything to eat. Tossing the pouch from hand to hand, she thought to herself, "Well, now I can get anything I want." Grinning, she walked down the street, listening to the gulls crying.

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Envinyatar]

Only midmorning, and already the merciless sun beat down against the green shuttered windows of the Three Palms. What few patrons there were sat in the back courtyard beneath the tall trees that lent their name to the tavern. Never mind that there were only two of them now, one of them having blown over in the great storm some twenty years back. The cracked wooden sign at the front of the grey, clapboard building had three palms carved on it, and Three Palms it would remain.

Three weeks without a billet. Khazdifir felt landlocked here in Umbar, though a short walk westward would bring him within sight of the bay. He ran his finger through the wine that lay puddled on the surface of the table before him, drawing it out in lines. A crude map of the bay formed, and he swept his finger from the harbor at its eastern edge westward and into the Great Sea.

That is where he wanted to be. Now. A ship rolling beneath his feet, and the cool, salty breezes of the sea stinging his face. He could feel the texture of the rope rigging beneath his feet as he climbed to the crow’s nest. See the waters before him shimmer like a thousand, faceted jewels beneath the sun. He would hover there, far above the deck, like his namesake, the kestrel, unmoving in the wind, his sharp eyes seeing to the rim of the sea.

Khaz sighed, and called for another glass of wine. The small purse at his belt was growing thin, he noted, as he gave the server a few coins to bring him a full bottle. He poured himself another glass and sipped at it slowly. The bottle would have to last him well into the evening.

When it was dark, he would slip down to the quay and look for a likely ship to sign on with. A gaff rigged cutter, perhaps, fast and deadly. Something likely to turn a good profit from its ‘business’.

[Carrûn]

The sun shown down without pity on the man dressed entirely in black. It had been some weeks since he had passed Erech. Dol Amroth and was drawing close and he could feel the roots of the Sea call to him. He was walking in a lazy slow fashion, almost as if drunk from the rays that beat down upon him. In reality all muscles in his body were coiled like a spring, ready to be unleasehd at any second. His thoughts elsewhere, he tripped over a stone in the rode and uttered a stream of black curses as he picked himself up. Inspecting the rock closly a wry smile crept up on his lips and threatened to linger there longer than an observer might have guessed. So you have been here my estranged brethern. No doubt you put it where you knew my feet would "find it." May your ale turn forever sour, your ears stop, and your eyes grow blind. "Humourous!" He shouted in case any of them where still within shouting distance. The signs were but a few days old at the most. What were you doing so far South? Tsch..that is not my concern.

Reading the signs of the people of the North he straightened up and looked off in the distance to the South. His green eyes strained and while he caught no sign of dust or flame in the distance the weathered man could feel a great strain in the Earth as if Arda itself was somehow in protest. "Strange signs," he murmmered. Glancing at the stone one more time he scuffed a few marks of his own on the other side and tossed it away. To all but the most skilled it was just another stone on the wayside. He fingered his nearest knife lovingly and, making sure his sword was at least somewhat concealed by his cloak, continued on his way; eyes and ears alert for the slightest change in his surroundings.

It could have been nothing more than a change in the dance of a leaf of grass or the song of the wind, but it was enough and Awyrgan threw himself flat upon the ground, drawing two knives instictively as he did so. Looking up, he happended to glance the two bloodshot eyes and gaping mouth of teeth as they sprang. By luck and skill he managed to role over as the great shape leaped over top of him, giving him time to regain his feet. Missing its attack the wolf turned and, growling, moved in again.

The two circled each other, green eyes locked with red, each showing their teeth and daring the other to make the first move. It was purely animalistic, like two stags clashing over territory. But the red-eyed wolf was young and lacked the patience of the green-eyed "wolf." He sprang suddenly, but Awyrgan sidesteped and brought the knife in a quick slash across the creature's nose. "Búrz glob - skai!," the man taunted. Engraged by the words and fuled on by the taste of its own blood the creature charged again, its mouth wide open with intent to bite its prey in two. The man ducked swiftly, avoiding the teeth but could not completely avoid the heavy paw which cuffed him soundly on the shoulder and pulled him down to the ground. Cursing in the tounges of men and wolves they rolled locked together, knives and claws showing no mercy nor expecting any. Experience soon won out over blind rage and with a twist of a knife it was finally over.

Wiping the two weapons on the dead creature Awyrgan replaced them in their sheaths and drew another, with a single edge and slight curve. With this he carefuly skinned the wolf and dragged its carcass off into a nearby grove of trees away from the road. He cut off what he hoped to be an edible portion of meat, for he had not eaten in days. Wrapping it in leaves, he placed both it and the skin in a bag. Perhaps when I arrive someone might enjoy a wolf rug. It's almost large enough to pitch it as a Warg, that should increase its value. He glanced up at the Sun. Bright One, you are cruel to me these days. It had been more than a day since he had found a source of water and his container was empty. He sniffed the air and his eyes flashed. Behind a tree to the left of the path a small stream was forcing its way out of the ground. Refilling his watersking he readjusted his equipment and returned to the path.

Almost as an afterthought he looked himself over. He had some uncomfortable scratches but some hot water would fix them without too much trouble. That can wait until nightfall. No sense lighting a fire twice. That pup gave me more trouble than he should have, I am out of practice. I had better not be loosing my edge. With that final thought he strode off again down the path, singing softly. His words were not out of tune but they followed no common pattern, as if he was putting the words to sound as they came to his mind. He fingered a small silver ring on his left index finger with blue jewel set in it as he sang.

The higher I climb the futher I fall,
The longer I walk the longer I crawl.

I look up know but I see you not,
Those who have gone before me;
and those who might have followed me.

Condemned am I to walk these circles,
Until I no longer can.

The sillouette on the road of the man was as dark as his mood as he strode southwards towards Dol Amroth.

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

The fair haired ranger walked slowly towards the small fire she had started earlier. Her silver steed stood grazing silently as if guarding the flame. Hannon le Quellë. The stallion lifted his head before letting out a leisurely snort and returning to his affairs. She sat down and brought around the rabbit she had snared. She had been traveling half the day without rest, and now her hunger could be ignored no longer. She pulled the dagger from its sheath and skinned the rabbit. A stick as a skewer would have to suffice as she carried no cooking untensils.

Several hours passed and she had enjoyed her meal. She had managed to organize her thoughts and decided that she would head south from the River Ringlo to Dol Amaroth. She had no foresight, yet something was almost pulling her to head in that direction. Perhaps there she would find an answer.

After the fire had been put out, she remounted Quellë and the pair set out southwards. She rode elf-style, allowing her to keep her hand keenly around the hilt of her dagger, ready to throw it at anything that deemed worthy. Her quiver was full and her bow was aching to be used. Dark eyes glanced the horizon. She knew wild things made their home in these parts...she did not wish to encounter any of them tonight. Several times she had seen their shadows against the hills, but none had made their presence in her company as of yet. With a silent command they were off at a gallop towards the city on the sea.

Soon she hit what seemed to have been a path for another. The grass was flattened a pace apart. Even from the back of Quellë she knew that they were human, and that they had been made that very day. She did not slow her progress and in time a black speck could be seen on the horizon. She slowed the stallion, hand still on the hilt. She would approch warily.

[Helkahothion]

The darknes was pooring trough the window and Anuion was resting. He had just returned from his visit and it had got pretty late. The inn was about to close when he arrived. He knew he should not have taken that extra ale. But he got in right in time and could get a bed. Laying there he wondered what he was going to do next. He had been in Ithilien and was now in Gondor. He might just give it a little tought.

"I have not seen my father for a while. Mirkwood would be nice." Anuion said to himself.

He decided to stay here for a while and rest some more. The trip has not been quite easy. He had a bed now and a meal. His purse was filled with gold and he could go anywhere. Wasn't the world great?
*********************************************

The people where moving down the street and everyone was busy. Not Anuion tough. He was sitting on a bench and eating an apple. It had been calm allday. He had just been wandering in all kind of directions. Sightseeing more the less. He walked over to the smitty and looked arround. He needed some new arrow's. He found some with beautifull points. He could simply not resist them. He bought them and filled his quiver. Happy with himslef, he walked in a different direction.
________
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[ElentariGreenleaf]

“Elvira!” said a surprised voice. “What have you been up to? Look at your clothes.” Sofiya walked up to her mistress to inspect the state of her closes more closely. “And don’t think you’re going anywhere either Gillian. I hope you two realise your mother will be furious!” The young maidservant gave the two girls the best stern look she should master. It was no good, she could not help laughing. “Ok you two. Go and take those clothes off. I’ll wash them as best I can!”

Elvira and Gillian came back some five minutes later and handed Sofiya their clothes. Sofiya looked at them with her light grey eyes. They would miss the beach. Sofiya understood what it was like to leave somewhere you liked. Sofiya was from Rohan, but she had last when her family died. But she was glad Elvira’s parents had allowed Sofiya to be her maidservant. She had a good life and was very attached to the family and so she would never want to leave.

Half an hour later Sofiya was hanging Elvira and Gillian’s clothes on a makeshift washing line. Oh those two were always up to no good. What mischief would they be part of next? Oh well. At least they were returning home. Maybe Sofiya would get some peace on the way back. It was too crowed in Dol Amroth for Sofiya, as she had a fear of large crowds. Alas, she would have more work when then returned to their home!

[Hirilaelin]

Narwen walked along the quay, and back up the docking ramp to the ship. The sun was low on the horizon, gleaming red over the sea. The ship swayed slightly with the rythm of the waves, it's sails gently flapping. Walking down the deck, with the salt air blowing on her face, the cabinboy ran up.

"Narwen, captain wants you in his cabin. Now." She looked down at the young lad. "Did he say why?"

"No, he only said to come right away. He sounded angry." She pondered this for a moment, and then replied to the boy, "Thank you. I'll be with the captain in a minute." He ran off as she wondeed to herself, "Could he have heard about the fight?" But, she knew better than to defy the captain's wishes.

Rapping smartly on the cabin door with her knuckles, she waited for the captain's call of "Enter." Walking inside, she saw him seated in his chair, boltedto the hull of the ship for when things got stormy. "Yes sir?" she politely inquired.

He looked up at her from a chart he was reading. "Narwen," he growled, "I heard about the fight. You are to leave the ship this instant."

"What?!" she protested. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I have no use for an insubordinate woman that starts fights." Narwen's eyes widened in sudden anger. "Insubordinate? STARTS FIGHTS!? I obey every orderyou have ever given me, and they accused me of cheating, so I taught them a little lesson! What is wrong with that? You have no right to throw me off the ship! You.."

The captain interupted. "My dear woman," he said, stressing the word, "I told you to leave the ship this instant. It is not your place to talk back to your catain, or get into fights. I don't know why I even sighed you onto my ship in the first place."

Narwen's blood began to boil, making her irrational. "If I was a man," she spat at him, "you wouldn't even have me in here." He smiled maliciously at her. "Ah, but you are a woman, are you not? Dismissed. Off the ship." Narwen ground her teeth, but obeyed.

As she stalked off the ship, belongs from her cabin stowed in a pack, the only thought in her mind was revenge. Getting back at him. But, as she walked along the streets, the same one she had walked but a few hours earlier, her brain began to settle, and she began to think logically. The first thing she would have to do would be to find a place to stay. Than she could go about finding another ship. And earning an indisputable place on board, so no captain would or could kick her off.

She would show them all. (BWA HA HA HA!!
smilies/biggrin.gif )

[ February 05, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Merri]

Elvira nearly jumped a mile in surprise when Sofiya appeared behind her.

"Thank you so much," She flung her arms around the maid. "What would Gillian and I ever do without you?" She laughed and answered herself. "Mother would have had us roasting on a spit long ago!"

"Father," She looked around for her 'dear papa'. "Father, shall I go and finish packing now?"


<Will finish later>

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Merri ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rolan sighed as he packed his things. He couldn't wait to get back to Minas Tirith. Mostly he spent the holiday in Belfalas talking with his sisters or reading Asta's books.

Rolan had always been rather quiet. It wasn't that he had nothing to say, only he didn't think anyone really wanted to hear it. Did it really matter what he thought? Even if someone really listened, they usually didn't understand what he meant or why he thought something. Either that, or they didn't agree at all with him.

Rolan hardly would call the past few days a real vacation, considering all the noise Linde made around the clock! Just when Rolan thought he was going to have a nice, quiet vacation, his adorable new neice decides to cry and throw a fit every twenty minutes for no reason. She was an adorable baby, though. Obviously got her looks from their side of the family.

Rolan loved his family though. Anyone could hear what Rolan said, but his family listened to what he said. Rolan would do anything for his family.

Rolan looked around his room, and let out a slight 'Aha!' when he found the book he had been reading. It was Asta's, but he borrowed it from her a few days back. He walked out of his room, hoping he could catch Asta before she finished packing.

When he got to Asta's room, Asta was organizing everything she needed to pack. In between packing this and that, Asta would pick up Linde and cradle her.

"I came to return the book I borrowed," Rolan said quietly, getting his older sister's attention.

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Eäris walked into the pretty bed chamber.
“Asta” he called softly, but his oldest daughter was not in the room. He walked over to the cot where his baby granddaughter lay asleep. Gently he picked her up.
“Typical woman. Never around when you need them. I’m leaving to go home, and my daughter has disappeared! Not like you, my little love. So, will you miss your Grandpapa darling? He’ll miss you lots and lots and LOTS! And your Mama. Why she had to marry someone from this outlandish place I’ll never understand. I’ll be very glad to get home. If only you could live with us! I’ll have to convince Mama to repay this summer visit. She’ll miss her friends in Gondor, I know it.”

The baby stirred in his arms and opened her eyes.
“Hello Linde” said Eäris and span the baby round. She gurgled. “You’ll remember Grandpapa when he goes away won’t you? And if your father…” he pulled a face and she gurgled again “if your father ties to tell you I’m a grumpy old man, you won’t believe him, will you?”
“It’s the truth though, isn’t it Linde” said a voice at the doorway “Grandpapa is a very grumpy old man indeed.”
“Ssh Asta” returned her Papa. “You’ll give Linde the wrong impression of me.”
Asta snorted.
“So where were you anyway Asta?”
“Taking your son downstairs to get ready to leave. You should be down there too Papa.”
“I know, but I’ll miss you and the little one so much.” Eäris sighed. He would not have admitted such to anyone but his oldest daughter. “Linde is such a lovely good child.”
As if she had heard the praise, unwarranted by her usual behaviour, Linde began to bawl.
“Oh dear” said Eäris, and the two exchanged a rueful glance.

[Eruwen]

Asta walked over and took the child from her father's arms. As she slowly rocked Linde, the crying began to cease.
"But truly," Asta said to her father. "I think you should check on Rolan. He just recently returned one of my books, and I was about finished packing. You might see that he has everything of his packed before we leave?"

Eäris laughed at his daughter's remark.
"As always, yes, but I think Rolan has everything under control. I'll see you downstairs soon?"

Asta nodded as her father left the room. She set Linde down in the cot where she lay and made her way back to her large piles of belongings still not packed. She sighed as she looked at the mess.
"Perhaps I exaggerated a bit when I said I was almost finished packing..." she said to herself.

Rave sat down and continued to pack her things. After a while, she became aggitated with all the mess and walked out to find Foronîl.

[ February 10, 2003: Message edited by: Eruwen ]

[astarielle]

Astarielle was getting anxious they must go soon. at every clatter of hooves she leapt to the window only to find that it was a pedlar selling vegetables or some such person.

She wondered back upstairs after finding no one in the courtyard. The door creaked as it opened. "There you are! I have been so worried!" she said in a desperate voice. She walked purposefully over to Earis who was holding Linde.

[Garen LiLorian]

Foronîl sat in the open window, allowing the warm southern sun to bake his face and body. He luxuriated in the feel of it, stretching like a cat. As soon as Rave and the others were finished packing, he'd be saying farwell to it for far too long.

A puffing and blowing on the stairs alerted Foronîl to the presence of another.
"Yes?" He snapped, not bothering to turn around.
"P-pardon, lord. Did you want the red cloak packed, or was it to be left here?" The voice was timorous and small, and issued from a boy who could be no more than eleven. Foronîl regarded him coldly.
"You have a list, have you not?" He asked, in a deceptively calm manner, and, not waiting for the lad's response, turned back to the window.
"W-w-well... Erm. My lord, I... uh, that is to say, the list."
"Stop blathering and speak, child."
"I lost it." The boy looked terrified, and Foronîl stared at him as you might a particularly loathsome bacterium. The child gulped, and refused to meet the older man's eye.

"You... lost it." Foronîl mused, almost to himself. "Then, what might you do in this situation. Ah. You might ask my steward. You might ask my wife. You might even ask Grayson the butler. Or, I suppose, if you were particularly brave, you could come up here and disturb me. Are you particularly brave, boy?"
The lad trembled. Foronîl locked eyes with him. "Well?"
"Yes. I mean no. I mean, by your leave, lord!" And the mousy boy, without waiting for a reply, turned and vanished with startling speed.

Foronîl watched him go speculatively. He turned back to his window, watching the waves break on the beach. He was going to miss this.

[Nurumaiel]

It was night in Gondor. Stars were shining softly in the sky, and it was a full moon. All of Minas Tirith lay in a deep slumber except for one man. Aragorn, the King Elessar, stood on the balcony of his bedroom and gazed out over his city. Something had disturbed him from his sleep.

As he stood he did not hear the soft footsteps behind him, but he knew his wife, Arwen Evenstar daughter of Elrond, was watching him. "What do you fear?" she asked, taking his hand.

"I do not know," he replied, but he did not look at her. "Something is disturbing me, though I know not what."

Arwen looked grave. "I have been troubled as well," she said. "But as long as you are near I do not fear what dangers may draw close."
Aragorn turned to her, taking her face in his hands, and looked lovingly into her eyes. "If danger does come, I will try to fulfill the trust you place in me." She smiled gently at him. "But I fear you will not need my help, though danger will come."

"You then believe we are in danger?"

"Even as we speak. I cannot tell what lies ahead; I have not that power. But I can feel danger drawing closer." His hands dropped to take both of hers. "Arwen, if some evil misfortune befalls me, know that you always have my love, and that I entrust the ruling of Gondor to you **and Eldarion**."

"Ar le him garmelen," the Queen said softly. "An anann im padacae sen... ar ab."

And you shall always have my love. For as long as I walk this earth... and after.

They left the balcony together, and the night wore on. At last the first rays of the morning touched Gondor, and as Aragorn awoke, he knew he had placed his kingdom in worthy hands, if evil should befall him.

[Helkahothion]

Late at night, Anuion walked across the street. He could see the last men going home. Probably way to late considering the noise coming from every building that had light coming from the windows. He walked on into the night, nothing to worry and nowhere to go.

He might needed a job within a while. His money was going down. He went over to the inn and went in. Another day with no meaning. Eru, immortalety was great. But somewhere he hoped that something would happen tough. He had not have action within a lot of days. He would go to meet Bordarigorn soon. Of to Mirkwood again. To see his friends.
________
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[Carrûn]

Awrygan stiffened slightly as his keen ears caught the faint but closing sound of a running horse. It was not the solid thud of the horses of the Men of the South but rather a clear rhythmic drumbeat of hooves more akin to Rohan or the North. He loostened the knife on the right side of his belt and cracked his neck. Many of his joints were still protesting from his morning argument with the wolf. I should have washed the skin a little better, he thought to himself as his nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of the hide now in his pack. Or maybe it's the meat. He brought out the slice of the carcess and looked it over. I am not yet hungry enough to eat this. He gave the meat a strong chuck off the path and wiped his hands.

He had been walking most of the day now and the sun was past the middle of its journey across the sky. He glanced briefly at the moutains to his West which were slowly being wreathed in a bright glowing flame. The flame of the West, he thought with some ammusement. He pulled out his pipe and lit it, allowing the end to rest in the corner of his mouth. A wisp of smoke went up from beneath his hood and raced away to the East on a swift breeze.

The sound of the hooves were growing louder rapidly but he kept his pace steady. Eventually it slowed, but it continued towards him. Soon the breath of the steed mixed with that of the rider could be heard as they approached him from behind. The man stared straight ahead, trusting to luck.

"A traveler's road is long," Awrygan challenged. His hand rested easily on his nearest weapon and he took a low, deep breath as he waited. "And joys are few," came the accepted response among the free travellers. The man was surprised; the voice was clear, instead of the gruff tone the words were customarily spoken in. Still he did not look up to see the one riding slightly behind him and instead continued on his way, waiting for the other to break the tensely thick silence. If they are looking for company they will be most disappointed.

[ February 08, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Manardariel]

"And I´ll take two arm-lengths of that red silk, please."

Market day in Dol Amroth. It was the last day of their stay and Morwen, having finished all the preperations for the journey, had taken a small break at the market . She let her hands run over the silk she had just purchased. It was good quality, no doubt about that. Lady Astarielle had been right upon saying the Dol Amroth market was the best for fine things in all of Gondor.

It was time to return though. Morwen took her parcels and made for the Inn the family was staying in. As she turned around a corner, a couple came her way. They were walking arm in arm, the woman bearing a baby, the whole family so wonderfully in love.

Morwen felt pain stab her heart. She tried to blink back her tears, tried to hold back her thoughts- she couldn´t.

That could have been you. That could have been you, with Narya and Barodir. That could have been you, so happy, so in love.. But it can´t be. Because he is DEAD. He is gone and he will never come back.

Morwen burst into silent tears. She let them run down her face ant had to sit down on a little bench for a moment. After a few minutes, she stoud up again. It was no good to let herself be carried away. It was no good to dwell on things that couldn´t be. She had a job, and she had a baby. She had to be strong.

About half an hour later, she returned home, feeling better. She entered the inn, and went straight into her chamber. With skilled hands, she opened the package containing the silk and looked at it. It would make a wonderfull shawl for her, especially with the embroidery she was planning on. But first she had to prepare it. Morwen grabbed neadle and thread andstarted to sew the silk into what would be a beautiful shawl.

rom time to time she peeked in the little basket “parked” in a corner. Her six-months-old daugher Narya was sleeping peacefully in there. Peacefully-still. The more Narya slept, the better. Morwen knew this sounded heartless, but she was just thinking practical. Narya could be the sweetest of babies, but unfortunatly she hardly ever felt like it. Rather, she would state her opinion on certain things by bawling on the top of her lungs for no reason, or so it seemed. Sometimes she understood Sofiya, Elvira´s maidservant, when she said “I´m just glad when that kid learns how to say what it´s problem is.” But still, Morwen loved her daughter dearly. And nothing, nothing in the world could change her mind that Narya was just “a bit strong-willed”

Two hours later, she sat in the courtyard, nursing Narya. She was resting a bit, before she would be called again. The sun sent its last, orange-golden rays directly in her face. Morwen felt warm, comfetable and perfectly peacefull. How long still?

[Everdawn]

A tall, fair man appeared from the stables. Bebberyn, High Guard of Dol Amroth had just finished his rounds of the city watchtowers. He stopped and overlooked what he could see of the ocean and thought to himself "this the grandest city of Gondor, be it never challenged."

He looked further out. "there are so many more ships coming.. I hope the harbourmen are prepared."

For eleven generations, Bebberyn's forefathers had guarded the prince and his city. Bebberyn sighed "and now I return to an empty house. or rather one full of other guards who have no home for tonight."

He laughed, Bebberyn was always generous. And the house he dwelled which had been awarded to his family 200 years prior by the prince, was always a place for wiery foreign high soldiers to stay. He made his way through the markets towards his home.

[Rochelle]

She kept Quellë a pace behind the man, even her shadow obeyed. A gentle smirk played over her features "Only the bravest dare travel the wild on foot. Wolves dance amidst the shadow and rumor is orcs have been seen in these mountains." A finger reached up to brush a stray wisp of her blonde hair back under her hood. The cloak offered minimal protection from the beating of the suns rays. She finally urged Quellë to draw even to the ranger.

"I am Rochelle and I travel to Dol Amaroth. Where are you bound?"

The responding voice was deep and weathered. "South" was all he offered. Her brow raised at the response before her eyes darted to the lingering hand at his side "You needn't bind your hand 'round any blade ranger. I intend no harm."

The stallion snorted and began to prance in place. Her eyes moved to the hills and a shadow disappeared to the other side. "Wolves...or orcs. Either way it spells trouble for our company." She drew her bow and let it rest in her lap, ready to be used in the slightest of instances.

Her nose curled at a scent the wind brought to her nose. "If I'm not mistaken, you have already had a run in with one of these?"

[ February 09, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Eäris carried the, again sleeping, baby back to her crib.
"There you are! I have been so worried!"
Astarielle began to walk towards him.

Affecting a frown, Eäris said "Then you said 'run along' and now you want me here?"
Adressing the baby he added "I told you women were funny creatures."
Turning back to his wife he said "Well, my love, shall we go down to the carriage to check the packing?" The two made their way down the stairs together. Upon reaching the door to the courtyard they were forced by the narrow gap to go single file.

Eäris was hailed by his second daughter.
"Father, shall I go and finish packing now?"

"Linde now you will see the oddness of women to perfection." he whispered.

"Did you say you were not packed?" asked Astarielle of Elvira. Elvira gulped, she had not seen her mother there. The two left with the argument in full flow.

Eäris, looking around, spotted his son by the coach.
"Rolan" he called "please tell me you at least have finished packing?"
"Yes Papa"
"Ah, you're a good boy. If I did not have you I would go mad in this family of women! Have you seen Gilian?"
"No, but she was with Elvira."
"She was, but no longer. Elvira is with your mother, being told off for not packing!"
The two shared a conspiritorial glance.
"Well, I suppose I must go to look for her, if only to spare her the same fate. And I must find Asta, give her back this angel."
With an absent minded smile at his son, Eäris walked off.

[ February 15, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Schmendrick]

Durmán was standing in the Sea- ward tower of Dol Amroth, deep in thoughts. The guards had let him get up, although seemingly reluctant. Nothing had changed since the last time he had been in the city. Most people pretended not to see him, when he passed them on the street. Only some curious children came to him sometimes, asking about his travels. And the Prince himself, the few times Durmán had met him, had been kind to him. He was a wise man and knew that Durmán could not be held responsible for something his father had done.


Durmán watched the gulls diving towards the mirrory surface of the sea and back up again. Some men were preparing a ship at the harbour; he could hear their distant voices. All this made him restless. He wasn’t used to staying a long time at one place; for years he had been travelling across the Middle Earth, trying to find his brother. And even now he felt he should be on the road, not in this cold city surrounded by so many unfriendly faces.


But he had wanted to see his mother. He had hoped that she would have changed some, maybe even missed him. But even if it was so, she certainly showed no sign of that. Durmán decided that he would leave in a couple of days, he couldn’t waste more time. Maybe he should go to Minas Tirith this time? It was a long time since he had last been there.


Suddenly Durmán remembered something his mother had said, when he had talked once again about finding his brother. She had smiled – a cold, wry smile – and said:
“ Surely you realize it is not your brother you are looking for, Durmán? That is nothing but an excuse. You are just like your father; you just can’t settle down and grow up! All this silly quest of yours is nothing but fear of growing up and taking responsibility.”


Durmán hadn’t known how to defend himself. Her mother knew nothing could be more painful to him than being compared to his father. And even more so, because deep down he knew there might be some truth to that. He was afraid of settling down. Had that not been the case, he could have signed up to be a guard here in Dol Amroth, for example. But the mere thought of that made him feel like a prisoner.


Suddenly he felt irritated. He didn’t have to tolereate any insults from his mother. She, if anyone, had made mistakes in her life. Who was she to tell him what to do? There and then Durmán decided to leave the city, as soon as possible.

[Envinyatar]

Day had slipped into evening. His wine now gone, Khaz left the bottle and the glass together on the tabletop, their sides touching, like two lovers spent after a brief night of passion. He smiled at this image, wondering what had happened to that dark eyed girl from Tol Falas he had met on his last trip north.

‘No use dredging up finished business.’ he told himself. ‘Best to get on with finding the new.’ He left the Three Palms by the door in the courtyard, and walked in shadows along the street, west to the harbor. The familiar scents of bilgewater and the clean, salty tang of the sea told him he was nearing the dock area.

The first two ships he bypassed. He knew the captains, and he did not care to sail under them again. It was not that they were too hard on their crew – that was something expected; it was that they cheated them from their rightful share. The third he went by without a thought. The owner of that one was too tight with his money. Khaz doubted that the ship would hold together for one more voyage, so in need of repairs it was.

He was getting discouraged as he made his way down the line, thinking perhaps he should return to the Palms and renew his acquaintance with his two glassy friends.

A voice from the shadows of a darkened cutter called out to him. ‘So, the Southron Sea Dog comes sniffing round for likely craft on which to make his fortune.’

Khaz put his hand to his knife, and stepped further into the shadows. ‘Who uses my name?’ he growled low. ‘Step into the light and let me see your face.’

He heard the scrape of the flint and a spark flared. Khaz looked up at the grinning face which now hung over the bow railing, its features lit with a small lantern that swung from the man’s hand. ‘Is that any way to greet the best captain you’ve ever sailed with, First Mate?’

Khaz stepped into the light, and shook his head, laughing. ‘Yr Saldan! I should have known it would be you.’

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan relaxed slightly as the one called Rochelle continued. Her horse shied and began to prance nervously. A shadow moved in the distance and the rider spoke again.

"Wolves...or orcs. Either way it spells trouble for our company."

Perhaps...most likely wolves, they are quieter than orcs. Could also be just a shadow. Seeing the horse's jittery movements the man followed its eyes and, glancing down, noticed that the skinned face of the wolf had fallen slightly out of his pack and was facing the horse. He chuckled to himself and covered the grinning teeth with his cloak. "A nervous pair?" A slight taunt was in his voice, more of a test to see what the response would be. He didn't get one.

"If I'm not mistaken, you have already had a run in with one of these?"

"You could say that. Actually he ran over me, not into me. Hasty little pup." He ran his hand thoughtfuly over several of the scratches on his face and in doing so found himself fingering the bizzare scar on the left of his face under his eye. His face darkened slightly as old memories returned and he strode forward with a bit of a renewed force.

[Rochelle]

Quellë calmed once both shadow and carcass were removed from his sight and soon he was calmly striding forward. She disreguarded his comment. Let him mistake highstrung and readiness for nerves...perhaps most women would be nervous, but not she.

She listened to his account silently. Her head turned slightly towards him and she saw what appeared to be the battle scars upon his facade. "You wear victory well...however I believe I have something that will heal that." She fingered a small leather pouch at her waist before untying it. Slowly she extended her arm, offering it out to him. The bag contained the leaves of the athelas plant. Few now knew of it's healing powers, but her father had been a healer amoung the elves of Mirkwood. He had taught her all he knew, and she would not forget the healing powers of nature. "Take but a pinch, it's leaves hold healing powers."

His pace had quickened and he was reluctant to accept her gesture "You bring no justice to yourself by carrying an open wound. You only carry invitation to those who would thrive off of it." Again she held out the pouch "Take it lest I force it upon you" A slight smirk followed her remark. She knew full well that could prove to be a challenge...he was quite larger than she.

[ February 09, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[Carrûn]

"You wear victory well..." The man was lost in his own thoughts and did not hear her comments. A fly buzzed against his cheak and he trapped it in his hand. Taking it between his forefinger and thumb he squeezed it and tossed it aside. Looking briefly over his shoulder he realized she was offering him a bag. He coughed in slight disgust at her outstretched hand and would have avoided it entirely if he had not caught the familiar scent of the athelas leaf.

"Take it lest I force it upon you."

Her voice held a firmer tone. "That would be interesting," Awyrgan smirked in reply. However he held his hand out over his shoulder even though he would not turn around. With slight 'thump' the rider deftly tossed the bag into his overturned palm. Turning it over in his hand he grinned. "Ah, asëa aranion." He could sense her surprised look and he laughed. A gruff, but true laugh that was one of the more pleasent of sounds ever to come out of his mouth. The moment passed quickly as a rut in the road caught his foot and a stream of Black Speech poured out from between his clenched teeth.

Hot water would be nice, he thought to himself. Improvising he re-lit his pipe and held one of the leaves over it. The pleasent smell of athelas was soon floating in the air and the scratches began to cease to itch. Placing a few of the leaves in his jacket pocket he turned back to the rider who was staring at him. "Trade secrets," he offered in explanation as he tossed the bag back to her. "I suppose I am now safe from the insects."

[ February 10, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

Her brow raised as he used the lesser known name for the plant "You surprise me with your knowledge ranger." She smiled slightly at his laugh then quickly covered her mouth to keep from laughing herself as he tripped. She would have offered a witty comment but cringed at the outpouring of words that followed and Quellë again began to prance. Under her breath she spoke "The language of Sauron..." She did not know how to speak it, but she knew it's sound. This ranger was certainly well traveled. "I don't know many who will utter words of that tounge..."

Perhaps he hadn't heard her. She watched silently until he turned to hand her back the leather bag. She smirked at his comment...somehow she didn't think that the insects would stay away. Instead she simply nodded and retied the pouch to her belt. She would have liked to question how he came upon learning the black speech but Quellë was getting anxious. "I suppose I should let him run a bit...if your destination lies in Dol Amaroth then I'm sure we will cross paths again." She smiled "Suildad ranger."

She heeled the stallion "Yro Quellë!" She turned her head and offered a slight nod before galloping ahead.

[astarielle]

"I told you to pack! And where have you been! When will you learn Elvira, i've been so worried." Said Astarielle in an angry tone, however Elvira knew she was not.

"You can not be ang ry to save your life can you mother?" Elvira said sympatheticlay.

With a raising of the eyebrows and a glint in the eyes, a smirk grew on Astarielle's face as she said, "Nope!". "Now hurry and finish packing, I mean it this time. Oh! Where's your sister?"

[ February 10, 2003: Message edited by: astarielle ]

[Eruwen]

Asta watched Foronîl as she discovered him sitting in a window looking out onto the ocean. She quietly walked up behind him and stared out the window.

"I'm going to miss it too," she said breaking him out of his solemn peacefulness. "but I'm sure we'll return here someday. Belfalas is far too great of a place to only visit once and never return."

Foronîl smiled and stood up from the window. "Come," Asta said. "We should be leaving shortly."

[ February 10, 2003: Message edited by: Eruwen ]

[Carrûn]

"I don't know many who will utter words of that tounge..."

Well now you know one more who will, Awyrgan thought silently. He didn't bother to give an explanation, the tale would have taken too long and he was focused on covering as much distance as possible while the Sun still shone. Behind him he heard the stallion begin to protest slightly on the slowness of his current pace. Aye, he would wish to run.

"I suppose I should let him run a bit...if your destination lies in Dol Amaroth then I'm sure we will cross paths again - Suildad ranger."

Ranger. Not quite but close enough. He raised his hand slightly as if in aknowledgment of her passing as she brushed past him on Quelle. As they did so his fingers deftly looped a small bag around the laces of her left boot. His bright eyes followed them as they thundered off into the growing dusk. The shadows were beginning to dance as the Sun settled in over the West for the night. He will like the sugar cubes. He grinned. Or perhaps she will.

He continued for some time until it was nearly dark and his feet were complaining. Striding off the road he found a small hollow against a creek bank. His ears picked up a rustling in the bushes and with a quick toss of a knife he had secured a decent sized rabit. Building a small ring with stones he scrounged around until he had an acceptable amount of kindling. After lighting the fire he proceeded to skin the rabit. His face began to itch again and, folding the skin of the rabit in the form of a pouch, hung it over the fire and filled it with water. He boiled a leaf of the athelas plant and washed his face with the water. He ate the rabit with out paying too much attention to the taste. He then threw any remains and extra wood on the fire and proceeded to wrap himself in his cloak. He lay on his side with his face to the fire, one hand on a drawn knife and another resting on the hilt of his sword. He then attempted to sleep, staring upward at the sky. Eru, please no more wolves tonight. At least not until dawn. Allow this weary man a reprieve. He laughed. "Ah me, talking to the stars."

[ February 10, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Sadbh]

Gil sat upon a some stone sill that looked out over the harbor. Her small room was just starting to look clean, but she knew that her mother would want to know where she was by now. She rose from her kneeling stance at the smooth window and ducked under the dust ruffle of her bed to see if something had fallen underneath. There was nothing but the rush mat that carpeted the floor of every room. She stood and smiled like a satisfied cat. Her parents had been in frenzy that she would loose something. As she shot into the hall, she admitted to herself that she had lost something every year, but then again it had always been found.

A patch of sunlight fell onto the floor from a broad, open window with lattice metal work upon the panes. There was a small indentation in the wall where a seat was carved, and she reached for the satchel she always kept at her waist which held her favorite of books. She would only read for a little, and be on her way. But it was not there. She realized that she might have given it to Sofiya by accident, but that couldn't have happened she remembered. She would have seen it. She must have left it at the beach!

Thumping her palm onto her forhead in frustration, she flew down a set of steps into the courtyard where her father was. "Father!" She called to him. "I need to go back down to the beach." The folds of her kirtle stopped tripping her legs as she slowed.

"Gillian, you can't, we'll be going very soon, and what in the world could you need down there? You and Elvira have already been gone half the morning!" Sighing animatedly, Gil stomped her foot and fold her arms across her chest.

"Father, I left my book down there." Earis looked unimpressed.

"I still won't let you go alone."

"Then let me take Rolan or Elvira, please?" Gil clasped her hands and blinked sweetly at her father.

"Oh, alright." He sighed and patted his daughter's head. Racing towards Rolan, she spoke quickly and pleadingly.

"Rolan, will you down to the beach with me? I left my favorite book down there this morning when Elvira and I were there. Please?" She gave a final sweet plea at the end for a finsihing touch.

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

[Envinyatar]

‘Come aboard, Khaz!’ Yr Saldan shoved the boarding plank down to the dock’s edge, and motioned the man up with his lantern. Khazdifir stopped just as his foot touched the deck. Under the light of the half full moon, he made out the familiar tidiness of the ship. Everything stowed and secured, sails furled, deck clean, and he would bet whatever few coins he had in his purse that all the crew was aboard. No drunken revelries for Saldan’s sailors tonight.

There was a feeling of expectancy about the captain. The air about him thrummed with electricity. Something was going on and soon. The captain had motioned him to a small table by the starboard railing, and was pouring a tot of Southron spirits for them as Khaz spoke. ‘I want to be in on it, Saldan.’

‘In on what, my dear Kestrel?’ he asked, smiling.

‘You make a poor effort at being guileless, my dear captain. The very air screams you have something in mind.’ He glanced about the darkened ship again. ‘And why does the ship bear so much cargo aboard?’ He nodded toward the neat stacks of barrels and crates about the deck. ‘Have you gone legitimate since last I saw you? Are you now the captain of a merchant vessel?’

Saldan howled with laughter at this assessment of him. ‘In a way, yes!’ Khaz frowned, waiting for him to go on. Saldan sat back, taking the measure of his old shipmate. There was a calculating look in his eyes. His fingers drummed on the table, a considering rhythm.

The captain leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. He had been approached by a ‘certain’ group he said. They needed a diversion while they went forward with their own plans. And they wanted Saldan to create it for them. He fished in his vest pocket and found a silver coin. Placing it carefully on the table, he pushed it across the smooth planks with his thick fingers.

Khaz looked at the coin considering the vague explanation. ‘And . . ‘ he said, keeping his hands off the table. Saldan grinned, pushing the coin a little nearer. ‘There’s a fat purse to be made for a good mate like you. And a chance to make your cutlass sing, if you like. He sat back in his chair, sipping at his mug. ‘The rest I can tell you once we’re well at sea.’

Khaz smiled and shook his head, sensing that what Saldan had said was true, but not the whole of it. He wondered if even the open sea would bring the entire scheme to light. His left hand slapped down on the coin before him, and he palmed it, placing it in the purse at his belt. ‘I’m yours for the duration.’ he said, raising his mug to the captain.

‘Ah! That’s my Kestrel. Back in the nest.’ Saldan leaned forward, speaking softly once again. ‘What maps do you have of the approaches to Belfalas. And of the shoreland cities there?’

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rolan sighed as he looked at Gillian's sweet, pleading puppy-dog eyes. She had left a book. Always like Gil. Forgetting this and that at the most inconveniant time. How could he resist his little sisters big eyes when she needed something? Besides, it was a book she had left. A book! How could she forget a book? It was probably one of Rolan's books anyway.

"Oh fine! You've convinced me!" He gave in finally. Gil hugged him and they began to make their way back towards the beach. "How do you do that, by the way?" Rolan wondered aloud, amazed at his sister's ability to always get what she wanted. Must have been the eyes.

"We'll catch up to you!" Gil assured her family and the others as they walked to the beach.

Gil ran down into the sand of the beach, and seemed to like having one last chance to see the beauty of their vacation spot.

"Come on, Gil! Where do you think the book is?" Rolan called to her sister. "We'll never catch up to everyone if you don't hurry!"

Rolan ran to catch up with his sister, and hoped they didn't tarry for too long.

[Hirilaelin]

The money is running low, Narwen reflected as she sat at the bar of "The Singing Mermaid." It was late at night, and through the window near her, she could see stars twinkling faintly in the sky, and the moon shining like a round silver coin. Thinking of silver, she remembered her tab, and put a coin next to her empty mug. Slipping off the high barstool, she collected her backpack and quarterstaff, pushed open the door of the inn, and departed into the night.

She loped along the streets to the docks, which were buzzing with activity even at this late hour. Men were unloading crates, singing around small fires, tending ships, or just loafing about. She stopped in front of the first ship, and looked it over with a practiced eye. It was a fast looking sloop, in fairly good condition. She might have considered it if not for the noise of drunken revelry coming from the deck. She knew from personal experience that a ship with too little discipline never got anywhere.

Passing on to the next ship, the saw that there was no one aboard, the lanterns hanging high on the bow but unlit shells of metal and glass.

The third ship looked plausible, clean and in good condition. She stopped in front of it to admire its fast sharp lines. Turning to a man nearby, she asked him, "Who captains this ship?" He straightened from the rope he was splicing, and said gruffly, "Yr Saldan be the captain of this fine ship. And who are you, looking for a ship so late?"

"Narwen," said she. "Are you a sailor under this Yr Saldan?" He nodded crisply. "Do you like serving under him?" she inquired, pumping him for any information he had. The burly man stood there, as if considering the question. After a moments hesitation he answered. "Aye, he's the best captain to be found in Umbar. It's a good ship, but your just a woman,and the work is hard."

Narwen was extremely annoyed. It was the same wherever she went. It seemed to be a rule that if you were a girl, you were immediately classified as a weakling. She breathed deeply before replying, trying to keep her easily provoked temper in check. "I don't think that the work would be to hard," she replied. "I have been a corsair for some years now, and I am tougher than I look." The man gazed at her doubtfully, measuring her up.

Finally, he said, "Fine. You can talk to the captain." She followed him as hewalked up the gangway to the ship, listening to the racous calls of the seabirds. He led her to the door of what she assumed was the captain's cabin, then left to go back to his work. Narwen knocked swiftly, three times, on the solid wooden door.

[Envinyatar]

‘I have some maps and sailing charts of that area. Why do you wish to know?’ Khaz reached across the table for the wine, his nose wrinkling as the breeze shifted, bringing him the strong scent of the man. ‘Your sailors may not have had their pleasures this evening, but you stink of them. Cheap scent and old sweat!’ He laughed, pouring himself another glass, and one for Saldan. ‘And that scar,’ he pointed to the one that puckered the skin from nose to ear, leaving an angry trail across the right cheek, ‘it’s a new one isn’t it?’ He snorted. ‘No need to tell me what happened to the one who gave it to you.’

Saldan gave a wicked half-smile to Khaz and sipped his wine. ‘Right on all accounts, Kestrel.’ He looked toward the darkened waters of the bay. Get your gear and stow it on board tonight. We’re leaving before the sun’s above the rim of the sea tomorrow. The winds are good this time of year and five days of sailing will bring us to our position.’

Khaz drank his wine quickly and stood to leave. ‘I should return within the hour. I am staying near and have little gear.’ He turned and strode quickly down the plank, then south to his quarters. ‘So,’ he thought to himself, calculating quickly where five days of good sailing would take them, ‘we are bound for Dol Amroth.’

********************

The small fleet set sail. Ten trim ships loaded with “merchandise” – “merchant ships” bound for trade with Gondor. Khaz watched Yr Saldan as he paced the bow, eyes gleaming, looking ever north. ‘He has more than a small diversion planned.’ he said, noting the number of men who were on board each ship. ‘He’ll need close watching if I am to turn the situation to my advantage.’

He climbed the rigging to the crow’s nest and settled in, for his turn at the watch.

[piosenniel]

Deorlin's Corsair post for Yr Saldan:

Yr Saldan lowered the small brass spyglass from his eye, squinting towards the horizon. Errant strands of black hair blew about his weather tanned face, although most was pulled back in a pigtail, the end tarred together and wrapped with a leather thong. There were deep wrinkles etched in the corners of his dark eyes, not by age, for he was only just the far side of thirty. No, it was the years at sea, the stinging salt and the drying wind, the intense heat and bitter cold, which had carved their signatures on his skin.

And there had been yet other carvings, these done by human hands, which left their traces also on face, forearms, and torso. A particularly vivid, as it was still somewhat new, scar puckered the skin from the bridge of his hawk-like nose, across his right cheek, all the way to his ear. The wharf rat who had inflicted it would have been proud to boast that he had left his own signature on no less than Yr Saldan himself - if he had been lucky enough to still draw breath.

But that one, like so many others, had been fodder for the fish which swam among the piers of the City of the Corsairs. Yr Saldan's thoughts wandered momentarily to his last night spent there; and the memory of the exotic pleasures it had revealed to him brought a crooked smile to his thin lips.

His thoughts, though, quickly reverted to the task at hand, very close at hand now. Dol Amroth lay just within reach, and his fleet, disguised as merchants from Umbar, seeking audience with the Prince to negotiate new trade agreements, would be anchoring in the harbor this evening.

How unfortunate that they would just have missed the Prince, having departed on his way to Minas Tirith to celebrate the King's twentieth anniversary of his coronation! What a pity - the castle guard would be at its lightest. And certain "friends" of Umbar stood ready to assist . . .

The cruel smile on the captain's face broadened. To catch the Prince away and unaware, and bring Dol Amroth to her knees - and no help from Minas Tirith to succor and rescue her! Ah, what a perfectly laid plan. If all went well, within the week he would be sitting in state in the royal throne room at the castle. If all went well . . .

[Hirilaelin]

The salt air, filled with warmth even at night, blew against Narwen's face as she sat in her favorite place, high in the rigging. She had talked to the captain, and he had been more than happy to take her aboard, saying he needed all the corsairs he could get. They were on their way to Dol Amroth in the north, disgused as merchant ships. He had assigned her to the ship "Bloodwake," captained by Tar Ghun, a captain of some repute, though Narwen had not served under him before.

Under the cold high stars, she was on the dawn watch, with rose just creeping into the eastern horizon to the right. She was excited, anticipating the action to come, and hoping to bring in a large profit. Kidnappings were always profitable. She smiled, a shark's smile, merciless and eager, and watched for the dawn.

[Everdawn]

Bebberyn approached his residence up on the high hill, to the east of Dol Amroth. There he was met by another guard at the gate.


"captain" the man bowed "everything is in order, do you still want me to order the towerguards to patrol the walls to the north?" Bebberyn stopped. "always! the sercurity of this city is no thing to take lightly soldier, this is when Dol Amroth is most vounrable, when the prince is away."

Bebberyn strode past the soldier and into the halls of his house. There he sat alone in the dining room, his plate untouched in front of him. He looked across to the empty seats, one at the head of the table, and two to the left. He sat deep in thought, those seats had once been taken up by The Everdawn and his brothers.

"she would know what is coming, now that none of us do not. Brothers, the heart of this place is lost now you are gone" he sighed and looked out his window which, high on the hill overlooked the sea.

[Sadbh]

"Do what?" Gillan asked in response to Rolan's question, but he shrugged and grinned in a bemused sort of way. Taking in his words of advice about hurrying, her eyes scanned intently over the beach. She had such a bad knack for misplacing things. As if to find an answer on the horizon, Gil turned her gaze to the ocean.

Gil shaded her eyes and looked out at the ocean, where once again she saw the ships from the south. She pulled uneasily at her dress where it had puckered ridiculously at her waist from her sprinting. Even if there were pirates in the ships, no one would believe her, and not that she would no anyway. "I think I left it somewhere... around a piece of driftwood." Gil cocked her head to the side and surveyed the smooth stretch of beach.

"I think it's over there." The girl dashed forward about twenty yards, Rolan following steadily behind her. "Oh bother!" The piece of driftwood that had seemd so familiar was ,it seemed, the wrong piece. Gillan turned to face Rolan, her gray eyes puzzled. "I thought I left it around here..." Her brother gave her an exasperated glance.

"Oh, wait." Gil trotted easily to a piece of wood only a few yards away, and there she found the dark red brocade satchel, which she gratefully snatched from the sand. "Thanks for coming down to the beach to help." Gillan offered her brother a quick smile. "I didn't tell Father because he'd absolutely destroy me if I told him, but it's the book of legends that he gave me four years ago, the one with the gold leaf on the cover." Rolan raised an expressive brow.

"Good thing you've found it." The siblings turned so that they were dashing back to the city whn Gillan started.

"Rolan, can you see those ships. What... type are they." Dark brows furrowed on Gillan's forhead as she looked aprehenesively towards the sea. She took her own stories too seriously, she chided herself.

[Orual]

Airan was getting restless. They were getting ready to dock, and then it would be time for the real action to begin.

She pulled her curly hair away from her face and looked out intently. All was in order; her shipmates were quiet, preparing the last details. Airan rolled down her sleeve to hide a scar, light on her dark arm. She didn't know for sure, but she doubted that a merchant would have such a mark. And a merchant was what she was supposed to be playing. She didn't know the whole plan, being a relatively new recruit and not entirely trusted with the details at the heart of the matter yet, but she knew her part. And she looked forward to it.

[Envinyatar]

Late afternoon moved toward evening. Shadows from the masts lengthened eastward along the decks of the ten vessels. They bore the green flag of Harondor, emblazoned with a golden-rayed sun, and the small white pennant atop it, indicating they were merchant ships.

They sailed quietly past the headland of Dol Amroth, and reached the entrance to the Cobas Havens. Evening drew on quickly, now, and the port at the northern tip of the headland was well in sight.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan tossed and turned in his small hollow by the creekbed. In the midst of his restless thrashings his left elbow thuded into a rock, numbing his hand and sending tingling sensations all throughout his arm. He smacked the hand against the ground a few times in a vain effort to quickly restore feeling and tried to settle back down into some sort of comfortable position.

He had been having a rather uncomfortable night. The fire was burning down and a variety of insects had been buzzing around his face and several larger creatures had been venturing closer to the fire than he would have liked. Moreover, he could not sleep. He had fallen alseep for what seemed like a second only to wake up from a disturbing series of dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the visions to flow through his sight again. Smoke, corse laughter. Fear. Pain. He tried to shake the images out of his head. My life has been one of constant strife, why should I dream of aught else? Mother had a belief in dreams but I tend to believe more in actions. Still, he could not sleep. With a start he sat up.

The land was speaking; or rather it was not. A piercing silence broken only by an occasional cricket hung heavily on the surrounding terrain. The earth could sense something that the man could not. He streched himself upon the ground, straining his ears for some pattern he could decipher. He stared hard into the darkness, and up into the stars. It was to no avail; he could not determine why all was still. Yet the sense of foreboding in his stomach was growing and he made a decision.

He rose wearily. Dousing the fire he automatically wrapped his cloak around him against the night breeze only to discover that there was none. Striding up to the road he gazed upward at the heavens. Daughter speak to me, my beloved guide me. I am lost. Turning his face again to the road he set off at a rapid pace to the South.

[ February 14, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan signaled his ships to fall in behind him as they sailed into port at Dol Amroth. The furled their sails and threw ropes to the waiting hands on the quay to tie off the lead ship as it glided near the landing. He had arranged for the other ships to drop anchor in the small bay, and for their ‘merchant’ captains a two or three men to row in to the quay. He did not want all his ships tied up, like trussed pigeons, should they be found to be other than they seem and an alarm sounded.

‘What brings you in this evening?’ asked the Harbormaster, eyeing the ships and calculating to himself how he might get a fine, fat ‘present’ if he smoothed the way for these obviously well off merchantmen.

‘We have heard there are new trading opportunities open since Aragorn has become King and there is peace in the land.’ spoke Yr Saldan to the officious little man. ‘We have come in haste, bearing gifts and merchandise from the South, hoping to have an audience with the Prince concerning trade relations between our countries.’ He jingled the heavy purse at his belt. The eyes of the little man lit up at the sound of clinking coins. ‘It would prove quite profitable to the one able to secure us a visit with the Prince to discuss these matters.’

The Harbormaster sighed. As luck would have it the Prince was gone out of the city, to see Aragorn in fact. ‘But, I can arrange a visit with you tomorrow evening, if you wish, with the Minister of Trade.’ He looked meaningfully at Yr Saldan’s purse. The captain fished out a small gold coin and slipped it to him with a wink and a thank you. ‘There’ll be another when you come to bring us to the audience tomorrow. We will await you on board.’

Khazdifir drew near and whispered in his ear. ‘Ah, yes! My First Mate tells me the men would appreciate the hospitality of one of your taverns this evening. Can you recommend one or two?’

The Harbormaster directed them to a number of establishments just north of the quay who catered to sailors, then bid them good night. He hurried off to see the Minister of Trade as fast as his fat little legs could carry him.

************************************

Once back on the ship, Yr Saladan called for the captains of the other ships to gather round. ‘I want you and several of your men to visit the taverns along the quay. No one is to get drunk or start any fights. This is strictly information gathering. Spread some money around. Buy some drinks. Loosen their tongues. I want to know how prepared this city is for a surprise attack. Have many of the guards left the city to travel with the Prince to Minas Anor? Are the ones who are left grown lazy with the new peace and can be easily overcome. Find out all you can for me, then come back and report late this night.

He looked out over the railing at the peaceful city. ‘We will make plans then, and when my party enters the city’s seat of government to speak with the Trade Minister tomorrow night, we will attack then.’

Khazdifir handed out small bags of coins to the sailors and captains going ashore. ‘Say little.’ he said to them. ‘Only what will get them talking, then listen closely to all they say.’

[Hirilaelin]

The dawn had come. Narwen was ashore, dressed in what would hopefully pass for merchant attire, and with a bag of jingling gold at her waist, ready to be emptied in the pursuit of knowledge. Specifically, knowledge reguarding the state of the tower guard.

The streets of Dol Amroth were clean and in good repair, with various shops, inns, and taverns lining the wide ways. The smell of salt was in the air, borne on the sea breeze. Many people were on the streets, going about their everyday business. Good. She could easily blend in. No one would remember her.

Taking a side turning, she came upon a likely looking inn. The sign hanging above the door read, "The King's Sword." Through the windows, she could glimpse the patrons inn, mostly sailors and merchants, but a sprinkling of locals and foriengers promised much information. Pushing open the heavy wooden door of the inn, banded by finely ornamented iron, she was greeted with a babble of talk.

Quickly locating a group of merchants at the bar, she walked over and addressed them in what she hoped was a cheerful manner. "Gentlemen! How do you do? Could I perhaps buy a round of drinks for you?" The men turned around, and one of stood and bowed. Narwen smiled inwardly. It had been a long time since she had ever been bowed to. He replied to her, "Thank you..." He paused, inquiring her name.

"Narwen," she replied. He moved out of the way. "Please, sit down. I am Fazhul, a merchant, and these are my friends." He indicated the other men with a wave of his hand. Several rings flashed on his fingers. She sat, and placed five gold coins on the counter for the drinks, which were promptly brought and distributed among the men.

Eventually, after the formalities, she managed to turn the conversation towards the city itself. "So," she asked in a casual manner, "what do you think of the city? Do you think is it well protected enough? I have heard rumors that much of the guards have been sent with the prince."

One of the men nodded. "Indeed. Only a handfull of guards are left, and they have grown lazy from the peace that the reign f King Aragorn has brought. If anyone did attack, the city would be very poorly defended." Narwen nodded, to encourge the man to say more, but he turned the conversation to other things. After a while, Narwen managed to excuse herself by saying that she had other business elsewhere in the city.

The sky was darkening, stars growing in the sky when she returned to the ship with the news. The attack would begin soon.

[Everdawn]

The morning had come, and Bebberyn High guard of Dol Amroth, on his horse Avanti came riding through the city. He noticed the convoy of new ships that were docked. "strange" he said to himself and kept riding.

Soon enough he came across the harbourmaster. "you!" he cried "harbour master! why was I not informed of such a large arrival of ships?" he said sternly.

"I..I.. sorry Captain, I diddnt think..." the harbourmaster stammered. "thats right you diddnt think!" Bebberyn was angry.
"they are only merchants Captain!." The harbourmaster said now frightened.

" it doesnt matter if they are fishing boats! something like this could be a serious breech of sercurity, now, i want every single ship that enters the ports of this city to be throughly checked and then i want my men informed, do you understand?" Bebberyn sat tall in the saddle of Avanti. "yes sir!" cried the master and hurried on his way.

" very strange.." thought Bebberyn to himself.

[Envinyatar]

It was drawing near evening. The sun setting behind a low lying bank of clouds threw a fiery light into the western sky. ‘Red sky at night, sailors’ delight.’ thought Khaz to himself, a crooked half smile creasing his face.

Yr Saldan had met earlier in the day with the captains of the other ships, seven of which had now pulled into dock, leaving three still at anchor in the waters of the bay.

The men were unloading merchandise in large crates from the decks of the ships and from the holds, stacking them on the pier in preparation for the sale of them to the good merchants of Dol Amroth. Large wagons with teams of draft horses had been sent down to the dock by the Minister of Trade to facilitate bringing a number of the crates to the palace grounds where the goods could be reviewed, and evaluated.

Yr Saldan sifted through the information his men had brought him. The city and especially the palace and harbor were not well defended. The three ships in the harbor waters would take care of the Dol Amroth defenders on board the city’s warships. Yr Saldan and seven crates of merchandise would go to the palace, along with four of the captains of the other ships to meet with the Minister. The remaining three captains and Khazdifir would supervise the seven ships now at dockside.

By the time they were done speaking, evening’s mantle had fallen over the city and the stars in the now clear sky twinkled coldly over the city. A chill wind from the harbor blew at their backs as the Harbormaster led the small group of merchants and their seven crates of goods to the palace.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Rolan, can you see those ships. What... type are they?" Rolan looked suspiciously at his sister.

"Why? They seem like any old merchant ship to me. They look like any other merchant ship we've seen on this vacation...don't they?" Now, Rolan was no expert when it came to ships, but there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary with the ships Gil had been pointing to.

"Just wondering..." Gil replied absent-mindedly.

"Gil...while we're down here, are you sure you have everything?" Rolan asked, a bit surprised that she had only left the book.

"Come now, Rolan! I'm not that forgetful, am I?" Gil smiled and surveyed the beach again.

"I wouldn't call you forgetful...but scatter-brained comes to mind!" Rolan joked, and recieved a playful punch in return.

"Let's go Gil, before they get too far ahead of us. Wouldn't want to get lost here...would we?" Rolan finished his sentence lamely, knowing he would definitely not mind getting stuck here.

[Merri]

Grumbling, Elvira took leave of her mother and made her way back to her bedchamber. It seemed that mother was always ordering her around . . . Why couldn't she be married off?

She began to daydream, her trunk lying on the floor, completely forgotten. Oh, how lovely it would be if someday some handsome prince came and rode her off into the sunset- then she wouldn't have to deal with her dratted family anymore.

Nonsense. She awoke herself from her daydreams. You know you love your family, and you know you'd rather die than let anything happen to them. So stop daydreaming and get packing. Where was Gillian?

"Gillian, what on Middle Earth am I going to do with you?" Elvira wondered aloud, to no one in particular, as she began packing her sister's trunk, too.

[ February 15, 2003: Message edited by: Merri ]

[Envinyatar]

It was not a long a long way to the palace, but it took some time, urging the horses up the winding path to the top of the rise, their wagons filled with the large crates. The Minister of Trade’s secretary, an officious, bobbing little man met them at the front gates and bade the guards admit them and their merchandise with all haste. The Minister was eager to greet his new southern contacts, and wished to show them every courtesy. The wagons were brought close to the palace front steps and the crates unloaded.

‘Be careful!’ urged Yr Saldan as the crates were stacked singly on the ground. ‘There is precious cargo within!’ the Minister, who had come to the top of the stairs to greet them, admonished his men to unload carefully. He did not want any of the goods to be damaged. His eyes glinted with pleasure at the size of the crates. This was indeed going to be an incredible coup on his part. He could not wait for the Prince to return to see how well he’d done.

Yr Saldan and the four captains ascended the steps to the palace. The guards had been dismissed for the night. There had been no need for them with the Prince gone and the five merchants posed no threat. Only two of them stood watch at the door to the throne room as was custom. The minister, his assistant, and the secretary led them into a small hall set up for the meeting. There was a large table placed in the middle of it for the negotiations, and smaller tables along the wall filled with drink and food, a small fire in the fireplace gave off a cheerful light. Several servants moved quietly among the group, seeing to the needs of the company.

The talked for a while, then ate and drank. No one noticed that the merchants only picked at their food, and drank sparingly of the wine offered. The Minister and his two assistants enjoyed the pleasures of the table and ate much of the delicacies provided, washing them down with copious wine.

Yr Saldan urged them to come outside with him and see the treasures they had brought for Dol Amroth. The Ministers eyes gleamed and, laughing he led the way to the crates himself. Yr Saldan gathered them near, and drew out his sword as if to pry open the wooden side of the first crate. He tapped three quick times on it and stepped back repeating the taps on the second crate, as his four captains drew their swords and tapped on the remaining crates. The minister and his assistants thought this an odd Southern custom and smiled at the merchants.

With a loud yell and a boom, the sides of each crate were flung down from within, and out rushed ten armed men from inside each. The overpowered the unarmed Minister and his secretaries and would have killed them save the Yr Saldan thought they might prove useful later, and had them locked in one of the small windowless rooms on the second floor. The two guards at the door to the throne room fought bravely, but they too soon met their end.
‘Secure the gates and the grounds, he yelled to two of the captains. They and twenty of the men fanned out on the grounds and covered any entrances leading to the palace. The other fifty men secured the entrances to the palace itself, and the second floor.

Yr Saldan took one of the small branches destined for the fireplace and lit it. He had spied the stairs to the top of the observation tower and now ran up them quickly with his burning brand. He walked out onto the parapet along the top walk of the tower and leaned over the edge facing the harbor and the market place. Waving the burning brand in a large arc, he grinned, imagining the men bursting from their crates, to rampage through the heart of the city, bringing it to its knees, and under his control, at last.

*******************************************

The captains of the three ships anchored out in the harbor saw the signal blazing bright in the sky. They hauled up their anchors and glided quickly near the guard ships of the prince. Dol Amroth’s navy was manned by few sailors and the most of these had already gone below to sleep or play cards and drink.

Yr Saldan’s ships fired their small catapults, filled with burning pitch toward the furled sails, catching them and the main masts on fire. Then, as the sailors streamed upstairs, hearing the snap and crackle of the flames as they whooshed heavenward, the corsairs threw grappling hooks across the other ship’s railings and pulling them close, boarded them. The hacked and slashed their way to the helm of each ship, and took control. The dead bodies of the sailors were dumped into the harbor, and the waters ran red with the spilled blood.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Walking along the corridor with Linde, Eäris saw the doorway to the room of Morwen, his wife's maid, open.
"Morwen!" he called in.
"Yes Sir?" she said, appearing at the door.
"Do you know where my oldest daughter is?"
"No, Sir."
"Very well" he said dismissively.

"Very well" he finished dismissively, turning away again and continuing down the corridor.

Upon reaching Asta's bedchamber he discovered she had returned. Unfortunately he also discovered his son-in-law.
"Father" said Asta warmly. "I had wondered where you and Linde were." Hastening over, she took the baby and bustled into her dressing chamber.

Eäris was left with Foronîl.
"Eäris" said Foronîl with an oily, fake smile. "How are preperations for the great departure? going. I suppose you are running around organising everything. Here in Dol Amroth we find it easier to let servants do that"
"Indeed?" answered Eäris shortly. "How interesting.
"Now, Eäris, Father, I know you dislike me, but do you not think we should attempt to rectify that?"
"If you would excuse me, I must find Gilian. Unless you would rather I sent a servant?"
"No indeed. Continue your own way. I find it rather...sweet. Look for the little tomboy by all means. It would be a tragedy if something happened to her. " answered Foronîl. "I look forward to our next conversation though, with great anticipation."
As Eäris left Foronîl smirked.

Talking to Foronîl left Eäris with a bad taste in his mouth. With a face like thunder he strode on his way, cursing at any servant unlucky enough to meet him. He exited the inn and made once more for the beach rode. He had only been going for a minute or two when he saw a figure running towards him.

"Daddy!" said Gilian, and ran into his arms.
"I hope you are back from the beach for good this time?" he asked her with a smile. He loved his tomboy anyway.
"Yes. And I have left nothing behind. I think!"
"Have you finished packing?"
"No. But Papa there were some ships." she looked doubtful, unsure whether to risk his laughter at her.
"Yes?"
"I think they might be...pirates" she said.
"Well, if they are, I'll fight them for you!" answered Eäris with a fierce face.
"You are funny Papa!"
"I was once a great soldier, young lady."
"Once..." she answered with a grin.
"Cheeky girl! Now finish your packing, unless you wish to face your mother angry."
"Yes Papa" Gilian said, and ran away again.

"Where's Rolan?" called Eäris after her, but she didn't hear.
"Here, father" answered Rolan himself, following slightly more sedately.
"Come, we must be ready to be off soon." Eäris beckoned to his son. "Now, have you been telling your sister pirate stories?"
"No, she's been telling me."
"Well you better be off after her, or she might be kidnapped!" said Eäris with a smile. "These old legs can't keep up with you anymore.

[ February 20, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Hirilaelin]

The sun dipped low in the sky as evening drew near. Narwen stood by then crates containing valuable "merchandise," awaiting the signal from Yr Saldin to attack.

She looked around, surveying the area for the coming battle. People milled about, families, mothers with children. She frowned, hoping that the men would have enough sense in the heat of battle to remember their instructions. "Kill as little as possible, but if anyone resists, they will be dispatched. The women and children should be herded into the buildings, do not let them escape. Also, keep to your business. There will be time for revels later."

She turned to Khazdifir, standing nearby, and said, "When will he signal? The time creeps on." The other corsair looked up to the tower on the high hill, silhouetted against the burnished sky. "Soon," he replied. They stood in the market square, Narwen running her hands up and down her polished quarterstaff. Suddenly, a red light flared from the tower, the signal for attack.

Khazdifir yelled, and the corsairs burst from the crates, cutlasses tucked into their sashes with cries. As the men swarmed the marketplace, Narwen yelled, and dashed forward, and Khazdifir ran the other way. Suddenly, a burly merchant appeared in front of her, sword naked in his hand. He charged her, the blade outstretched, but she sidestepped him.

Turning on her, his sword flashed up then down, almost slipping past her whirling staff. His blade sliced against the staff, but it merely glanced off the hardened wood. Bringing her staff around to face the tip towards him, she drove low, ducking to avoid the deadly metal as it clove the air above her head. Squarely contacting his midriff, it bowled him over onto his back, winded. Whipping out a small knife from her boot, Narwen threw it straight into his chest, killing the man.

Retrieving her knife, she turned to see how the battle went. The men were wreaking havoc among the few guards and civilians. Narwen was glad to see however, that they remembered the instructions. Khazdifir was driving a small force in the opposite direction, deeper into the city. Narwen heard a scream. One of the corsairs was down, felled by a guard. But he fell seconds later, decapitated by the sweep of a saber blade.

Almost an hour later, the city was secured. Many of the men were dead, having chosen to resist. The few guards were all dead, taken by surprise. The women and children had been captured and secured, according to instructions. In the west, the sun was setting, turning the sky the color of blood. Minimal casualties had been taken, with a loss of only four corsairs. The city was theirs.

[ February 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Nurumaiel]

Lhingril smiled to himself as he heard the King Elessar calling him and hurried to obey. "Yes, my Lord?" he said, giving a bow. "What do you wish of me?"

"The Prince of Dol Amroth will be arriving soon," replied Aragorn. "Everything seems to be ready, but I need your help for some last minute arrangements."

"Of course, my Lord," said Lhingril. "However, perhaps it would be better to discuss it over a drink. I shall get some wine." He left the hall.

The King sat rather impatiently, waiting for his advisor's return. He hadn't slept well; something had been bothering him. He felt as though some danger was drawing ever closer. I pray that my family may be safe, he thought.

There was the sound of a closing door, and Aragorn looked up to see Lhingril with a goblet in his hand. "Some wine, my Lord," he said smoothly, sitting down. "Now what did you wish to discuss with me? Last minute preparations, I believe it was?"

"Yes," said Aragorn, taking a sip of his wine. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, my Lord," said Lhingril, sitting back and looking about him. "I think everything is done wonderfully, but the banquet hall… it seems as though it wasn't cleaned properly, and some other things that are of great importance, if you are planning to have a feast."

Aragorn stood up. "I'll take care of it at once," he said, but with weariness in his voice.

"No, no! My Lord!" Lhingril pushed him back down. "Please, allow me to take care of it. I can see you are weary. You should get some sleep while you can…"

Aragorn suddenly felt drowsy, looking into his advisor's eyes. And he was tired. All those hours in the night had dragged on, instead of slipping carelessly by while sleep took prisoner its victim. And perhaps it was best to sleep before the Prince arrived. He sank back down into his chair. But no, something wasn't right. He couldn't sleep now. Who were those men entering the hall, coming towards him? He struggled desperately to stay awake, but darkness took him.

Lhingril gestured to the men. "Take him away, quickly!" he said. "Do not let anyone see you! The King must not be rescued." He turned to the door. "I must go to the Queen and detain her. I overheard her telling her husband she would be joining him shortly. Now, go, quickly!" He himself half ran to the door to find the Queen. She must not know.

[Everdawn]

Bebberyn had heard the commotion and immediatly mounted his horse Avanti to ride down to the town, he knew something was very wrong. At once the scene met him, fires burning, and corsairs everywhere.

At once Bebberyn rode into the battle, drawing his sword slew two corsairs. Then another and another.
"soldiers!" he yelled at the men who were still struggliing to keep their places.hold strong! regroup!" he yelled rallying his men together. But it was no use. There were to many.

Already Bebberyn's total reached beyond 20. "this is what happens when ships arent checked!" Bebebryn yelled. "merchants! merchant corsairs!" He brought his blade down again on another corsair.

He was withdrawing his sword from the chest of another when he was set apon by three. Bebberyn ducked the blow from one and stabbed two, but not before the third could slash him across the chest. Bebberyn slayed the next corsair before turning to another of his men. "Captain" the guard said "are you alright." but he was then run through the back with an enemy daggar. "we cant hold them!" Bebberyn yelled to his men.

Bebberyn made the hardest choice he ever had to make as High Guard. He would leave the city, it was Dol Amroth's only chance. He had to raise the alarm in Minas Tirith.
Bebberyn somehow managed to pickup his sword and go to Avanti, who had stood by. Leaning against the horse's snow coat, Bebberyn took a moment to survey his chest, now among the royal blue, stained the crimson of blood.

He heaved himself up onto Avanti and through the city streets he rode away from the battle and onto the open road.

[Envinyatar]

It was late in the afternoon when the ships of Imrahil, son of Adrahil, the Lord of Dol Amroth sailed into port at Harlond just south of Minas Tirith. Elphir, his son and heir apparent, was with him, as the great ships bearing the blue banners of the House of the Prince of Dol Amroth emblazoned with the Ship and the Silver Swan pulled into dock along the Rammas Echor.

Aragorn, too busy with last minute details, had sent a small delegation to meet the arriving ships. The Prince and his men disembarked and formal greetings and welcome were exchanged. After a short time of formalities, Imrahil and his retinue were taken to the top tier of the White City where dwelt the King.

It had been a long while since Amrahil had seen Aragorn his old friend, now known as King Elessar. The business of securing the country had taken precedence over friendship and both men had found themselves occupied with the governing of their own regions. It was with great joy that Imrahil had received the invitation to Elessar’s celebration, and he brought his son to be presented to the King.

As the reached the seventh tier of the city, he could not help but notice that there was a frantic air about it. And not the sort of excitement of last minute preparations for a big celebration, but a state of panic that seemed to be escalating as he watched the King’s guards move quickly through the area as if searching for something.

One of the captains of the guard approached the official who had escorted the Prince to the upper tier, and pulled him aside for a whispered conference. There was a grave look on the man’s face as he spoke. The official’s face turned very pale, and Imrahil heard him gasp at one point.

Prince Imrahil motioned his troops closer to him and approached the captain and the now grief stricken official. ‘What has happened?’ he asked. ‘How may we help?’

So taken aback by the news was the official that he could not speak, but only shook his head. The captain stepped forward and bowed his head to Imrahil awaiting permission to speak. ‘What is it, Captain? Tell me.’ He was not prepared to hear the words which fell into the expectant silence between the.

‘It is the King, Lord Imrahil. He is missing, and I fear that something foul may have happened to him.’

[doug*platypus]

In the Seventh Tier of the City of Gondor

Minas Tirith was, almost literally, a hive of activity. Preparations for this celebration had started weeks ago, though you wouldn't know it by the way that merchants were running around making last minute arrangements. Even up in the Citadel, usually a place of calm repose, the atmosphere was frantic. The Citadel Guard were, by and large, the only ones immune to this holiday fever.

"See how they all buzz about!" remarked the captain to a guard standing next to him on the wall.

"The noise from the first circle is incredible!" remarked the other. "The last time there was this much excitement was when the King first returned. You would have been wearing diapers then, Beleg!"

"Not quite," the younger knight replied, "but you would have had more of your teeth still, you old badger! What a time for Captain Forweg to be on holiday in Pinnath Gelin. Some folk have all the luck."

Beleg had been left in command of the Citadel Guard at the worst possible time. All this activity made him anxious. It was much too easy for a dissident to cause mischief with so many people around. Although Gondor was not at open war at that very moment, it was still surrounded by some fairly powerful enemies.

Beleg turned away from the hustle and bustle, and gazed out from the walls. From where they stood on the parapet, the two guards could clearly see the docks at the Harlond. Not long before, the great ships bearing the blue banners of the Prince of Dol Amroth had sailed into port. The banner of the prince was a welcome sight to Beleg. Imrahil of Dol Amroth was accounted one of the most valiant men of the age, and Beleg was also looking forward to seeing his heir, Elphir.

Before receiving a commission to the Guard, Beleg had served as a soldier. To see the banner of the Silver Swan from across the battlefield, leading the charge of the cavalry of Dol Amroth, was a glorious experience. Beleg and the foot soldiers he had fought with had been saved several times by Imrahil and his Swan Knights.

Just then, Beleg's attention was called away from the sight. A messenger was running at great pace across the courtyard, and calling for him to come down.

"What is it?" Beleg asked when the messenger had halted before him, panting.

"A message from the Royal Bodyguard. His Majesty the King is missing!"

"Missing?!" Beleg could not believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that - he cannot be found anywhere. The Captain of the Royal Bodyguard wants the entire city on alert, but none of the people are to know."

"Oh, this is just great!" Beleg complained to the other guard, who had come down to see what was going on. "Those clowns in the Bodyguard have really done it this time! What about the Lady Arwen? Do they at least know where she is?!"

"She is in her chambers," answered the messenger, "under heavy guard. I must go to the stables and send messages out. You will tell the Prince for me? My thanks!"

The messenger sprinted off in the direction of the stables. Beleg looked back over his shoulder, to where Prince Imrahil and his entourage had now entered the Seventh Circle. Beleg cursed the cowardly messenger, then steeled himself and walked over towards Imrahil. But he found it more than pride would let him do. To tell the Prince of Dol Amroth that they had somehow misplaced the most important man in Gondor! Beleg spotted one of King Elessar's delegates and drew him aside. The man's face grew pale, and he gasped as Beleg told him the shocking news.

Imrahil and his men came over, and Beleg was forced to relay the bad news himself. The King's delegate seemed almost stricken with grief - very helpful indeed! Beleg stepped forward and bowed his head to Imrahil, awaiting permission to speak.

"What is it, Captain?" the Prince asked, "Tell me."

"It is the King, Lord Imrahil. He is missing, and I fear that something foul may have happened to him!"

[Schmendrick]

It was a strange evening: the setting sun had painted the sky fierce red and the woods were deadly silent. It was as before some great storm and yet no clouds could be seen in the sky. “There is something wrong now”, Durmán thought “I’ve never seen anything like this in my whole life.”


He had left the city in the afternoon, only some hours before the attack of the corsairs. When he had gone to bid her mother farewell, he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary and yet he had felt strangely concerned. His mother, too, was on a strange mood. When Durmán had come to see her, she had run to him, her cheeks wet from tears; like a little girl. She had had a terrible nightmare last night: fires and screaming children, dark men everywhere. Durmán had tried to calm her and for a short while he had even thought about staying some more days in the city. But finally he had decided to go on with his plan. After all, her mother had nightmares every other night; it wasn’t that unusual.


But now he started to regret his decision. Something was wrong, he was certain of it now. Should he turn back? Just then he heard the clattering of hooves drawing near. Someone was coming and on a terrible speed.

[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Schmendrick ]

[Merri]

Elvira paused in the midst of her packing. Something was happening down in the city, she could feel it. As soon as she finished packing, she ran down the hallways to find her parents.

"Father! Mother! Let's go, now! Something's happening," She cried frantically, looking in all the rooms for them. "Where's Gillian? Gil! We'd better leave soon!"

[Maegaladiel]

Lhingril hurried through the castle halls to find the Queen. She must not hear of King Elessar's 'mysterious' dissapearance until he was safely out of the castle and out of his way.

Turning a corner, he nearly ran into her as she walked towards him. Quickly he bowed, muttering apologies.

"It is quite all right, Advisor Lhingril," Her Majesty's voice was fluid and silvery, edged with the merest hint of humor. "The Prince's upcoming arrival has caused all of us to become somewhat hurried." She smiled. By the Valar,thought Lhingril, Her face grows more radiant with every passing moment.

"If you will excuse me," she began, "I must seek my husband." These words shook Lhingril out of his trance.

"Majesty", he began hurriedly, bowing low, "I have been instructed by His Majesty to deliver this message to you." He produced a small parchment bearing the Royal Seal from somewhere in his robes. He had forged it himself in King Aragorn's handwriting only hours before. Smiling politely, Queen Arwen accepted the message and broke open the seal.

Lhingril watched her fair eyes scan the contents of the page, saw her brow crease ever so slightly as she read.

He did not need to ask what the message said; he had wrote it himself and had practcally memorized its contents. Still, he acted suprised as Her Majesty informed him that her husband wished for her to oversee the arrangements for the Prince's arrival, as Aragorn was riding out to meet him at that very moment.

"Odd," Arwen mused, "That he would leave us now, he had told me earier that he wished to ask my counsel before he left." Lhingril gave a dazzling crocodile smile.

"Well, Highness," he said, "We must not question the wisdom of his magesty. He is obviously unworried by the Prince's arrival; in fact, I suppose the whole business has bored him to sleep, if not to death!" He laughed at his own dark in-joke.

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan was in the process of setting up a ruling cadre for the city. Six of his captains he sent back to their boats with their crews. Three of them were to patrol the entrance to the small bay and two were to proceed to the waters just off the Bay of Belfalas to engage any ships making their way toward Dol Amroth. The third a trim, fast little cutter with a stripped down number of crew members was making it’s way back to Umbra to recruit more ships and men. Yr Saldan meant to place Belfalas in the tight fist of his rule.

Khaz was instructed to begin the roundup of any who opposed the new government. Most would be killed, but any who appeared to be worth something as a bargaining chip in any negotiations with the powers outside Belfalas should be imprisoned until needed. Taking twenty men, Khaz split them into two groups, and they began to make the rounds of the beleaguered city. A large warehouse was secured on the waterfront, and the prisoners were thrown in there to wait until they were needed.

The Kestrel also sent out several men with bags of gold to the dicier taverns along the quay. Anyone who wished to sign on as Yr Saldan’s man was promptly given a gold coin and assigned to a crew. There were many in this area of the city who looked forward to bleeding the good citizens of Dol Amroth of their wealth and their lifeblood if necessary.

[Sapphire_Flame]

Barahil swept through the Citadel almost silently, watching all the hurry in an uninterested manner. Some of the people were still unaware of their King's disappearance. "That is as well," he thought. "We don't want panic just yet." He smiled darkly to himself.

He passed Lhingril as he passed through one hall; the mage seemed to have been speaking to the Lady Arwen. Barahil's silver-blue eyes met with Lhingril's dark ones as they strode past each other. The message was conveyed in that glance: the message was delivered, and the Lady would be unaware of her husband's sudden disappearance. "For now at least," the mage's voice came to the noble's mind. "Though how long that will remain has yet to be seen."

"For some time, I think," Barahil replied curtly. "You should have more faith in your associates." The mage arched one eyebrow, as though doubting Barahil's words, then continued on his way. Barahil continued up the corridor, pausing for a moment to bow to the Lady Arwen as she read the piece of parchment in her hand. Lovely, as always; though now her fine features were slightly creased with worry.

Barahil stopped before her. "Does something trouble you, Lady?" he asked, with every pretense of concern.

She looked up at him. "No, nothing," she said, but her voice betrayed her; the tinge of worry and suspicion was easily detected. "This message was just unlooked for, that is all." She made a noble effort to smile. "Aragorn doesn't usually do things so suddenly, without telling me."

"I'm sure it is nothing to be concerned about," Barahil said reassuringly. He bowed to her again. "I bid you good day, Lady." He swept off up the corridor, the dark smile touching the corners of his mouth again.

[Maegaladiel]

Lhingril watched as Brahil spoke to Her Majesty. He was lucky to have the noble on his side, but sometimes he wished he could set one of his pet spiders on him. But unfortunately for Lhingril, that was not to be. Not yet, anyways. He needed the traitor (and he used the word in the best way possible) to help him take over Gondor. In return, he had promised him the usual reward: money, power, women, that sort of thing.

Now Lhingril needed to make sure all was going according to plan. He had given some of his asinine henchmen a transporting spell that would take them and 'king' Aragorn to the mage's own castle, but who knew whether the oafs performed it correctly.

He slunk into his chamber, and, uttering an incantation, opened a secret passageway. It was empty, save a note held closed by a spider brooch. That was the signal. Grinning madly, Lhingril opened the letter.

"The spider has captured the fly", it read. This was the signal he had waited for. Well. Those idiots HAD got their brains straight long enough to speak a few lines.

Smiling darkly, he left his chambers to find his allies.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

‘Neither shall I miss this smell’ Dol Amroth habitually smelt of a combination of salt and the exotic goods traded in the port. Eäris sniffed the air now. ‘That is odd’ he pondered. There is a smell of burning in the air. It almost smells like…’ he searched his mind for the memory. ‘It smells today like battle!’ he realised. The nobleman smiled at his own folly. Battle, indeed! Perhaps he was becoming, as his children thought, an old man living off war memories. Yes, there were things he missed of that time- the camaraderie, the feeling of unity, his friends of course…and of course the excitement. But on balance, his life was better now. Peace was best for the land, for the people, and for Eäris himself. Still, he fingered the hilt of his sword. ‘Maybe one day you will find further usage…’ he thought to himself.

Smiling and shaking his head at himself, Eäris continued for what he sincerely hoped was the last time back to his lodgings. He reached the gateway. Strangely he couldn’t see Gil or Rolan. He entered the house, a strange sense of unease creeping up his spine. Once again he placed his hand on his sword.
"Father! Mother! Let's go, now! Something's happening" Eäris heard Elvira. He followed her voice, and found her standing in one of the corridors. Astarielle hastened from one of the doorways.
“Come” said Eäris proudly, taking his daughters hand. “I believe it is time to go”

[ February 20, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

“Gilian! Rolan!” called Eäris hurrying to the courtyard. The two did not appear.
Eäris could feel panic bubbling up inside himself, but clamped it down. He had to be strong for his wife and children. Mentally and physically he drew himself up.

The sense of unease, of tension had grown in the air. Eäris strode to the gate, hand on sword. The streets, as he gazed around, looked unnaturally calm, though they were on the outskirts of the city. Somehow it added to the apprehension.
“Papa” said Elvira, coming up behind him “Where are they?”
“They were coming here. They should be here now” said Eäris unhappily. “I told Gil to run on, to pack her things” he added, almost to himself. “I should have had her walk with me.”
A faint sound came from down the city road. Eäris felt sick 'That sounded like scream' he thought. All at once he felt like he was back in the days when danger lurked all around, the days of the shadow...
"Get in the coach, Astarielle, Elvira" he ordered without glancing back to see if he was obeyed. Eäris had the feeling that once again he had to protect everything he held dear by fighting. He strode to the gate, drawing his sword.

For a while he stood there, until he felt silly. ‘Just an old man, reliving war games’ he thought and began to turn. He saw he’d been joined by his coachman and a number of the male servants. Elvira was also still standing there. He was about to tell her to go, but was distracted by a shout. "Corsairs!"
‘Corsairs!’ thought Eäris in disbelief.
The filthy looking man leading the band pointed when he saw them, and said something to the woman beside him. She laughed.

The Corsairs had begun to run, yelling and screaming as they came. Eäris felt panic, he found he could not remember what to do in a battle, he wanted to…he knew not what. Run, hide…something. His breath was coming in short gasps. He heard a scream from the coach behind him, and felt the heavy weight of his sword in his hand. Unbidden, a memory came to him. As if it had happened but a few days ago he remembered fighting and killing in battle, following Lord Faramir. ‘Now I must lead’ he thought, and I must be worthy of my commander. His face set. ‘I must protect my family.’
He took up the stance of battle. He turned to check that all the men behind him were armed.
“Corsairs fight dirty” he told them “Kill and wound all you can. Show no mercy. May Eru protect us.”

The leading Corsair had reached him. He pulled out a knife and lunged. Eäris cut off his arm, then slashed his throat. As always the scent of death sickened him, but he had no time to consider it, for he was surrounded by three now. One stabbed his leg with a short sword. Eäris stabbed him in the heart. The other two began to bear him down, working together. The coachman cut one down from behind, Eäris dispatched the other. There was no time for thanks as the fray continued.

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Manardariel]

Horrified, Morwen watched, listened. Corsair! An attak! Her master was out there, fighting them, while they were huddled in their carriage, trying to be as silent, fighting the impulse to run, scream, or just dissapear. The attak had come suddenly, unexpected, with no warning. And the worst: Gil and Rolen were still in the city, trapped in a surely deadly prison. Carresing Narya to calm her, Morwen strained her ears. Battle. She couldn´t make out deliberate voices, only mixed battle cris, anguisdhed screams and, worst of all, the silent coughing of the dead. Swords clanged against each other, speers flying through the air with a deadly "zwish", she heard swords banging on shields, giving a sickening sound. Was there hope for them? Could they ever escape these monsters from the sea?

"Oh Narya," she wispered, forcing down her tears. "Where will all this end?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Gil!? GIL!" Rolan called for his sister, who had not been in her room or anywhere else in the family's lodging, for that matter. Looking through the rooms one more time, Rolan was distracted by the noises outside. Shouts, mostly the shouts of children and women, but also those of older men. What was going on outside?

Running through the entrance of the building, he stopped when he saw the chaos outside. People were running from...who were those men? Someone shouted out the word 'Corsair' before continuing to run down the road ahead. Corsairs! Father had told stories about them! Where was Gillian?

"Rolan!" Rolan heard his name called above the sound of terror. Gil stood in the middle of the road, looking frantically left and right.

"Gil! There you are! Where were you?" Rolan rushed to his sister, bumping into a rushing merchant and then a small boy. When he finally got to Gil, he swept her up in a hug.

"Rolan! I was packing and I heard screams and-" Gil was explaining before Rolan hushed her.

"Gil, you were right! The ships...they weren't merchant ships! It's the Corsairs! You remember, right? Father told us the story a while back. We have to go, now!" Rolan talked quickly, hoping Gil could understand everything he said.

Just as the two were about to go find their family, a large hand grabbed Rolan's shoulder. Before he could see what was going on, everything went dark. There was a sack over his head! Rolan struggled as someone tied his hands behind his back.

"Gil? Gil are you still there?" Rolan wondered if his voice could even be heard.

"Stop squirming, boy!" A gruff, deep voice sounded behind him. "The girl is right here! Now shut up!"

Rolan went to move again, but his hands were tied tight. Then, large hands grasped his shoulder and pushed him in one direction or the other. What about Gil? They had to get out of here and get to their family!

[Sadbh]

Gillan felt her breath knocked from her. A strong hand clapped onto her arm and shook her. In the second that the sick feeling overtook her senses, she was shrouded in darkness. When her head had stopped spinning she felt the coarse weave of burlap against her cheek. What had happened... Now she remembered. She felt a rough arm hoist her over a shoulder. Corsairs, Rolan had said! They had been in the ships from the harbor. "Rolan!" She paniced as she felt a rope wound round her neck, at her elbows, and around her knees. With a kick towards her captor she felt the hemp rope press through the sack against her neck.

The man who had slung her over his shoulder gave a sadistic grunt. "Old corsair rope trick. Move your legs, choke yourself." His heavily accented voice was mirthless, filled with disgust. Gil trembled with fright. Another hateful comment followed the first. "'Don't suppose you're going to be very brave about this, girl." She heard Rolan give a muffled comment but she could not make out his words. Still, she was thankful for the knowledge of his saftey.

A jolting movement sent a shoulder jabbing into her ribs. The corsairs started running, parlying words in their own rolling speach. With each jogging step, Gil felt another jab in her side and another strangulation of her throat. Trying to hold her head above the back and greasy braid of the corsair to avoid the smothering of her calls she yelled for help.

"Halt!" The corsair yelled as Gil felt herself unshouldered and dropped onto the ground from several feet. "Keep quiet!." Gil shrieked against her will when she recieved a stinging slap through the cloth. When she was again draped painfully over the familiar should of the corsair, she had neither the heart, hope or voice to continue. The ropes tightened around her throat at every movement, and her throat was already too soar to yell.

[ February 20, 2003: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

[Hirilaelin]

Narwen was on her way back to Umbra, on order of Yr Saldin. Her duty was to recruit more men and ships to help secure Dol Amroth. The sleek little cutter flew through the waves, with only the barest of crew, as speed was their highest priority. They were five days out from Dol Amroth, and nearing their destination at last.

With the sun almost high overhead, and the waves slapping at the sides of the ship as it skimmed the over the water, they sailed on.

* * * * * * * * * *

They had arrived. Briskly disembarking, the crew set out into the streets of Umbra, searching for men and ships. Everyone carried a small bag of gold, which might help in persuading men to their cause.

The crew combed the taverns and inns, while a few searched along the docks. Narwen herself searched for captains willing to sail. They had to hurry though, before word got to The White City of the attack. They had to have more men.

* * * * * * * * * *

The crew met back at the docks as evening was drawing near. They had manages to recruit about fifty more men, and Narwen had convinced eight captains to "lend" their services, and ships. She had the cutter to captain. Arranging the men on the docks, she assigned them to different ships. They were to sail right away. If they did, they could be back in Dol Amroth in little more than four days. With the sun sinking in the sky behind them, they lifted anchor.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three days out, they sighted a ship. Pulling out a telescope, Narwen inspected the sail and flag. Gondorian, probably a merchant ship, bearing arms and gold for Aragorn. Ordering her ship to move in and intercept, she signaled to the other captains to do the same. The three ships pulled into a tight formation, and closed in on the slow, heavy merchant ship, with their flags pulled down, so that the corsair sign was not visible. They would capture her, and sail her back to Dol Amroth, an additional prize. Within moments, the three ships were level with their prey. Narwen ordered the pilot to pull her ship along the other. She shouted up to the captain on deck. "Aye! Where do you be going friend?" The man looked down, suspicion written across his features. "We're bound to the capital, bearing gold and arms for the King. Who may you be, that you fly no flag?"

Narwen stalled for time, as men from the other ships swam to the merchant, and boarded her. They would be among the unsuspecting crew in moments. "Simple traders." The man nodded, but he was not yet ready to accept the explanation. He said, "The other ships look enough like merchants, but your doesn't. What, and who are you?"

She had a story. "We are the scout ship. Don't you have one?"

"Scout ship?" His voice was doubtful.

"Indeed. To sail ahead and make sure that the sea is clear. It is dangerous after all, with corsairs and pirates sailing." The man nodded again. Just then, she heard a cry from the ship. He heard it also, and his eyes suddenly bulged, her deception revealed. He roared to the pilot hard to port, but grappling hooks were thrown. In moments, the deck of the ship was swarming with corsairs. Climbing nimbly up one of the ropes, a knife in her teeth, and two short staves in her belt, she reached the deck, where she was met with a sailor, bearing a club in one hand, and a knife in another. She avoided him, knowing she must get to the captain, and secure his surrender. Or, at least what was her kind of surrender. Death.

Dashing along the deck, which was covered with the bodies of sailors, and a few corsairs, she found what she assumed was the captain's cabin. No though. He would be at the wheel, trying to get the ship away. Running to the wheel, she found her assumption was correct. In the narrow position by the wheel, he was admirably defending himself. Even as she watched, he felled a man wielding a long knife. As she came forward, he smiled at her. "So," he called, "you were right. The seas are dangerous, with corsairs and pirates sailing them. It's a good thing that you had a scout." He laughed. "But come. Let us not parley words. Cross swords with me, and we will see who will win the ship."

"Indeed," Narwen smiled grimly. "We will see who wins the ship. But even if I fall, I believe that we will win it yet."

"We will see." With the agile grace of a seasoned fighter, he sprang at her, moving fast. Ducking a swipe, she attempted to block it with one of her short staves. But, he slid the blade around, and brought its point to slice along her right arm. Feeling muscle sever, Narwen dodged to the side, and backed away warily. He was very good. She flexed the arm. It was still mobile, though it stung fiercely. He did not allow her a moment's reprieve though, and flashed towards her again. Instead of facing him head on though, she used her old trick, and dodged again, coming up behind him, to kick her feet around under him, bringing him down.

Even as he fell though, his arm swept out, catching her as well. Springing up, he caught her with a blow to her face as she was on her knees. She fell heavily to the deck, he kicked her onto her back. But as he prepared to finish it, she brought her leg up, kicking hard and up. He swayed backwards, doubled over in pain. She regained the knife he had relieved her of, and came towards him. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it into his neck, and he toppled backwards, falling over the rail, and onto the sea with a splash.

Panting, she turned to see another man felled by a corsair. Regaining her breath, she picked up her other weapons. But, the battle was over. The ship was taken, and with few casualties. Apparently, the ship, while large, had been undermanned. After making sure that they really were in control, she surveyed the plunder. Gold in plenty, and arms. This was a prize catch indeed.

* * * * * * * * * *

A few days later, they arrived at Dol Amroth, nine ships, and many men wealthier, not to mention the plunder of the Gondorian merchant. The city was well under Yr Saldin's control, his rule already solidified. The plan was ready to proceed.

* * * * * * * * * *

OOC: Wow, sorry that this is so long. I just went a little crazy with my capture scene. In the future, I'll try to trim it down. Sorry again!

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[ February 22, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Merri]

Elvira stood by her father, hot anger and confusion rushing through her. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to run at the corsairs and fight. But she had to be brave, at least for her mother's sake. And for her father's sake. She couldn't have them worrying about her- at this point, finding her siblings was much more important.

What could the corsairs want with her siblings? They were too young to be of any use to them. But King Aragorn . . .

Elvira closed her eyes and remembered the ceremony where she had first seen the king. How majestic and magical he had looked, like something out of the fairy tales Mother used to tell her when she was young.

And King Aragorn? What would happen to him, if the corsairs were taking over the city?

She tugged on her father's sleeve. "Papa," She whispered in his ear. "What about King Aragorn?"

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan was pleased with the men and ships that Captain Narwen had acquired for the assault on Belfalas. His glittering eye viewed the map of the region, and with his roughened finger he traced an ever widening circle around the city of Dol Amroth. The city had fallen easily, a fat goose caught, plucked, and done up for dinner. Now his palate craved the other courses to the feast.

Tarnost to the north and Linhir to the east, would make the triangle with Dol Amroth complete. His finger moved across the surface of the map, along the boundaries of the Prince’s realm. He would secure the headlands just south of the Hills of Tarnost, too, with patrol ships. Then Dor-en-Ernil would be his.

He called for Captain Narwen to be shown into him. ‘That was well done, my friend.’ he said, pouring them each a goblet of rich red wine from the Prince’s store. ‘The men and ships you brought will be well used in the next few days. But that merchant ship – now that was a fine morsel to pluck from the sea!’ He looked appraisingly at the captain.

‘I have a job for you if you’ll consider it. One that will bring you some measure of power and wealth if you do as well with it as you did on your last assignment.’ Captain Narwen looked at him, her face a careful blank. She would hear him out first, and then decide. He saw that in her. ‘Good!’ he thought to himself. ‘She’s a careful thinker. She’ll stand me in good stead if I keep an eye on her.’

Pouring them each another round of wine, he continued. ‘I’ll need someone I can depend on to be in charge of the lower part of the city – especially the waters of the small bay and the wharf here. We have secured a large warehouse there where we will be placing prisoners we think ‘useful’ to our negotiations later on. Sweeps of the city in that area will also be necessary to pick up resisters to the new government. You can kill them as you like, or press them into service on board the ships we will have patrolling off the southern tip of this region. Plunder as you like to bring that part of the city into submission. As to the women and children, I leave that entirely up to your discretion.’

Yr Saldan motioned her to come look at the map of the region with him. Once the lower city is well in hand and under your control, there is one thing further I would like you to entertain.’ He pointed to Edhellond at the northern head of the small bay on which Dol Amroth lay. ‘See here how the River Ringló empties into the bay? I want this area taken and placed under our control. From there we can make our way North to Tarnost and secure that northern city, while others of our ships make for Linhir to bring it beneath our Southern fist.’

He pointed to Edhellond and tapped it. ‘Think about it, if you would. And let me know if you can do this for me.’

One of the Corsair guards came quietly to Yr Saldan’s side and whispered a hurried message to him as Narwen perused the map. ‘I must leave you, Captain.’ he said. ‘Other business presses in upon me. Enjoy the wine and the comforts of the Prince’s palace before you show yourself out. And please, think on what I’ve said.’

He turned, following the guard out the main entrance, and down the steps.

[Carrûn]

Awrygan was in a foul mood, even fouler than usual. He had not managed to sleep in several days and had pressed on a a fairly rapid pace. Frequent night chills had left him sneezing and he was developing a bit of a cough. Moreover, a deer had bolted passed him across the road and had torn a rather large hole in the side of his cloak with its antlers. Things could be worse. I could be dying and the creature could have torn skin instead of fabric. Always looking at the bright side of things, eh? That's me. He grinned at his own joke. The sun had risen and was shining brightly, and the activity of the wildlife could be heard in the distance. His journey was almost over. "A fine day to die," he commented aloud.

Coming up over the next ridge his words caught in his throat. He sank to one knee behind a small set of bushes and for a time remained completely motionless, waiting and watching. The stench of burning pitch was thick in the air. Away to the South the harbor of Dol Amroth was smoldering. A few shrill screams rent the air, but were quickly silenced.

The weathered man's green-eyes blazed red and he stood slowly. A few yards from him lay a motionless figure, a single shaft protruding from it's back. Kneeling down, Awrygan turned it over, revealing the face of a guard in the livery of Dol Amroth. Glancing past him the man saw the crooked path where the man had ran, and then eventually crawled to bleed his life out on the small bed of rocks. Putting all feelings aside Awyrgan picked up one of the stained rocks. Wiping his finger across it he examined the blood which was nearly dry but still had a small amount of liquid in it. He ran his finger under his nose and then briefly across his lips.

One should not lay forever under the Sun. But I cannot spend proper time to dig a fitting grave. Dragging the man behind a grove of trees Awrygan piled what dirt was readily availible over the corpse and then proceeding to stack several large rocks on top of it.

Pulling his cloak about him and drawing a knife from his boot he slunk off down the hill towards the City. I had best wait until cover of darkness before I get too close. Perhaps I will find someone who can tell me more of what has transpired.

[astarielle]

SAVED for reworked post

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Everdawn]

Bebberyn, captain of the Guards had ridden hard on the road out of the city. More and more blood trickeld out of the open wound on his chest, his Blue and Silver attire now a sickly shade of maroon. He was loosing too much blood.


Bebberyn slowed Avanti a little. "the city" he said, "the prince, no the prince was not here. All is well. What am i saying, the city is invaded. I must get to Minas Tirith." he swayed on Avanti and fell unconscious onto the ground.

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Hirilaelin]

In Yr Saldin's quarters, Narwen sipped the blood-red wine as she cast an eye over the map that lay in front of her. Her eye fell on the detailed drawing of the lower city. It could be hers to administer, if she correctly understood Yr Saldin. Her gaze wandered over the the river Ringló. Another possible task. Capture the bay.

She continued to peruse the map for several moments while she finished her wine. This could be her chance. Already she had gotten into Yr Salin's graces with the capture of the merchant. She would have to think it over. Being hasty wouldn't do; she needed to rational. If she accepted, she would quite possibly make some bitter enemies. But, she would also quite possibly gain wealth and prestige. A dilema indeed.

Putting her wine glass down, she left the room and strode down the wide halls of the prince's palace to the streets. She would think on this.

[ February 22, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Envinyatar]

Khazdifir had just turned into the gates to the Palace grounds when he saw Captain Narwen stride swiftly down the steps and approach. Her brow was furrowed in thought, her eyes on the path as she walked. Khaz’s eyes narrowed, knowing that she had just made a successful return from Umbar with the added prize of a laden merchant ship. ‘So, he has offered her something to keep her close.’ he thought to himself. ‘I wonder what prize now dangles before her eyes.

He stepped to the side of the gates and slipped behind the sculpted bushes there, waiting until she had passed. He watched as she turned the corner at the bottom of the path, heading down toward the docks and disappeared from sight. He hurried to the steps to the terrace, taking them two at a time.

Inside, it was cool and dimly lit, with only the sunlight filtered through the thick branches of the surrounding trees to light the interior through barred slit windows. Two glasses sat on the table in the middle of the room. One of them, still half full, the stem of it still warm to the touch. Narwen’s glass. She had put it down on the map where the Ringló flowed northeast past the hills of Tarnost. Tracing the path of the river brought him to Ethring to the northeast and Edhellond to the southwest. ‘An attractive prize, indeed.’ he smiled to himself.

A grid map of the lower city and the docks lay spread out near the map of Dor-en-Ernil. ‘The fox! He means to have her start here and secure this area first.’

‘Are you admiring the Prince’s maps, Kestrel?’ came the smooth voice from behind. Khaz turned to see Yr Saldan looking at him from the terrace doorway. He drew his knife, and the guards at Saldan’s side came quickly toward him.

At a gesture from Yr Saldan they halted, and Khaz lowered the point of it to the larger map, tracing a light line from the southern tip of Belfalas to Linhir. ‘I saw Narwen leave, and I know what you have asked her to do. This,’ he said, retracing the route for emphasis, ‘is where I would like you to put me. Give me six ships and I will control the area from along the southeastern coast and be able to keep watch on the Ethir Anduin, where any ship from the port of Harlond in Minas Anor must pass through.’

He poured the last of the wine into Narwen’s cup and drank from it. ‘I’m useless to you here. You know I cannot stay long on land. I get too restless. Let me serve you where best I can.’ He stuck the point of his knife into the area marked as the great bay. ‘Here, on the water.’

‘Six ships, is it? And you’re then my man?’ Yr Saldan watched as Khaz nodded his head to the questions. ‘So be it. Round up the men and ships you need. The element of surprise is with us. Let us use it and act quickly. Come to my quarters tomorrow morning and we will discuss your plans in detail.’
********************

Yr Saldan watched as Khazdifir left the palace, hurrying to put as much of his plan in order as he could today. He looked one last time at the large map before checking the reports from his other captains on progress in securing the outlying areas of the city and the small bay of Cobas Haven.

Things were falling into place nicely, far better than he had hoped.

[ February 23, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Everdawn]

Bebberyn awoke several hours later, to find Avanti pawing the ground. "am i dead?" Bebberyn thought to himself "no, no im not" Bebberyn was very tired. He looked at Avanti who was more crimson than white, stained by Bebberyn's blood, as almost everything he rode out of Dol Amroth with was.

He slowly mounted Avanti again and made his way towards Minas Tirith. Finally after many hours on the quick speed of Avanti he made his way through the gates of The White City. Bebberyn's energy was low, he needed rest. One of the city's guards had met him at the gate, seeing the state he was in.

In a loud Clear voice he yelled "I am Bebberyn son of Bryadin, High Guard of Dol Amroth. I must get message to the prince, Dol Amroth has been taken!" once again Bebberyn fell from his horse onto the cobblestones of the road.

[ February 23, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Rochelle]

Her journey was near its end as Dol Amaroth came into view. The corners of her mouth creased as she noticed plumes of black cloud hovering above the city. She heeled Quellë into a swift canter before rounding a bend. There she halted quickly as the city came into better view.

The harbor burns... She closed her eyes bringing her thumb to her forehead. She did not know what evil had been beheld, but she now intended to ride towards it. Quellë was hesitent, he knew there was no safety to be found there...but he was loyal and obeyed her will. Together they rode on.

The gates of the city were open, thrust aside as if by force. She frowned and entered. Guards lay slain, some in the middle of the road, and Quellë was forced to step over them. Her grip tightened about her sword. Chaos was all around, yet she could not grasp what had happened.

She tried to halt many a townsfolk, but none would stay to explain. Finally she called to the air "Does no one know?" The stallion snorted, the whites of his eyes still showed and he was still agitated. Dartho Quellë mellon nin.

[ February 23, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[Envinyatar]

Khaz left the palace at a run. It would take some time to put the ships and captains he wanted together, and he still had some obligations he needed to square away. A great many of the citizens had already been slain or detained at the warehouse prison on the docks. And there were some among them who were not completely averse to a new leadership taking over, seeing it as a chance to advance themselves and their fortunes. He smiled to himself, thinking on this. There was a little Corsair in every man’s heart, or so it seemed to him. It only needed the right temptation to bring it out.

These thoughts played through his mind as he and a band of ten Corsairs under his direction swept the western perimeter of the city, in the area of the main gates. The smoke was thick in the air from the still burning military ships in the harbor. Though luckily, the wind had changed and most of it was now blown out to sea.

They had reached the area of the gates, moving quietly through the shadows of the buildings. Khaz watched as small bands of citizens wandered aimlessly in the streets, dazed. None of them looked to be of any danger to the new regime, none were armed. He held his fist up, the signal to stop, and the band flattened itself against the shadowed wall.

An Elf, on horseback, had foolishly entered the city. He admired her for her unthinking bravery, and thanked the winds that she was so foolish as not to have drawn her arms. But then, he smiled, it would not have mattered anyway. He signaled to the men in the shadows across from him, then stepped out before her as she asked her question.

‘Does no one know?’ he heard her cry to the air. ‘What is it you wish to know, m’Lady?’ came his soft reply.

Before the words fell from her mouth, the two behind her had thrown their net, and pulled her from her horse, drawing the strong web close around her.

‘Secure her!’ he ordered, as his other men drove her horse with cudgels and swords from the area. ‘Take her to Yr Saldan. Perhaps he has use for an Elf.’

[Rochelle]

The dark form of the man made his appearance and spoke. She gripped the hilt of her sword before Quellë reared. He had sensed the men coming behind but he had not acted quick enough. The net had been cast, and Rochelle had been caught. The stallion pawed out with his hooves, slicing the air with a frantic scream, but to no avail. The men waved their swords in his face and he ran off, back down the main path.

The lady still had her hand 'round her sword and it had been drawn in the commotion. As the men surrounded her, she heard the command 'Take her to Yr Saldan. Perhaps he has use for an elf.' With that she sliced through the net and stood on her own free will.

"I am no elf," she said. "And I shall not be used for any business save my own."

Her eyes were wild, and her hood had been thrown back, revealing her long golden hair. She was clearly outnumbered, but that would not stop her from taking as many as the Valar allowed. She would be no prisoner.

A piercing whinny ripped through the air as the white stallion came charging through the crowd. All eyes were averted to the sight and Rochelle swung back aboard. Quellë spun on his haunches and galloped back out the main gates as if the dark lord were on his tail.

When the pair was out of sight of the city, only then did they slow. She clutched her arm to her stomach, she could feel the warmth of blood under her Gauntlet. Her eyes looked up and she saw a familiar sight, but Quellë was too wound up to stand.

Hannon Le Quellë...Mae Caernen.

[Envinyatar]

He could not spare the men to chase after the wounded woman. And what was one weak woman to do that would harm them now?

He turned to one of his men, Hafez, directing him to continue the sweep through the area for resisters to the takeover. ‘Come see me,’ he spoke quietly to him, ‘when you are done here. I will have need of a first mate I can rely on.’

Hafez raised his eyebrows at this request. ‘We are sailing, then?’ Khaz motioned him a short distance away from the others. ‘Soon I hope.’ came the reply. ‘I go to find us ships. We’ll be patrolling the south and eastern borders of the land, and possibly controlling access to the mouths of the Anduin. I’ll need men I can trust on my own ship. Will you look to finding them for me?’

Hafez smiled, a crooked grin that did not bespeak a humorous bent of mind, but rather something more ghastly. ‘Aye, aye! Cap’n.’

Khazdifir turned and went down toward the harbor. He knew which captains he wanted and he meant to have them for his little fleet.

[Maegaladiel]

Beneath the castle at Minias Tirith lay a web of tunnels and passageways. The secret entrance to the labyrinth had been long forgotten by all of the residents of Gondor...all, that is, except Lhingril. He had stumbled across the catacombs several years ago, and had made them his temporary headquarters. Only he and his cohort, Barahil, knew of its existance. Or so he hoped.

His dark eyes scanned the dimly-lit hall around him. Now where was that blasted door again? Ah, yes. Making sure he was alone, Lhingril approached a stone in the wall engraved with a spider. His personal signature.

Placing his palm over the stone, the cracked outline of a door appeared. As it creaked open, several baby giant spiders scurried deeper into the tunnels in surprise. Lhingril could hear the click-click-click of arachnid legs tapping against stone as ‘his children’ hurried out to find a new hiding spot, and perhaps something to eat. They were his most faithful and loyal subjects, and had strict orders to guard these caverns from intrusion.

Inside the secret hall was dark and cool, and the ceiling and walls were covered in resting
spiders, giant and regular sized. An unfortunate rat hung in a spider web in one corner, dead. Lhingril smiled to himself. Something about spiders and torturing prisoners always seemed to cheer him up. He pushed open a door at the end of the hall. In the near-darkness, a figure was slumped in a chair, bound with spider-rope. Lhingril gave a mock bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said in a singsong voice, “Welcome back to the land of the living. For
now, at any rate. I do hope you slept well.” Lhingril threw back his head and laughed.

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Maegaladiel ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan crept carefuly along the path in a ditch towards the shadows of the City wall. His eyes were drawn towards a familier sight, a great white horse with a single rider on its back came charging up the path from Dol Amroth, giving no heed to its path. As it neared the man, it seemed to calm slightly or simply pause briefly to catch its breath, however Awrygan wagered that it would take much more than the run from the City to wind such a horse.

Stepping out from his cover he approached the pair with a grin, "You return with the same speed you left." His smiled faded as he drew closer, he could see the darkening red stains. He moved to the side, but Quellë reared and he was force to dodge the flailing hooves. Stepping swiftly under the great neck he placed his hand on the stallion's side, whispering words of peace softly. Working his hand into the mane he was rewarded with a swift kick. Grimicing, he led the horse off the path and down a small hill away from the view of the walls of Dol Amroth. He reached up to assist the rider off of the horse but she waved him off and dismounted with apparent ease, then let herself rest against the edge of the hill. Keeping an eye on the wary stallion standing nearby Awyrgan knelt beside her. A coughing fit took him and he cursed himself silently for not keeping quiet, apologizing aloud as he did so.

"What happened?" He asked, green eyes flashing. "Oh, and how are you?" The last comment was lighthearted, but deadly serious at the same time. The smell of blood stirred memories within him and he bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for her response, though he did not wait eagerly.

[ February 25, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

She leaned forwards aboard Quellë, the withers of the steed supporting her when her hand could not. She startled slightly when the man appeared before her, though almost instantly she recognized friend from foe. She sat still, smirk alighting on her features as the man lead the fidgety stallion from the road.

"He does not take to being led as I'm sure you're now aware." He turned to offer his service, but she held up a hand "Nay, I am still able." She dismounted and after an affectionate pat to Quellë she settled to the ground.

Here she was able to access her wound. The gash was deep, right below her elbow. She winced as she removed her gauntlet and rolled up her sleeve. "I'm alright..." she answered his first question for it was easiest. Mentally she was cursing herself for it was her own sword that had caused this damage. She tightly wound her arm with a sash, slowing the blood before she administered anything.

After she had caught her breath and pulled her thoughts together, she could better answer the preceding question. "Dol Amroth has been taken...I had a foul run-in with a leader of corsairs. Their men captured me and shun my horse, yet I was able to cut through and free myself..." She held up her arm slightly, "hence my wound..." She looked to the stallion "His bravery matches any man in battle...I would have no other."

She let most detail fall where it may and reached her free hand up to sweep stray tendrils of her hair from her eyes. "The harbor has been set ablaze and the guard of Dol Amroth has been besieged..."

She frowned before closing her eyes and remembering the sights of the city. She had a photographic memory, and things that had been seen before could now be recalled. "There was a great number of them...how many I can not count, but their ships patrol the harbor." Her eyes opened once more, looking past the man before alighting upon him. "I dare not to return save for the voice I heard..."

Before the corsair had surprised her, a frantic villager had cried out that the children had been taken...they were crying out to anyone who would pay them heed. "The children...I know not whose...but the children were taken. I can not leave them to torment. Perhaps this is what I was pulled south for."

She sighed, her free hand moving to rest against the wound. It would heal and she would ride soon, though this time she would approach with greater caution.

[Orual]

Jemennan wrapped the deep slash on his right arm tightly with a bandage. He impatiently wiped the perspiration off of his forehead, and winced at the effort. Curse his carelessness! He should have seen that young guard coming for him. There was no telling how long his arm would be out of commission--and worse, he was right-handed. Scowling and swearing, he tore off the excess from his bandage and tied it in place.

"Nice move, Jem," Airan snapped, her curly hair matted with blood. She wiped off her curved blade as she spoke, cutting her finger through inattention and swearing viciously. "The Valar only know how long it'll take you to get over that. I applaud your good sense and excellent reflexes. It took a master of bungling to let that little boy bite you."

Jem bowed sarcastically. "My thanks for your vote of approval, Lady Airan," he said icily. "I can see that you took care of yourself as well."

Airan looked down at the wound on her left leg, then back at Jem with contempt. "It's not very bad, it won't put me out," she replied. "I can walk...and fight, which is more than I can say for some others in the crew."

Jem drew his sword with his left hand, hesitating a little as he situated himself. He was not ambidextrous by any means, but he had learned somewhat to use his left hand in battle to leave his right for when it counted. Unfortunately, in the heat of the battle, he had forgotten this custom. "I can still fight, and better than you can," he said arrogantly and incorrectly.

Airan laughed and slapped his arm in a gesture of mock-friendship. He winced, but bit his tongue so as not to cry out. "Whole and uninjured you could never fight like me, dear." She patted him on the shoulder; he was not very much taller than she was. "I'm going to clean off and see if Yr Saladan needs me. He'd have no use for a broken toy soldier, of course, so you might as well stay here." She turned and left, leaving Jem alone.

After she was out of earshot, Jem kicked the nearest rock and shouted curses at the sky. Curse Airan and her arrogance! Who did she think she was? Just some sulky little girl running away from her father, wishing that she had what it took to be a corsair of Umbar. She had nothing. Nothing.

He would show her what Yr Saldan wanted. Jem had come gone into Saldan's service when he was a young lad, no older than nine, orphaned and starving, as a cabin boy. He'd done odd jobs until he came of age to earn his keep by fighting. That was loyalty; ten years in the service of the corsairs was loyalty. He would do anything for Yr Saldan, the man who saved his life, who saw a boy who would become a man where everyone else saw just another starving urchin.

Then why had he been so reluctant to fight during this raid?

Because that wound wasn't really from lack of attentiveness. He always knew when someone was coming after him, and the fact that he had fewer scars than most proved it. (Not to say that he had none; he had one running down the length of his forearm from his second fight. He remembered that fight with fondness; it was then that he had become a true blood brother of the corsairs.) Most people who came after Jemennan son of Tarmennan from the back paid for it dearly, as dearly as Jem could provide. His boyish appearance, with his chestnut brown hair and surprisingly innocent grey eyes, belied his viciousness in battle.

And yet he'd let his guard down.

Was it because he was in Gondor, the land of his birth? No, he had no ties to these people, who had shunned him when he was in need, refused to give him food or shelter. They were nothing to him, as he had been nothing to them. Was it because he was recovering from an illness? No, it had been a mere head cold, and he had left battles unscathed after stepping off death's doormat. There was no reason for his behavior. Except maybe those screams he had heard, the same screams that haunted his dreams at night ever since his days on the streets: the screams of a child's terror.

He shook his head to clear it of these thoughts, and went up to Yr Saldan. "My arm is all right, sir. What can I do?"

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Envinyatar]

‘Jemennan son of Tarmennan, is it not?’ Yr Saldan wiped his blade on his breeches before he slipped back through his belt. ‘I saw you today. You should take better care in battle. I would not have one of my seasoned men lost for inattentiveness.’

He took the young man’s arm and unwrapped the makeshift bandage. ‘A nasty cut. I fear you will not be of much use now in the sweeps of the city.’ He wrapped the arm back up and pointed to the ship which held the healer. ‘Go see old Jalal. He will clean and wrap that for you. Then come see me this evening at the Prince’s palace. I have something I wish you to do for me.’ He clapped the young man on the back and waved him off.

Saldan and his men made their way back to the palace grounds. It had been a long tiring day, and he wished only to enjoy the fragrant breezes in the Prince’s garden and a bottle of his wine. He made it into the front hall, and had just removed his blade, when he heard the quick steps of someone coming up through the veranda. ‘Jemennan,’ he said, not turning, ‘I said to come this evening.’

‘Not Jemmenan, Saldan. It is Khaz.’

Yr Saldan turned. ‘What news do you bring, Kestrel?’ He poured them both a glass of wine and motioned the man into the garden, to a pair of chairs set facing the bay. Khazdifir told him of their encounter with the woman warrior and her escape from their nets. Saldan was not pleased at the news, yet, he like Khazdifir did not feel one lone warrior would do them harm. ‘Other than that, Saldan, we had a successful day. Many men were rounded up and are now housed in the warehouse on the dock. And many of them would rather work in our service than face the rope or blade. The others are of course no use to us.’

‘I understand there a number of children housed also in the warehouse, Kestrel. What of them? We could kill them, of course, but has anyone seen if there are those we can use as bargaining chips when the time comes.’

Khazdifir looked westward, his face a mask of indifference. 'We haven’t had time to sort through them. No extra men to do so either. If it were up to me, I would say we eliminate them. They would be a bother to care for, and the older ones who will remember their parents will always hate us. Best not to keep a viper close. Kill it before it strikes has always been my motto.’

Yr Saldan laughed. ‘A man of swift action. Yet I think we have to look more long term now, not at just what will serve the day.’ He leaned in close to Khaz, an intense look on his face. ‘Those who hired me intended only that I strike a blow and draw some power if I might away from Minas Anor. Hit and burn and pillage and run.’ His dark eyes caught the westering sun and burned with an intense desire. ‘But I intend to make this city my own. To carve out a piece of these northern lands and rule it as I see fit.’ He leaned back in his chair, looking closely at Khazdifir. ‘What say you to that, Kestrel. Are you with me?’

Khaz looked also westward, toward the waters of the small bay. ‘Make me your southern fist upon the water, Saldan, as you intend to do with Narwen to the north. Let me serve you on the waves, and I will serve you long and well.’

They said no more to one another, the silence between them the assurance of their agreement. Khaz drank his wine and left Saldan to his plans and plots in the garden. He had lined up his captains and his ships. Tomorrow they would provision themselves and then set sail southward and near to the opening of the inlet to Linhir. From there they would command the River Anduin. And once Saldan had secured his power they could think of increasing the size of their armada. Perhaps then they would sail up it and grab the prize – Minas Anor.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan sat quietly as the ranger told her story, fitting the details in with what his own eyes and other senses had told him. One this was for sure; this did not have the feeling of a common corsair raid, it was well-planned and deliberate or he was a fool. Well, an inexperienced fool. He was about to rise from where he sat when she briefly fixed her eyes on his.

"I dare not to return save for the voice I heard..."

She continued, describing the cries of one of the villagers. She looked to him as if seeking a response but the man seemed not to listen. He was staring off into the West, his eyes glazed over, knuckles whitening. His frame shook slightly and he rose; walking over to a nearby tree where he stood motionless for a time with his head bowed. When he returned he seemed calmer, almost indifferent to the situation at hand, but his eyes blazed.

He spoke slowly. "There are many children in Dol Amroth. There are many in the world, many who's lives are cut short regardless of the actions of others." She glared and he bit his tounge, attempting to explain. "I know the meaning of futility more deeply than you will ever comprehend," was what he finally managed to spit out. His voice now held a bitter tone. "Perhaps I should have introduced myself; I am Awrygan in the tounge of the Rangers." She opened her mouth as if to confirm what he had said and he nodded. "My parent's were not so cruel as to name me as such; I took the name upon myself." He looked towards the city. "If what you say is true any thread of hope or purpose you hold to is slim. To those who fall captive to the men of the far South an ill fate is common."

She stood up as if to leave. He gestured towards the ground. "I did not say I would not go." She relaxed, but remained standing. "If those you seek are not already dead they will survive another day or two, corsairs may be cruel but they are not stupid - if they have a purpose for a captive they will be kept alive. I have been in this land before and in its service and know the lay of the City. I will go when I deem it right and you may go with me or by yourself - yet I would deem it more fitting to enter as a thief and not a princess this time."

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

“We’ve won!”
Eäris heard the shout without registering it’s meaning. He was doubled over, panting with exertion.
More voices joined the clamour: “Victory!”
Eäris straightened with a groan at his bruises, looking around. All the Corsairs lay on the ground, most dead, one or two groaning. There were less now than there had originally been Some left to tell their masters about us he realised. We must leave quickly. For now, though, he was content to savour the feeling of victory. He had almost forgotten its sweetness.

“What shall we do now?” asked the coachman, bringing Eäris out of his daze.
“We must leave”, he answered slowly, “but Gilian and Rolan are still missing. First I must find out what has happened to them. Get up those of the pirates that still live, tell them they have a choice of a swift death or capture. If I remember these Corsairs aright, they will choose death. By the way, thank you for your help, you saved my life.”
Eäris smiled at the man and patted his shoulder, glad that he had servants he could rely on. His mind was a jumble of what had happened and what he had to do. He was becoming more and more concerned about his two youngest children. Suddenly his blood ran cold. Asta and Linde! he thought. If anything has happened to them…He refused to finish the thought, not wanting to think of any such event.

Thinking hard of what course would be best, he began to walk to the coach to consult his wife. On the way he accidentally tripped over the body of a Corsair. Thinking the man dead, he began to move him out of the way, but a hacking cough told him otherwise. An idea came into Eäris’ mind.
“Do you know anything of a young lad and girl?” he asked the man sharply.
“Lad and a girl?” asked the Corsair mockingly “Would that be the little brown haired lass and her brother we picked up earlier? The ones who looked a lot like you? They’ll be very useful to us, have no fear- we’ll take good care of them.”

Kidnapped! Earis’ head span. How? Why? What should he do now?
The injured Corsair laughed softly to see his confusion and despair. With studied calmness Eäris asked: “Would you like to be put out of you misery? Or shall I bind you and take you to the King Elessar?”
“King Elessar?” The man laughed again, more weakly than before. “Neither” he said, and drawing a small knife, plunged it into his neck.

Eäris began to walk slowly towards the carriage again. Gil and Rolan kidnapped? He thought quickly I must tell Astarielle at once.

[Rochelle]

She had finished her tale, and the man had left to ponder. She rolled her head back and closed her eyes. They opened only when he spoke to cast a glare in his direction. How could he be so cold? Yet she kept her tounge and listened to the words he had to say.

"Futility, Awrygan, is a word many unfortunately can comprehend..." She trailed off, not bothering to go into her past at this time. "I will not let my fate, be the fate of others. Wether dead or alive, I will return and search them out." She stood to return to Quellë but paused as he spoke again. Her back to him, she relaxed slightly at his words. It would be death to enter alone...it almost had been.

Turning back around she allowed a smile to be seen. "You are a hard one to interpret dear ranger, but your help I will accept, if you will accept mine. 'Tis folly to enter the city alone." She smirked, "and I shall be more guarded in my entrance this time..."

With that she sat back down, and undid the sash that bound her wound. The bleeding had ceased and she could now apply her medicine. She crushed a leaf of athelas and applied the bruised piece to her arm. The smell of orchards in bloom fancied her nose, and soon the wound was closing.

She watched him with furrowed brow, "You do not look to be in good health...how have your wounds treated you?"

[Envinyatar]

Khaz left Yr Saldan sitting in the garden, and made his way down to the harbor. There, docked at the west end, was the Windrunner. Her captain had been killed in the first sweeps of the city, and Khaz had claimed the ship for his own. Hafez stood on deck, grinning broadly down at him as he approached.

‘Come aboard, Captain!” he pushed down the boarding plank for Khaz, who hurried up it. ‘Are they here?’ he asked, motioning Hafez to talk to him as he strode toward the helm deck. ‘Yes, all five of them.’ Hafez tilted his chin toward the captain’s cabin near the helm.

The crew of the Windrunner had gathered on the deck, wanting to see the new captain. Low murmurs ran through the crowd. ‘And what about them?’ his eyes sliding to where they stood. ‘Good men, good sailors every one of them. I know most of them, and the others are all vouched for by the men I do know. They’ll serve you well.’ Or feel my fist and whip if they don’t! Hafez thought to himself.

He handed Hafez a small bag of coins he had gotten from Yr Saldan. ‘See that they get a silver coin each, to bind them to my service, if you will. And tell them there will be plenty more where that comes from.’

Khaz entered the cabin, looking round at the faces of the men seated there at the table. Tariq, Suleiman, Korak, Temenes, and Sahout. He had served under all of them, and knew them to be able captains and quick thinkers.

‘Captains,’ he began, rolling out one of his navigational charts on the table’s surface, ‘we’ve got a directive from Yr Saldan to secure this area. Let’s discuss how we might best do this.’ They looked at him in mild surprise, and with some dawning admiration. He was seeking their advice, asking them to help formulate the plan – not just telling them what they would be doing!

They stood and leaned eagerly over the chart, taking in all the information. Then, one by one, they gave their opinion of what must be done to be most effective.

[astarielle]

Astarielle was slightly pale as she came round from the side of the coach, the attack had surprised her. She jumped lightly over a dead body still moaning in pain without a second glance. She never knew her husband could fight so well. A fleeting glance behind her showed yet another group of corsairs charging towards them. In the shadows she swore she saw a figure jeering at them.

"Earis, Elvira, I fear we have tarried to long, come, we must leave this place!" she said urgently. Another swift glance as she stepped hurridly into the coach made her tremble, they were nearly upon them!

"Hurry!" She blurted out. The coachdriver being to roll the coach forward as Earis and Elvira lept in. They set of as fast as the horses could take them towards the nearest gate.

[Carrûn]

Do I look that bad? The man's face was a bit of a bemused puzzle in reponse to the lady's previous question. "I've felt better," he commented, "but it's more a result of my own stubborness" he noted with wry grin and a cough. "My shin feels split in two however," he added with a glance towards the stallion who snorted as if with some hidden mirth. Resting against the hillside he sat idly drawing in the dirt with a knife. A few random sketches formed, until a rough outline of Dol Amroth and the surrounding terrain took place. He worked silently, drawing a path of entrance only to erase it and begin from a different direction. Pausing, he looked down at the knife. It was getting dull. Drawing a whetstone from a pouch on his belt he worked on the blade, forming a razor sharp edge with deliberate strokes. Finished, he stopped to inspect his work, running a calloused finger across the blade he was rewarded with a thin stream of red which appeared on the tip. He licked the blood away and pressed his finger against his cloak as he placed the knife back into its sheath on his boot.

He turned back to where she sat cleaning out the wound she had recieved. He laught softly. "You are the most polite to me of many I have met in a year. Hopefuly your opinion will not change when what you have planned is over. Indeed there are some who would call me cruel." A shadow crossed his face. One cannot live for a time in Mordor if they appear otherwise. "I am not accustomed to accepting help from those I do not know, be they kin from afar or not." He smirked. "But I will tolerate yours if you will mine. Beforwarned I am loath to take instruction unless I deem them of greater experience."

He drew out a small bag. "Some would agree it to be folly to enter a hostile position alone. Many would agree when doing so it it best to change appearences frequently." He went to work and within a few minutes his normally black hair was a golden brown. "Unless my ears decieve me that is running water, excuse me." He arose and walked down into a small valley through which ran a small stream that gathered into several deep pools. Lowering himself into one he attempted to work some of the kinks in his back out, but this was ice water, not hot and he soon gave up; settling instead for a quick bath and simlutaneous washing of clothes. When he returned he was clean shaven, looking very much more like his actual age. "By the way, might I enquire who it is I will be travelling with?"

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

A laugh escaped her as he spoke of Quellë’s handiwork. “I suppose it would have been honorable of me to warn you before he struck.” She grinned then heaved a sigh. “Though with what he just went through, I hardly blame him…” She trailed off as her eyes averted to the idle drawing in the sand. She sat silently as she watched, resting her hand against the rebandaged wound.

Quellë had ceased his grazing and now wandered over to where the pair sat. He let out a huff of warm air into her shoulder before slowing making his way to the man. His nose quivered as it lowered to inspect the rangers boot, then slowly moved up his leg until he paused at the pockets. Rochelle laughed, “He knows you supplied the sugar…” Quellë snorted and tossed up his head warily as the mans arm moved, but he stood in place, lowering his head once more. She decided she’d let the horse do as he willed, and she watched on in amusement. When the stallion had been satisfied, he moved off to doze.

"You are the most polite to me of many I have met in a year. Hopefully your opinion will not change when what you have planned is over. Indeed there are some who would call me cruel."

She looked up, “You have not given me a reason yet to be impolite…though your first words of the situation on hand would have had me in foul temper had you not reconciled and agreed to help.” She nodded as he continued. “I shall tolerate it, though my experience is much less than yours I am sure.”

The woman watched the rangers antics as he brought around a small bag. Her mouth opened slightly at the sight beheld. He excused himself and left for the stream. Meanwhile, she rose and walked over to Quellë to inspect him. Ai, my friend…indeed I have no understanding of what is to come, but you are a brave soul for daring it with me. She smiled and gave him a hearty pat before offering up the last of the cubes.

She turned as Awrygan returned. “A master of disguise I deem you…I know of few who can change their appearance so quickly.” She smiled then paused as he asked his question. “Indeed you may. I am Rochelle of the house of Moonstone in Mirkwood…though by my appearance you can see I am no elf.” She paused to settle herself back down against the hill. “My origin is in Rohan….” She nodded towards Quellë “…as is his.”

[Carrûn]

Awrygan nodded his head slightly as she introduced herself and her background; not bothering to ask how one of Rohan came to live in the forest of Mirkwood. His ammusement at the words "master of disguise" was hidden only by his grim smile. "I had excellent instructors," he remarked with a slightly raised eyebrow. Strict did not begin to describe the manner of his father and those who had left the main camp with him. Many nights alone in the woods playing the game of hunter and hunted, finally turning the tables on them after several years and gaining their acceptence; a normal rite of passage for the guardians of the North.

He walked to where a bag lay on the ground that he had aqquired. From it he produced a dark black cloak with a hood, and a weather stained tunic. As he shook them out a breeze caught them and the billowed in the sudden guest. He held them out to Rochelle. "You might want to work these into your wardrobe in some form or another." She hesistated and he gave her a wry look. "Worry not, their former owner will have no more use of them. He beckoned towards a small pile of stones on a distant hilltop. "These will not fit me and they are about as clean as you could find at the nearest establishment."

Walking over towards his drawings in the sandy dirt near the base of a tree the man paused by the dozing horse. Drawing out a sugar cube he held it out to the stallion. Quellë looked briefly at it, and proceeded to bit down gently but firmly on the entire outstretched hand containing the cube. Both eyed eachother for a few moments until, giving a genuine smile, the man relaxed his hand and the horse allowed the man's hand (cube removed) to slide out. Quellë gave a semi-friendly snort and proceeded to return to his rest. Awrygan squatted next to the outline in the ground and picked up a sharpened stick. Gesturing towards his companion he began to discuss entry points and city details.

"Obviously it would be less than wise to enter through the main gate as we are not akin to those now in power. Several smaller gates are spread out around the city but they are bound to be watched, and regardless the number the less confrontations the better. Here and here are several drainage outlets. One of them, if I remember correctly, enters a closet in a local Inn." He grinned. "That was useful for a quick exit after a card game turned hide and seek. Drunkerds are swift to feel cheated even if it is by their own stupidity. If the keeper is not dead he is a friend of mine as they come and go and may be able to give us a better idea for our next step. Or I can convince him to do so if need be. If, on the other hand, he is dead it will give us a relatively safe place to move out from."

He moved the stick some ways over. "As far as the query..." He noticed a slight, involuntary twitch of Rochelle's hand. "The children," he continued carefuly, "could be in a wide variety of places, Dol Amroth is no small village. However, if all of the captives are grouped together they will most likely be in one of the large warehouses; they are the most appealing for this purpose, being both large and easy to guard. If those you speak of are being singled out for some especially delightful and tactful purpose they could be anywhere and we may end up going door to door like a baker throughout the whole city."

He frowned as if remembering a detail he had not considered before. "I have forgotten your sharp-hoofed compatriot over there. Doubtless he is loyal but he will not fit in a pipe or a closet. Yet he would be a great asset in the event things go to...go poorly or we are forced to make a swift exit." He allowed the issue to pass to a back corner of his mind, hoping something would come up that would prevent the need for futher consideration of it. He turned to Rochelle. "Have you knowledge of boats? Or experience before with those who will undoubtedly try to make our search somewhat difficult? It would be easier if we could talk our way out of some corners instead of fighting."

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Orual]

Jem's face burned with shame as he left Yr Saldan. How could he have been so foolish? At least Saldan didn't seem too upset with him. He didn't know if he could've handled that.

He jogged to where Jalal was, cleaning up the cuts and scrapes of the other corsairs. The healer was an older man, his face weatherbeaten and tanned from many years of work on the seas, but it was a kind face, one that was easily trusted. Jem would trust Jelal to perform surgery on him on a rickety table, at sea, in the middle of a hurricane, and not make a mistake. The old healer's hands were as steady as his wit was sharp, and that was considerable.

"Well, Jemmy my lad, what've you done to yourself this time?" the old man asked, looking up from one of his patients, a middle-aged man with a small nick on his cheek. Jem knew him only vaguely. He went up to Jelal.

"Pretty deep gash on my arm," Jem muttered, pulling off the bandage and wincing. "My attention wavered and a guard came up behind me and gave me this to remember him by."

Jelal inspected it gravely, and shook his head, making clicking noises with his tongue. Jem breathed in relief; if Jelal made that sort of scolding sound, all was well. His arm would recover. "Quite a lapse for a full-fledged corsair," Jelal intoned, pulling out his cleansing equipment and began the slightly painful processes of cleaning the wound.

"Well, I was just preoccupied."

"Indeed. Preoccupation can lead to deaths, Jemmy. You know that."

"I know, I know, but I was basically alone, not watching anybody's back." Jem felt crushed by Jelal's comment, softened as it was by the use of Jem's nickname. "It was an accident."

"It's all accidents," Jelal muttered through the swabs held between his teeth. Jem looked anxiously at the old man, worried that he was indeed upset with him. But the old corsair's eyes were sparkling.

"Oh, fix it up quick, Jelal. I need to get back to Yr Saldan this evening." Jem frowned, then gritted his teeth as the Jelal re-wrapped his arm.

Jelal finally finished and Jem started his walk back to Yr Saldan, half-fearing what he would say. What would he be asked to do?

There was nothing to do but ask Yr Saldan to find out.

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan walked in the palace garden. It was cool there and fragrant, reminding him of the lush gardens that grew along the river he had grown up by in Umbar. Two things occupied his mind as he passed among the flowers. One was the number of ships and men he had now committed to patrol both the northern and southern borders of the Prince’s land, and the other was that he would soon need to move away from purely military tactics to secure his position, and into the realm of tactical negotiations.

The first problem weighed on his mind heavily. He did not want to spread his naval advantage too thin. Perhaps after a swift skirmish at Edhellond, he should pull Captain Narwen’s ships back to reinforce the ships of Khazdifir along the southern borders where a fleet moving upon them from the Anduin could prove fatal. For a brief moment, he entertained the thought of sending a small fleet all the way to Minas Anor. But viewed in the harsh light of reality, it was an idea quickly discarded. Unless of course, he should receive a message otherwise from his eyes and ears in the White City.

The second problem, that of lining up advantages for negotiations, seemed an easier one to solve. Very few adults had been taken prisoner who were of any worth as hostages. Most of those who were prominent in the government either here or in Elessar’s court had resisted and been killed. The children, however, were a different matter. They carried a lot of emotional weight, and would prove very useful as bargaining chips.

A problem with them though, was that they needed to be separated from the adult prisoner population, and be well taken care of. The better they appeared to be treated the more sympathetic the opposing sides’ negotiators would feel to the demands of the Corsair government.

Jem would be an excellent choice for that position. Young himself, and amiable. The children would like him and grow to trust him. It would do well if they could find out which children belonged to which prominent families. Saldan had already decided the large tower at the northeast corner of the palace would serve this purpose well. It was large and tall, and had limited access. Only a few guards would be needed to secure it. Attached to its base on the west side was a walled in garden with a high fence. There was no access to it along any of its walls, the only entry into being from the small door at the base of the tower.

One of the guards came and spoke to him softly as he passed the doorway into the palace. Saldan smiled. ‘Show him in here! He’s just the man I wish to see.’

It was Jem, his arm freshly bandaged and tender from its wound. Saldan motioned him into the garden and over to a small table where he had laid out a map. Without preamble, he launched into his ideas about the detention of the children, showing Jem on the map where he intended they be kept.

Saldan called for a server to bring them a bottle of wine. He poured a goblet for Jem and one for himself. ‘I need a man who is capable of doing this for me. One who is loyal.’ He raised his glass to Jem, in salute. ‘I think you fit the bill on both counts. Will you do this for me?’

[ March 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Rochelle]

Her eyes moved to where the bag lie. She raised a brow as he brought the clothes out and then offered them out to her. Slowly she held out her hand and took them from him. She looked upon them with hesitation “…you acquired these from a dead man?” Her mouth set in a grim line but then she smirked and shook her head, folding them in her arms.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She brushed by him and walked around the hill to the stream where he had recently emerged. She removed her cloak and cast it upon the ground, belt soon followed. She knelt down and peered into the coolness of the water. Her face was streaked with dirt and she reached cupped palms into the stream to splash her face. The reflection came back cleaner this time, and her eyes looked once more upon the clothes she had to change into. She frowned and looked at her current ensemble. She did not willingly trade in the threads of Mirkwood for those of a dead man, but she knew her peril if she did not. She promptly removed the tunic and slid the darker one on in it’s place. Next she stood and reapplied her belt before clasping the new cloak and hood around her neck.

She looked once more into the stream, her golden hair stood out among the new darkness. She reached back and tied the hair loosely with a string, hiding it as best she could beneath the hood. She sighed and picked up her tunic and cloak, walking back to the makeshift camp. After setting down the clothes, she walked over to where Awrygan was discussing the layout of Dol Amroth.

She listened intently to his guidance, he seemed knowledgeable of the city. She smirked as he recalled his gambling experience, then wondered at how he expected to convince the keeper if he wouldn’t cooperate. Her attention soon averted however, as soon as he mentioned the children. “I think you’re correct in your assumptions about the warehouses. They are close to the sea, the territory the corsairs are most comfortable with.”

At the mention of her horse, Rochelle nodded. “He is loyal, and desires action as I do, but he will understand that his time is to come later.” She smiled at the horse who know was enjoying a dust bath, then shook her head. “No, I have no knowledge of ships nor their commanders. I had not seen the sea until earlier this day.” She laughed lightly, “Yet I will follow your cue…”

She stood after a moment and walked over to Quellë, speaking softly in the tongue of her father. The stallion stood, then his head dropped slightly as if in a solemn gesture. The woman ran her hand along his withers, then down his shoulder before giving a gentle pat. The horse had raised his head, then tossed it up. His white mane flew back and he whickered. She smiled and looked to Awrygan. “He understands, he will stay on the outskirts and come at my call.”

[Carrûn]

Awrygan gave a satisfied inner sigh of relief now that the issue of the horse was taken care of with such ease. If only all matters could be solved as quickly life would be so easy. Wishful thinking. He wished his companion had some previous experience with those they would most likely be encountering but there was a first time for everything and she seemed to know how to carry herself. The Sun was beginning its dance into the West; soon it would be evening. "We will seek for the entrance into the Inn when the Sun goes down, whether we will attempt anything beyound that immediately is yet to be determined."

"So this your first encounter with the Sea? It is quite something is it not?" He smiled a fond, sad smile remembering his first encounter with the seemling endless body of water. First in the cold, razor-lined beaches of the North as a young Ranger attempting to impress his peers and later in the Far South as a wiser, more sober traveller seeking piece in the midst of hostilities.

Having said all he had to say he walked over to where a large stone stood in the ground. Sitting down, he proceeded to inventory and inspect his gear. Three knives, all different in their appearence were layed out, cleaned, sharpened and placed back in their sheaths on the man's right boot, belt, and upper tunic. He spend a bit longer on his sword since it had not been used in a while. Finally, making sure it was loostened in its sheath he hooked it back onto his belt. Standing, he clasped his cloak around him with a determined snap. Anything he decided not to take was placed in a bag which was soon hidden under a mixture of brush and earth. Sitting back down he sat silently looking towards the West, watching the Sun as it lowered itself to meet the Sea. The rays glinted off his bright eyes as orange met green. Drawing his pipe out he lit it, allowing the curls to spirl upwards towards the darkening sky.

[ March 03, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

She gave Quellë another affectionate pat, before walking back over to settle against the hillside. “Good, then I will be able to rest longer.” Her arm was still sore, yet it was healing even as she spoke. She wrapped the black cloak about her tucked up knees, arms resting crossed about them.

"So this your first encounter with the Sea? It is quite something is it not?"

She nodded. “It is…ada spoke of its wonder, but my journeys had not brought me near enough to it.” Even as she spoke, her eyes darted to the horizon. The smell of salt was in the air, and the gulls could be heard clamoring above. She had taken note of his expression, as if he remembered something of his past. She sighed, and gently closed her eyes. She could hear the gentle ring of steel as the man emptied his stash. Soon all was much quieter and she slowly opened her eyes. He was sitting, enjoying a smoke and she smiled.

“You spoke fondly of the sea before…have you ever sailed upon it?”

[Orual]

Jem's dark brown eyes widened in surprise and pride. It was clear that these children were important, and for Yr Saldan to trust Jem with their care...he began to breathe quickly, and a huge smile broke over his face. Saldan waited out the expected burst of enthusiasm, and finally Jem caught himself, shook his head a little.

"Yes, sir! Of course!" Capable and loyal! "Of course I'll do that for you." He was still a trusted corsair. "Yes, sir. When should I start?" All his dreams... "Where should I start? Should I see someone to lead me to the children?" ...had come true. "Is it a protected location? Will I know where it is? Or will I be led to it and from it? What will be exactly my relation to the children? Will I be their caretaker, or just their guard, and should I be their friend? I can do any of it, sir. Or all of it at once, if you wish."

[Everdawn]

Bebberyn was transported to the houses of healing. "What of Bebberyn then Mariel?" the guard who had found him at the gate said. "he has lost a lot of blood, he drifts in and out, but i think now he is stable."

Bebberyn heard the two voices talking. "has anyone told the prince yet?" the woman's voice asked. "no although that is because we have problems of our own-" Bebberyn opened up his eyes. It was now dark, he lay in a room, his bed was veiled in a lemon lace as the moonlight shone thorugh the balcony which lay to his right.


The two people on the other hand were on the other side of a screen that acted as a wall to further devide the room. He could see their shaddows moving on the wall behind them as their candles flickered with the steady breeze that came off the balcony.


Bebberyn tried to sit up but there was a sharp pain which ran through his chest. Loudly he gasped out in pain. The voices stopped and the sound of quick footsteps was heard. The first to appear around the screen was a strikingly exotically looking young woman.

She had long, wavy ebony hair, olive skin and dull green eyes. The next was a man, of equal height to the woman, he had a square jaw, light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was dressed in the Black and Silver garb of The Minas Tirith Guards.

"youre awake" the woman remarked putting a wet cloth on Bebberyns head. "Am i in the houses?" He asked. "The very same" she said. "and very lucky to be alive, with a gash like that and riding all the way from Dol Amroth in such a short time!" The man stood still by the end of the bed.

Dol Amroth.. She had said it. "the city" Bebberyn moaned. The man stepped foward. "I am Darius, son of Darion sir, and this is Mariel daughter of Marhad and Vieana, she is the finest medicine woman this city has to offer." Mariel smiled as she started to change Bebberyn's bandages.

"You better tell us the whole story before I notify your Prince sir." Darius looked uneasy "you see, we have our own problem... our king is missing." Bebberyn was surprised. "how can you loose a king! and the king Aragorn?" Darius looked offended. "I dont know the full details, should you please tell us what happened?"

" As i said, I am Bebberyn, son of Bryadin, high guard of Dol Amroth" Bebberyn begun. "The city has been invaded by corsairs. we put up a fight, but they slew all my remaining men. They hold the city captive, women and children inculded among the hostages." Bebberyn winced in pain again "please! i need to talk to the prince!" Darius frowned.

"I will get your prince, and i will tell him that Bebberyn son of Bryadin, high guard of Dol Amroth has ill news." Darius lay a hand on Mariel's shoulder and left in search of the prince.

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Envinyatar]

Previous events to the arrival of Bebberyn:

In the Seventh Tier of the City of Gondor
Previous post: doug*platypus

Minas Tirith was, almost literally, a hive of activity. Preparations for this celebration had started weeks ago, though you wouldn't know it by the way that merchants were running around making last minute arrangements. Even up in the Citadel, usually a place of calm repose, the atmosphere was frantic. The Citadel Guard were, by and large, the only ones immune to this holiday fever.

"See how they all buzz about!" remarked the captain to a guard standing next to him on the wall.

"The noise from the first circle is incredible!" remarked the other. "The last time there was this much excitement was when the King first returned. You would have been wearing diapers then, Beleg!"

"Not quite," the younger knight replied, "but you would have had more of your teeth still, you old badger! What a time for Captain Forweg to be on holiday in Pinnath Gelin. Some folk have all the luck."
Beleg had been left in command of the Citadel Guard at the worst possible time. All this activity made him anxious. It was much too easy for a dissident to cause mischief with so many people around. Although Gondor was not at open war at that very moment, it was still surrounded by some fairly powerful enemies.

Beleg turned away from the hustle and bustle, and gazed out from the walls. From where they stood on the parapet, the two guards could clearly see the docks at the Harlond. Not long before, the great ships bearing the blue banners of the Prince of Dol Amroth had sailed into port. The banner of the prince was a welcome sight to Beleg. Imrahil of Dol Amroth was accounted one of the most valiant men of the age, and Beleg was also looking forward to seeing his heir, Elphir.

Before receiving a commission to the Guard, Beleg had served as a soldier. To see the banner of the Silver Swan from across the battlefield, leading the charge of the cavalry of Dol Amroth, was a glorious experience. Beleg and the foot soldiers he had fought with had been saved several times by Imrahil and his Swan Knights.

Just then, Beleg's attention was called away from the sight. A messenger was running at great pace across the courtyard, and calling for him to come down.

"What is it?" Beleg asked when the messenger had halted before him, panting.

"A message from the Royal Bodyguard. His Majesty the King is missing!"

"Missing?!" Beleg could not believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that - he cannot be found anywhere. The Captain of the Royal Bodyguard wants the entire city on alert, but none of the people are to know."

"Oh, this is just great!" Beleg complained to the other guard, who had come down to see what was going on. "Those clowns in the Bodyguard have really done it this time! What about the Lady Arwen? Do they at least know where she is?!"

"She is in her chambers," answered the messenger, "under heavy guard. I must go to the stables and send messages out. You will tell the Prince for me? My thanks!"

The messenger sprinted off in the direction of the stables. Beleg looked back over his shoulder, to where Prince Imrahil and his entourage had now entered the Seventh Circle. Beleg cursed the cowardly messenger, then steeled himself and walked over towards Imrahil. But he found it more than pride would let him do. To tell the Prince of Dol Amroth that they had somehow misplaced the most important man in Gondor! Beleg spotted one of King Elessar's delegates and drew him aside. The man's face grew pale, and he gasped as Beleg told him the shocking news.
Imrahil and his men came over, and Beleg was forced to relay the bad news himself. The King's delegate seemed almost stricken with grief - very helpful indeed! Beleg stepped forward and bowed his head to Imrahil, awaiting permission to speak.

"What is it, Captain?" the Prince asked, "Tell me."

"It is the King, Lord Imrahil. He is missing, and I fear that something foul may have happened to him!"

Prince Imrahil received the news from Beleg with a grave expression on his face. He called Elphir to his side, requesting that he, with a contingent of fifty men, accompany Beleg on a sweep of the grounds to look for Aragorn. ‘And you, my Lord,’ said Elphir to his father, ‘will you be accompanying us also.’ Imrahil shook his head ‘no’, and Elphir called for twenty men to accompany his Father wherever he decided he needed to go.

‘I hardly think that necessary. I am going in to see Lady Arwen. She can help us find the King.’ Elphir, as Captain of his country’s troops stood firm. ‘Nonetheless, my Lord, until the King is found, these men will be your guard.’ He motioned forth twenty from the elite Prince's Guard and gave them their instructions. ‘I would prefer not to have to return to Dol Amroth as King, my Lord.’ he said, as he strode off with his men to begin the search with Beleg.

Imrahil and his guard approached the White Tower, accompanied by one of Beleg’s men, Deorhelm. A hurried conversation with the guards posted there revealed that Lady Arwen was not there, but in her chambers in The King’s House, just west of the tower. They strode quickly to the House and were admitted to the front hall by the guards, but could go no further.

One Linghril, advisor to the King had ordered that she not be disturbed. ‘And where is this Lhingril?’ asked Imrahil, in an icy tone. ‘The Prince of Dol Amroth insists on seeing the Queen, and will not be put off.’ Lord Imrahil’s men drew up close behind him, their hands round the grips of their blades. Twenty pair of cold grey eyes held the eyes of the few guards there, adding their weight to the request of their Prince.

Deorhelm stepped forth and spoke quickly with the guards. It would not do for blood to be shed in the royal house. Imrahil was a close friend to both the King and Queen, and Captain Beleg was even now with Lord Imrahil’s son, searching for the King. The guards relented and allowed the Prince and his men to pass up the stairs to Arwen’s chamber.

It was Lord Imrahil, himself, who knocked at the Queen’s door. ‘Lady Arwen, it is Imrahil. I have come to ask you if you know where Elessar has gone.’ He spoke loudly through the closed door. And it was but a few short moments until the door was flung open, and the pale, strained face of Arwen appeared.

‘Imrahil!’ she cried, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. Her voice was low and filled with grief as she took his hands in hers.

‘I have sought him, Imrahil. But he does not, cannot answer me. His mind is clouded, and he walks in strange dreams.’

She threw the letter, now crumpled in her hand down hard on the floor. Imrahil picked it up and read it quickly. ‘Who gave you this, my Lady?’

Her eyes blazed as she spat the name. ‘Linghril! The viper in the King’s household. His ‘advisor.’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Imrahil. ‘I did not think to test him when he maneuvered himself into a position close to the King. I thought he was one who loved Elessar and would do his bidding.’

My Lady?’ urged the Prince, willing her finish her thoughts.

But I have sought him out. His mind is hidden in shadow, and I know now he does the bidding of others.’

Imrahil turned to his men and sent two of them to seek out his son and Beleg, and to have them return quickly to the King’s House. He and the rest of his men would stay with Arwen, in her chambers, until they arrived. He positioned two men at the base of the stairs and two at the top. Two stood guard outside Arwen’s door, and four went in with them. Two to guard the inner door and two to guard the open balcony. The rest of his men were to pair up and secure the doors to the King’s House along with the King’s Royal guards. No one was to come into or leave the House without clearance from the Prince and Arwen.

His last order was given with a steely voice. ‘If Linghil is seen, he is to be subdued in any manner needed and brought to me.’

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Envinyatar]

Imrahil sat in his quarters, reviewing the news of the day. There had been no sightings of Linghil, and no further news of the King. Arwen's mind could not pierce the thick shrouds of mist which hid Elessar's thoughts and he seemed hidden in darkness with no clue to his surroundings. 'Someone other than this new "advisor", Linghil, has had a hand in this.' Imrahil turned to his son, Elphir. 'See if you and a captain of the guard can untangle who might have been plotting with Linghil to take the King. And more important, for what purpose.'

Elphir nodded his head, and ran his finger down a list of names of those "close" to the King. 'Yes, we can start here . . .'

His sentence was interrupted by loud voices from the corridor. The door was flung open and a man rushed in, dressed in the livery of the guard. Imrahil and his son stood, swords drawn to face the intruder.

'My Lord,' said the man, showing his empty hands to the Prince, 'I come from the Houses of Healing, bearing word from one who lies wounded there. One Bebberyn, of the High Guard of Dol Amroth.'

Imrahil lowered the point of his sword. 'By your face and tone I see it is ill news. Speak, man!'

[Everdawn]

Darius bowed to the Prince. "yes M'lord" he put his hands down. " Captain Bebberyn, lord. Has ridden all the way from Dol Amroth with a nasty gash on his chest this night, He said to both myself and the medicine woman, sir, Dol Amroth, It has been invaded by corsairs!"

Darius tried to break the news as best he could. "Captain Bebberyn said that all his remaining men were killed, women and children are held hostage. He requests conference with you sir."

[Carrûn]

“You spoke fondly of the sea before…have you ever sailed upon it?”

The man removed the pipe from his mouth. "Once," he said shortly. Rising slowly, he replaced his pipe in his jacket. The embers of the Sun were dying out. He turned to Rochelle. "Now is the best time, the shadows of dusk." Walking around the hilltop that had provided the small camp with cover he glanced briefly over his shoulder. "Stay low, duck & weave." Slowly, ever so slowly the two approached the city from the rear.

Upon reaching the wall the man turned so that his shoulder pressed against the wall, then began walking. Rochelle could have sword he was mumbling until she realized he was counting softly to himself. Upon reaching whatever number was accurate, he halted. Squatting down he quietly pushed aside a row of bushes. Finding the small, stream-like entrance he drew a knife and cut away the foliage. Ducking inside, he beckoned over his shoulder for Rochelle to follow.

The tunnel was dark, damp, and possessed a thick air that made movement almost dreamlike. Soon the wet ground began to give way to wet boards and then dry boards. Suddenly the man stopped. Groping forward in the darkness his hand touched the outer "wall" of the closet he had almost run into. He pushed the handle to the side softly and the wall opened. Walking into the closet the man turned and whispered - "Wait here for a minute, then follow." He then entered the Inn.

The sight that greeted his eyes was not one that a traveller would usually associate with an Inn. The fire was long dead, the tables not cleared; half-eaten food sat idly on the bar while a cat scurried across the floor into an adjacent room. All sense of life was gone. The man's face brightened somewhat when he saw the small, fat form of the Innkeeper slumped in a chair with his face away from Awrygan. He appeared to be reading or sleeping. Walking up behind him Awrygan tapped him on the shoulder. "Innkeeper..." There was no response. Quickly loosing patience the dark-tempered man grasped the other's shoulder and spun him around to face him. When he did so he stopped short. The man was dead. Moreover, his face was horribly mutilated and his wrists bore the markings of cruel bonds. Awrygan did not bother to investigate the dark stains that covered the man's shirt. Finding a spare cloak hanging in the corner of the room he covered the small figure with as much dignity as possible.

A bitter taste was in his mouth. Walking around to the back of the bar Awrygan found a rather large bottle and a glass. Sitting down at a table he was in the process of pouring himself a drink as Rochelle cautiously rounded the corner. She looked at him quizzically and he shrugged and nodded towards the still form in the corner. “I don’t think we’ll be staying here as long as planned. They appeared to be wonderfully slow with him.” A dull flame was flickering in his eyes and tension resonated from his dark frame.

[Orual]

Jem had to control himself from fairly skipping to the room where he had been told the children were being kept. He could barely believe his luck. "What a fine day it is!" he cried, and was met with a few glares and one shout of "shut your trap." He ignored them, but forced himself to calm down.

The only door to the tower was through the palace, and the palace was difficult enough in and of itself to navigate. Jem had never been in a place so big. He had to ask several people before he finally found the door to the tower, at the west end of the palace.

A door worthy of the palace it was, a huge impressive thing easily half again as tall as Jem, made of good, solid oak, and with two huge iron handles. Jem wondered for a moment if he could even open it, but in the end, though he had to put all of his weight into it, he pulled it open and slipped through it, afraid the whole time that it would shut while he was halfway through and crush him.

The tower itself was fairly well-lit at the bottom level, but it was empty as far as Jem could tell. His boots made huge noises that echoed through the tower when he walked, and he winced every time his foot hit the ground. He climbed the winding staircase for a long while, counting the floors, until he hit the desired story--the fifth.

"One, two, three...four, five," Jem counted under his breath, ticking off the cells. "Six, seven, eight...nine!" He stopped in front of the ninth cell. His eyes were finally adjusted to the dark--the tower had gotten steadily darker as he had gotten higher up--and he saw the two children. His heart sank and he bit his lip. How much they reminded him of himself, and of his friends when he was growing up on the streets of Gondor. He made up his mind that, even if it didn't entirely please Yr Saldan, he would be kind to them. He leaned up to the bars, and saw the children look up at him. He did his best to smile comfortingly. "It's all right, I'm here to take care of you. My name's Jemennan, but you can call me Jem. We're probably going to be stuck together for a while, so why don't you tell me your names?"

[Rochelle]

She watched him stand and slowly moved over to where Quellë was grazing. mellon, lasto beth nîn. Andelu I ven, le ad tolthathon. Le beriathar aen ned emyn. She gave him a gentle pat and the stallion moved away, down to the stream where she had recently changed. She had never met opposition without her beloved companion, and at the temporary farewell she let out a sigh. In the same instant she set her shoulders back and looked to Awrygan.

Together they set off in silence towards Dol Amroth. The silence was broken only by the slight muttering of a masculine voice, counting paces until they reached a dank tunnel. She reached to cover her nose at the smell, not exactly pleased when she was summoned to follow. Breath was hard to come by in the dark space and she struggled not to wretch. She would not dare be seen as weak.

“Wait here for a minute, then follow."

She nodded then looked around cautiously. It was too dark to see anything, but she still wasn’t akin to the thought of being left behind in this dreadful place. The minute passed by ever so slowly, and she made her way into the inn. As she rounded the corner she noticed the man pouring himself a drink. Her brow raised at his timing then cast her eyes to the man now covered by a tattered cloak.

“Somehow their technique does not surprise me. I have had a run in with them already…they were not hospitable in the least.” She walked over to him and slid her own glass across the bar towards him. Smirking despite the recent discoveries she allowed herself to speak again. “I dare say you shall indulge and I shall not.”

When he had obliged and she had downed her portion she set the glass down. “I follow your lead, and since your plans have been altered slightly…what do you suppose we are to do now?”

[ March 08, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan finished his first glass and poured another. He looked up when Rochelle mentioined the corsairs and their "techniques." He nodded in assent. "They are effective." He looked towards the now dead Innkeeper. "He wasn't the best of men anyway." His tone was cool and calloused but it was obvious that the finding of the small man's body had bothered him.

He paused before he answered her next question. Somehow he had expected what he found and was not surprised at the need for some modifications in their planning. Prepare, Observed, Adapt. The words of his father swam through his mind briefly as he considered possiblities.

"I doubt many things will change, this was almost expected. We will proceed to the warehouses as planned, but we must proceed with additional caution." He held the bottle out to her but she declined. He grinned, pouring his third and final glass. Facing the dead man he raised his drink - "My compliments, the wine was fine as always." Turning back to Rochelle he spoke slowly. "I am going to stay here until it is as dark as possible, then I will take a brief walk to obvserve the area. Tomorrow we will decide the best way to get to the warehouses."

[Rochelle]

She took the time to cautiously explore the inn. The shades were drawn, but outside she could tell that it was dark. She risked a slight glance through a slit and saw that the road was bare. "The city appears to be sleeping..." She sighed and her thoughts drifted momentarily to Quellë, hoping he was keeping himself out of trouble.

She moved from the window and sat down at one of the many tables. Her fingers drummed idly on the rough wood as the recent events rolled through her mind. Her arm was aching and she undid the bandage, thankful to find it healing well. She rewrapped it before pulling the black cloak about her.

She had stayed away from the dead form but her nose now could not stray from the stench. "I think we should put him in another room...he's starting to stink."

[Hirilaelin]

Narwen was escorted up to the quarters of Yr Saldin by several armed guards. They stepped forward, and knocked on the door. After a moments pause, a voice called from within. "Yes? What do you want?" The lead guard answered swiftly. "The captain Narwen is here to see you." Another pause, then the door was opened. Yr Saldin stood in the doorway.

He nodded to the guards, who went swiftly away, and welcomed Narwen inside. He took a bottle of rich red wine down from a high shelf and poured two glasses. Giving one to her, he addressed her. "What brings you to see me captain? Have you made a descision on my offer?"

"Yes, I have," Narwen replied. "Well?" Yr Saldin prompted. Narwen fingered her glass, watching it rotate, the liquid within glowing in the sun, the crystal sparkling. "I have spent much thought on the matter, and I have decided that such a position would we one that I am glad to accept. Will you have me?"

[ March 10, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

After being thrown in a cell together, Rolan and Gil's restraints were removed, and the people who had brought them there left. Walking to the door of the jail-like chamber, Rolan pressed his face against and between the two bars closest to the left side of the children's cell.

"Can you see anything?" Gil asked, with not a hint of fear or surprise in her voice.

"Nothing. Well...except that we're in cell number-nine...I think that's the number. I can't quite see it totally," Rolan kicked the bars and retreated back to the far wall of the cell to sit next to his sister.

"I'll bet anything your toes hurt really bad now..." Gil taunted, and muffled a giggle. It was true...his toes did throb a bit after having given the metal a hard kick.

"They do not!" Rolan replied like a five-year old. He lied like a five-year old too, very unconvincingly. "Anyways...look on the bright side-"

"What bright side? You can hardly see in this place!" Gil interrupted Rolan. She smiled, and Rolan's angry stare turned to one of forgiveness.

"Anyway, at least we're in cell number nine. That's a lucky number," Rolan continued matter-of-factly. Yet, other than that, Rolan could find nothing good about the place or being there.

"Nine is not a lucky number. Three and seven are lucky numbers. Since when is nine a lucky number? Aren't you a little old for lucky numbers anyway?" Rolan hushed Gil's chatter, as he heard footsteps coming down the stone hall. A man came...skipping up to Gil and Rolan's cell, and looked at the two, then smiled.

"It's all right, I'm here to take care of you. My name's Jemennan, but you can call me Jem. We're probably going to be stuck together for a while, so why don't you tell me your names?"

Turning to Gil, Rolan raised a skeptical eyebrow. Gil nodded, and smiled a mischievious smile. Turning back to this Jem, Rolan said nothing, and only lifted his chin.

[Carrûn]

Awrygan nodded for his companion's benefit, although a dead corpse was not the highest on his mental list of priorities. Sighing, he walked over to the small form wrapped in the tattered cloak. He picked it up with little effort as the man seemed to weigh less in death than life, as if the freeing of his spirit had removed all physical restraints except for the skin.

Passing Rochelle he muttered "I have to do this too often." The memory of the guard on the hilltop was still fresh in his mind. He carried the corpse to a nearby table, cleared it, and set the man down. Taking a shade from one of the windows he wrapped the Innkeeper in some form of a funeral shroud as best he could. Tossing the man over his shoulder he picked up a container of pitch and some kindling from the now cold fireplace. He re-entered the tunnel and left the Inn.

It was quite some time when he returned. He found Rochelle where she had been, standing by a window idly drumming her fingertips. She turned as he took his seat by the bar. "He is blazing merrily in the woods, bless him. I had thought of using the fireplace but it would draw attention and the smell of burning flesh is rather unpleasant." He was talking in his half-serious, half-joking method.

He rose, and walked to the window where she stood. Drawing a corner of the blinds aside he glanced out. All was black in the streets of Dol Amroth. A dog could be heard in the distance but that was all. He turned to Rochelle and grinned. "I for one, am going to have a look around. Would you care to entertain me with your company?" A ranger, be they experienced or not is preferable at my back to a corsair. His face smiled but his eyes hid dark thoughts and a dark, troubled past. He had little love for the far South and less for its inhabitants.

[Sadbh]

Gil raised her eyebrows at the man who had appeared before there door. She shrugged and turned her head away, glancing at Rolan. She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling at her brother's defiant glare. Why indeed whould they wish to tell any of their captor's their names? She grinned devilishly and replied to the man's question with an air of sarcasm.

"I'm myself, that's him, and the reason we're stuck together for a while is because you and your lot have stuck us here. And if you call throwing us in a dark little room taking care of us, you're doing an excellent job." She scowled and turned to face her brother again. He rolled his eyes at her.

"Is there anything else you need, or may we talk?" Gil returned her gray, quizzical gaze to the young man's confused face. "Well?"

[Orual]

Jem frowned at the children's hostility. He had been nice, hadn't he? But they were children, after all, and imprisoned in a strange place. Their reactions told him at least that they were strong-willed young people; for many, a kind voice in a frightening situation would be enough to send a child into tears. Then he smiled. He probably would have said the same thing to an adult when he was a child.

"All right, Myself," he said, following the girl's introductions just to irritate her. "I welcome you and Him to our humble abode." He gave an exaggerated bow. "And please believe me when I say that you've better surroundings than many of us have most of the time, and though from your finery I can tell that you're likely used to a comfortable bed, warm blankets and a soft pillow, right now you've got a roof over your head if nothing else. You can go on talking if you'd like. But I'm such a villain, as you can tell from my vicious face, so you'd better be careful what you say--don't give away too much, right? I don't need anything else now that can't wait, and I'm not going anywhere, whether you'd like me to or not. I can sit here for a long time. This is my only assignment." Jem took a seat on the floor and looked evenly at the children. "Choose for yourselves what you want to do. I could care less."

[Maegaladiel]

Lhingril prowled restlessly through the dark halls of his underground maze. In one of his nastier moods, the dark wizard spoke angry words to the surrounding darkness.

"They know. They KNOW!" he spat. Everyone in Gondor knew of his betrayal to the King. As far as he could tell, his faithful assistant Barahil's role in the kidnapping remained undiscovered, but he himself had been found out. Now, for the moment, anyways, he was trapped here in his own web of tunnels. He could not leave these caverns until it was time for the final assault on Gondor, when he could steal the throne for himself. If he left too early, he ran the risk of being captured by some idiot guard.

A rat scurried across Lhingril's path. Baring his teeth, the wizard kicked the unfortunate creature, sending it flying down the hallways into the darkness ahead of him. It landed somewhere to his left with a disgruntled squeal.

He had kept King Aragorn drugged ever since his kidnapping to prevent Lady Arwen from locating him mentally, but he still feared that the resourceful Queen would discover another way to find her husband.

Soon, however, no one--not even the Queen and Prince Imharil combined--would be able to stop him from becoming King of Minias Tirith. In the matter of a few days, a week at most, Lhingril's spider army would be old and strong enough to destroy any opposition Gondor tried to place against him. He would be invincible!

A dark smile crossed his face as the thought entered his mind. King Lhingril. It did have a nice ring to it.

The rat squealed once more as a spider pounced on it. Its last cry was abrubtly silenced as Lhingril's 'children' began to feed.

[Envinyatar]

"I have spent much thought on the matter, and I have decided that such a position would we one that I am glad to accept. Will you have me?" Narwen spoke firmly to Yr Saldan, less of a question than a deferential acceptance of the leader’s offer.

‘I am very pleased that you have said this! But my plans for you have changed just a little.’ He pulled the map of Gondor and the Bay of Belfalas from its tube and spread it flat on the table. ‘We cannot afford to have you and your ships move up the Ringló River.’ He traced a route from the dock at Dol Amroth to Tolfalas, the isle just at the entrance to the Anduin River. ‘This is where Khazdifir and his ships are bound. I want you to take a letter to him and join your small fleet to his.’

He pointed upriver to Minas Anor. ‘Trusted sources here have sent me messages that those who hired us for this diversion will soon be moving to secure their seat of power in the White City. Aragorn has been kidnapped, and perhaps even killed by now, and the city is in disarray, leaving only the Queen and Prince Imrahil to deal with the chaos.’

There was a certain gleam in his eyes as he tapped his thick finger on the port just south of Minas Anor. ‘There is no reason we should not partake in the spoils due us for our assistance in this matter. The riches of Gondor are many. And Minas Anor is a fat goose ready for our plucking. The Prince and his troops and the troops of the King will be engaged in the battle for the city. If we sail swiftly up the river we can reach it in a fortnight. Disguise the ships as we did when we sailed into port here, as merchant vessels. Do not stop along the way to take on supplies, or let yourselves be seen closely by the peoples in the settlements along the way.’

He tapped his finger once again on Minas Anor, his thick yellowed nail seeming to pierce the heart of it. ‘Take what you can, in any way that you must and bring the treasures of the White City back to me.’

[Rochelle]

Her eyes followed him as he set on removing the innkeeper. She would have offered to help if she felt he would have accepted it. So instead she sat and watched, and then was left in solitude. She sighed and stood, walking towards the staircase that lead to the rooms above. Slowly she climbed, pausing at the top to look out the tiny window. It was too dark to make anything out.

She continued on and entered one of the rooms. The windows faced north, and she stood looking out for quite some time, until she noticed a red flame lick the sky behind the hill. Her brow furrowed before she realized it must be Awrygan's burial methods. She exited the room and walked across the hall, looking out the window that faced south this time.

She squinted in an attempt to see better, and she noticed movement towards the harbor. Perhaps it was a stray, or a wandering townsperson looking for any other living being. She pursed her lips and exited, returning downstairs.

She looked up from her window perch as the man made his entrance once more. She smirked with a slight nod as he mentioned the innkeeper's cremation. He soon joined her and in turn looked outside.

Would you care to entertain me with your company?

She nodded, "I was wondering when you would deem in necessary to venture out. I'm afraid I've grown a bit restless in the short hour." She smiled then drew her hood to cover the brightness of her hair. "Shall we exit where we entered or do you have yet another interesting pathway to follow?"

[Carrûn]

"I was wondering when you would deem in necessary to venture out. I'm afraid I've grown a bit restless in the short hour."

He smiled inwardly at her apparent restlessness. Careful, that can come back to bit you in the heel when you need to run. Frankly he was ready to be off himself, death of those he cared for was unpleasent but he always felt more secure when he knew it was lurking nearby. This apparent addiction combined with his powerful will and restlessness surged through him like the wines of the distant lands he had visited.

"Shall we exit where we entered or do you have yet another interesting pathway to follow?"

Awrygan shrugged. "I could show you pathes across the world few others know if you truely desired. However for the moment...," he kicked a small door open revealing a downward sloping set of stairs, "this should satisfy your curiosity and serve our purpose. It exits by the stables." Drawing his cloak about his shoulders he softly descended the staircase with Rochelle close behind.

As soon as they exited the Inn the man dropped into a comfortable crouch, then proceeded to light his pipe; a strange thing indeed. Turning so that his cloak hid the light he cupped his one hand and traced lines on it with the other. The pipe was lodged firmly in his mouth making his quiet muttering somewhat difficult to understand. "We will proceed to the warehouses in such fashion....a side door would be the best. Once we enter we will have to deal with any guards and then hopefuly we can take the children and be off. I am not in the mood for rescuing the entire city. If they are not in the warehouses, we will have to ask around as best we could to find out other possibilities." He licked the tip of his thumb and snuffed out his pipe. Turning to leave he glanced back once over his shoulder. "Don't tread on my heels." THen he glided like a shadow towards his objective, lethal and silent now that his path was fixed.

[Envinyatar]

The waters had been quiet these past few days. Hafez had brought the Windrunner and the other five ships just off the western tip of Tol Falas. Decked out as merchant ships, they bobbed peacefully on the waters near the small dock at that end of the island. He stood at the railing of the helm deck, his eye glass in hand, scanning the waters to the north and south. No ships had entered the waters from either direction in the past two days. And the only traffic around between the isle and the mouths of the island had been a small number of fishing boats on their daily journey to fill their holds with fish.

Khazdifir came up beside him. A breeze had sprung up, riffling the feathered earring hanging in the captain’s ear. ‘Anything?’ he asked Hafez. He frowned when Hafez shook his head ‘no’. Khaz was growing restless from the onus of daily inactivity. He turned his head, looking speculatively at this first mate.

‘How would you like to go on a scouting mission for me?’ Hafez said nothing, waiting for Khaz to continue. The captain gripped the railing and peered eastward, as if he could see beyond the isle and into the mouths of the great river. ‘Take Tariq and his ship, and make your way in all haste up the Anduin to the White City. Make contact with some of the merchants. Be my eyes and ears to what is happening there. I want to know if the Prince and his fleet will sail this way soon.’

That evening, under a slender crescent of a moon, the small ‘merchant’ ship made its way to the entrance to the river, and began to make its way upriver against the current. Men were stationed on either side of the bow to note the presence of any ships or larger settlements of men. At each watch they would report back to the captain or to Hafez with their findings which were duly noted on the map just taking form as they sailed northeast.

[Rochelle]

She followed him silently down into the stables. The smell of horses was still fresh and her heart clenched. She stood and looked around before her gaze drifted back to him, brow creasing at his unusual action. She smirked, not daring to say anything for fear of exposure.

Once we enter we will have to deal with any guards and then hopefuly we can take the children and be off.

She partially removed the dagger on her waist at his comment. Her thumb ran over the shining metal, riddled with runes. The blade was cold and sharp...it had been well taken care of. [I]Only a fool would wish to use such a weapon...[\I] Her knives, longer in build and stronger in stature were kept up near her quiver. Her bow too, was situated against her back, waiting to be used.

Don't tread on my heels

She turned to look at him again. Her face was set in a grim expression...so it begins. He set off into the darkness and after a moment, she followed. She made sure to stay several paces away, her dark cloak hiding her against buildings as they made their way. The air was salty, and a mist had settled in the streets. Keen eyes looked to the heights of the buildings and there she noticed a black figure. His movements were deliberate, as if he had no worries. She frowned, this indeed was a corsair. Perhaps he was on watch for another intrusion. Her eyes quickly scanned around but she saw no others.

Awrygan looked backwards and she motioned to the building. The figure was not in their interest she knew, but she would make sure that all party members knew of his existance. It is unwise to venture out when not all have been forewarned.

She moved up next to the man and lowered her voice to a mere whisper. "I am not sure if we should let him be, or if I should risk taking him out with my bow...I see no others but that does not mean that they aren't present."

[ March 14, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[Envinyatar]

Darius led Prince Imrahil to the room where Bebberyn lay. The man was pale, and looked as if he had suffered greatly, but there was no time for the exchange of pleasantries and well wishes. Dol Amroth, or so he had understood, lay in the hands of the Corsairs, and Minas Anor was missing the King.

'Bebberyn,' he said coming close to the man, what has happened in Dol Amroth?' Darius came close and helped the wounded man to sit as he began his report.

[Schmendrick]

At nightfall Durmán reached finally the gates of Minas Anor. He had seen nobody during his ride, the woods had been deadly silent. He hadn't been able to shake off the feeling that something was wrong, but with who or what? Was it his brother?
With a shudder he remembered the day he had gone for a ride and had suddenly had the feeling - like now - that something was terribly wrong. Then he had been right.


Durmán was surprised to find even the white city unusually quiet, the air was thick, like before a great storm and once again the western sky was glowing red. Durmán was all the more surprised by this silence, for he knew that the prince was supposed to be visiting the city and this did not happen every day. Where were all the festivities? He tried to ask that from a few locals, but nobody was able to give him a decent answer. Some weren't even sure, if the prince had yet arrived or not. "This is most unusual", Durmán thought to himself "I have to find out what is going on here."


After having found a place to rest for his horse, Aladhas, Durmán made his way to the castle. The guard let him in, finally, when he showed the ring with the swan carved on it - the one her mother had given to him - and said he was distantly related to the prince himself. " I do not know weather I'm doing the right thing ", said the guard hesitantly, when they were finally standing behind the door. " The prince is paying a visit to a wounded stranger - a high guard of Dol Amroth, you'd better wait outside." After another moment of hesitation he finally said "I'm waiting here with you, in case you are not who you claim to be. We have already enough confusion here."

[ March 15, 2003: Message edited by: Schmendrick ]

[Envinyatar]

Beberryn began to speak in a low,weak voice, and Imrahil called for a cup of watered wine for him to drink to ease the discomfort of a throat long dry. Darius held the cup up for Bebberyn and the man took a few sips of the cool liquid.

'Begging your Lordhip's pardon.' Imrahil turned to see one of the city guard standing just behind him. The man motioned him to withdraw a space from Bebberyn's bedside. 'What is it, man. Speak up! I must hear what Bebberyn has to say while he has the strength to tell me.'

The guard told him of Durman,the Ranger, who stood just outside the door. 'He wishes to speak with you, my lord, but since we do not know him, we thought to alert you to his presence.'

Imrahil went to the door and bade the guard open it. He looked at the man closely, his eyes narrowing as he saw the ring. 'Who are you, Ranger? That you come at this dark hour, wishing to see me?'

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan's dark thoughts were interrupted by the shift in his companions footsteps. Turning towards her, he saw her gesture towards the rooftops of a distant set of building. On them, a man paced back and forth. He grinned slightly when he realized that Rochelle had noticed the figure before he had. His own eyes confirmed that it was no innocent citizen of Dol Amroth. He wished it was, and briefly remembered his own nighttime walks on the city walls in bygone days.

Rochelle was at his side whispering, bringing him back to the present. He had not noticed her bow before. He looked again towards the man in the distance. "He who dares wins," he murmured as a half prayer to Eru. He considered their options. The building was fairly close, he could reach it in about a minute. The wall was too high to climb, but...he drew the curved knife from his boot. Changing his mind, he replaced it and pulled a straight-edged one from his belt. He produced a thin curl of rope from his cloak and tied the knife to the rope with a strong square knot.

Turning back to Rochelle he spoke quietly, enunciating the words as smoothly as his could with the gruff whisper. "Give me about a minute and then fire." An arrow was already notched on her bow as he speed off towards the target.

Reaching the building, he pressed himself against the wall and slowly drew out the knife with the rope attached. An arrow suddenly came whistling through the air, striking the man in the neck. He made no sound, but toppled slightly. Stepping out, Awrygan sent the knife soaring up in an arch. The weight of the weapon sent the cord around the man and caught. With a tug, the man came crashing to the ground; but the green-eyed man caught him on the way and no sound was made. A second knife was in Awrygan's hand but he did not need it; the arrow had done its job. Pulling the man behind a building he hurried back to Rochelle. "Follow me - quickly."

They moved with speed through the darkened city for some time until the man slowed. Resting against a wall he handing Rochelle her arrow back. "A fine shot. Still, I thought it best to put some distance between us and the scene. The warehouses are close now, a few hundred yards that way." He motioned briefly with his hand. "I hope to be in and out before the sun rises."

[Everdawn]

Bebberyn saw Durman enter. "Durmán! my friend!" Bebberyn spoke. "m'lord, he is of my guard." Bebberyn coughed. " I have strength left, or so they tell me..."

"The corsairs, they took everyone by surprise, I ordered the checking of the freight ships, but none of this was carried out by the harbourmen. They came about on the morn, or night, i can no longer remember. They took the halls, my house on the hill, and m'lord, they took the palace."

He paused. "They were everywhere, they have slain all the remaining guards, And i fought, and was wounded, The corsairs have taken women and children as hostage. I could do nothing, i was wounded, I had to leave to tell you. Loyal Avanti bore me here, and now i am learned that King Aragorn is missing." he stopped. Darius frowned.

"They tell me that it is a flesh wound only, and I will be up in a few days, I will be ready to take on any order you will give me Lord." Bebberyn finished.

[ March 18, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Schmendrick]

The Prince had recognized Durmán and had let him enter. They did not change many words, for the guard had an important message to tell. For his surprise, Durmán recognized the wounded man; he was Bebberyn, one of the few guards who had treated him kindly, back in Dol Amroth. Durmán took a seat and listened to his story.


When Bebberyn finished, nobody said a word for a while. The Corsairs! Durmán thought. So he had been right – something was wrong. Why had he left Dol Amroth? Was everything all right with his mother? Durmán felt a sting of regret in his heart, when he remembered his mother bading him not to leave; the tears in her eyes, the nightmares she had told about.


Finally the Prince spoke. His face had grown dark. “ I can hardly believe this. The long years of peace had made us all sleepy, the memory of wars and danger had faded from our minds, though one would think such things could never be forgotten.
I sensed the danger – indeed, for days I felt like a dark shadow had been growing on the sea – but I did not take it seriously. And now I’ll have to pay for it.” He fell silent again. “ And here, Aragorn is missing. What is this; a conspiracy? And who is behind it? I find it difficult to believe indeed that the Corsairs would have reached Minas Anor, too…” He seemed to talk more to himself than to the others in the room. Durmán and Bebberyn remained silent, waiting for him to continue.


“This is a difficult decision for me to make”, the Prince said finally, “ for I am a Prince and my city is in danger. But I believe we must find Aragorn first. We cannot risk losing both cities to the enemies. We must find Aragorn.” The Prince turned to the guard. “Go find lady Arwen, she is the only one, who might be able to help us.”

[Rochelle]

She nodded in agreement as the man cautiously made his way towards the building. A loose arrow lay against her bow, waiting to be cast. She kept her eyes on the pacing corsair before raising her bow. Her perifial vision noticed that Awrygan had made it safely to the base of the building, and she released the arrow. It cut silently through the mist and cleanly into its target.

A smile of grim satisfaction graced her features as her eyes now followed the actions of Awrygan. As he felled the dark man to the street, she had moved up beside him.

At his word she followed a pace behind until they had reached a safe distance. She inhaled deeply "I didn't see any others nearby, so I doubt they'll raise much of a fuss anytime in the near future..." Though you could never be for certain in times like these.

She could see the warehouses. What was left of the moon through the mist, illuminated their edges against the night sky. The moved cautiously against the buildings until they were only feet away from the entrance. The mist was thick at the doors and she turned to Awrygan. "Do you see any guards?"

[Envinyatar]

Only a small guard had been left at the warehouse. One, in fact. Now that the children had been moved, those adults who were willing to work with the Corsairs were pressed into service. The rest were interrogated and then dispatched with.

At the moment, the warehouse only held two prisoners. The first was a man who had been the head of the Prince's household staff, and who, with some extreme encouragement, had been forced to divulge some of the secrets of the palace building.

The other was a High Guard of the city. He, too, had been 'encouraged' to give information on military matters concerning plans for defense of the city, and the number of troops the Prince had taken with him.

[Envinyatar]

Arwen was found and escorted to where Imrahil waited with Bebberyn and Durmán. Her face was pale from lack of sleep, but there was a certain gleam in her eye as she entered the room.

‘The King is being held in a dark place, somewhere near – his thoughts are strong at times. He wakes periodically, and the images he sends are of a small, dark room, stone with a thick wooden door. There is a barred grate, occasionally opened, through which some food and drink are passed . . . oh, and another image which always comes through – there are spiders, many, many spiders and the sound of a low, oily voice . . .’

[Schmendrick]

Durmán felt discouraged to hear this. How could they ever find Aragorn? Surely there were innumerable places that fit the description: walls of stone, a wooden door, spiders...


Just then the guard, who had escorted Arwen to the room, coughed. " With your permission, m'lord", he said turning to Prince Imrahil, "I have an idea about this place...There is a whole web of tunnels under the castle. I do not know exactly for which purpose it has been built, but I think it was, when---" he saw the others looking at him, impatient, " Well, as I was saying, there is this web of tunnels and my son and his friends once went down there - they thought it would be a great adventure - but very soon they came back, screaming. The whole place, they said, had been swarming with spiders, unusually big ones.
And I remember how Linghril, the king's advisor, laughed, when he heard about this. He said that a minute more and they all would've been...spider-food." The guard shivered. "Now there's a scary man, if you ask me. Bet he has something to do with all this."


The Prince nodded. "Yes, that's what we think, too. You have been of great help to us. Now, go and get some more guards to come with us. You will show us the way to the tunnels." The guard, who had turned ghostly white, nodded and was off to find some reinforcements.


It was only then that Durmán dared to speak. "What arms can we possibly use against spiders? Swords and bows do not scare them." The prince nodded, he seemed deep in thoughts. "No, you are right. If there are hundreads of them...We must make some plan, we can't just run there and get us all killed, that will do us no good."
Durmán hesitated, he had got an idea, but he didn't know, if it was worth saying aloud. Finally he summoned his courage.


"What about hot water, then? That would at least wash them away and make them lose their balance? And maybe we could even add something poisonous to it?"
Durmán felt his face blushing, as he waited for the others to answer.

[ March 18, 2003: Message edited by: Schmendrick ]

[Maegaladiel]

Lhingril strode down the darkened corridors of his maze, confidence in each step. The corsairs were attacking Minias Tirith. This provided a most convenient opportunity for taking the throne; it practically gift-wrapped the city and placed it in his hands. Gondor was a plum, ripe for the picking. And its harvest drew near.

While the guards were busy fighting the pirates, he and his army could sweep through the castle’s weak resistance like a knife through butter. Pathetically outnumbered and attacked on both fronts, Minias Tirith would be forced to surrender. And so would begin the Reign of the Spider. Today, he resolved, blood would flow like wine.
*******
Cadrir the guardsman shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He dearly wanted to be out with the others, fighting the wicked corsairs. But nooooo… He had to be stuck here guarding the castle from attack. Attack from what? Shadows? Peasants? Vicious squirrels? He wasn’t even stationed outside of the building, for Valar’s sake. Prince Imharil wanted a handful of guards to stay inside the castle to keep an eye out for danger. Danger. Hmph.

He really would have preferred joining in the search for the missing King Elessar and that scoundrel, Lhingril. To think that such a dirty louse would be admitted into the castle in the first place…

Cadrir’s attention was suddenly drawn to a small object skittering across the floor. It was a spider, the size of a large coin. Grimacing with disgust, the guard squished the creature with his shoe.

“Yeaaaachh!” he muttered, scuffing his boots on the floor in an attempt to wipe off its messy remains. Where the devil had that thing come from?

Cadrir leaned his back against the cold stone wall. His eyelids drooped, partially from boredom and partially from the resent of being left here to do nothing. As he rested, his ears picked up traces of a strange noise, reminiscent to knives or fingernails tapping on stone. The sound drew closer, growing in intensity with each passing moment.

“What the…?” Cadrir drew his sword. Now the sound was very close, echoing through the halls. Biting his lower lip, Cadrir peered around a corner into the dark corridors surrounding him. He gasped. The walls! They were moving!

The guard let out a startled oath as he realized the truth behind his observation. The walls were not moving. They were covered in giant black-and-red creatures, crawling towards him. Cadrir screamed. Spiders! Enormous spiders!

Before the unfortunate guard’s cries had ended, the living sea of legs and teeth engulfed him. The last thing he saw was a tall, dark man, striding besides the monsters. Cadrir reached to grasp the hem of his black cape, in a silent plead for help. The man looked down at him disdainfully, standing aside to let the creatures finish their first taste of Gondor's blood.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: Maegaladiel ]

[Everdawn]

"Soon, i will be well. I will help!. You entrusted me with your city m'lord, and i failed you! But not now, never will I fail you again" Bebberyn cried, sitting up further in his bed.

"Should we start to assemble a guard, a recovery team, come, you have myself, Durmán, Darius?"

Darius nodded. "and other men here!"

Bebberyn was now calming. "Will you let us go Prince?, Lady Arwen, will you trust us to bring the king home?"

[Envinyatar]

'Durmán, Darius, and Bebberyn! We are most grateful that you have volunteered to do this. The sooner we find the King, the sooner I can return to Dol Amroth. Take as many men as you need, and plan carefully. I think this Lhingril probably has more planned than just the kidnapping of the King.'

Prince Imrahil left Bebberyn to the hands of the healers; the sooner he was cured the better. Durmán and Darius he directed to go find the men they needed to begin the search for the King. All three of them were then to meet to formalize their strategy for finding and rescuing King Elessar.

Imrahil escorted Arwen back to her quarters, then went to meet with the captain of his guards to discuss what they would do when they returned to Dol Amroth.

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Envinyatar]

Sailing to Minas Anor took less time than expected. The wind was with them, and the sleek ship cut through the opposing current easily. Soon the port of Harlond was in view, and Hafez brought the ‘merchant’ ship in.

The quay had an uneasy feeling about it. Tense, though there was not much activity. Unusual, since this was the major trading port for Gondor. Hafez was mildly alarmed at the number of guard troops with spears and staves bristling who patrolled the area, faces grim, eyes sharp.

‘Stay aboard,’ he cautioned his crew, ‘and most of you stay below. Do not speak with the guard or any officials unless you are hailed, and even then pretend ignorance and call for me. I will not be far from the ship.’

Hafez pulled a black cloak about his merchant’s outfit and strode down the plank to the rough dock. A few questions to several of those near the ship, and he found directions to the Harbor Master’s office. The Harbor Master, himself, was grim faced and distracted.

It was not a good time for trading he warned Hafez. The city was in near chaos. The King had been kidnapped, and there were evil stirrings in Minas Anor. Rumors were flying that a creature of Shadow had come to claim the White City for his own. Hafez made the appropriate surprised and frightened remarks, thanking the man for his advice. He could scarce conceal his grin as he turned and strode quickly back to his ship.

‘Cast off!’ he cried, just barely aboard. ‘We have the information we need. Now we must fly back to Khazdifir.’

************************************************** ***********

Captain Narwen had delivered the directive from Yr Saldan to Khaz. And now the two Captains and their combined fleet of eleven ships set sail up the Anduin. They did not stop, but sailed on during the night, hurrying against the strong current as quickly as they might.

About two days south of the port of Harlond, they were met by Hafez. They anchored for the night and held a conference to discuss a plan of attack. They would use the boxes again to hold the armed men and place them strategically about the dock. At a signal, the men would burst from them and overwhelm the guards. Most of their looting would occur on the first three tiers – the second one being filled with trade shops. A small group of men would stay near the three ships tied to the dock and defend them. The other ships would be deployed in the river nearer the city.

‘We will dock in the evening,’ said Khaz, pointing to the port on the river. ‘Deploy the other ships here, here, and here. Hit the high end trade shops and the jewel and goldsmiths first, then the shops that sell the fine cloths. Take as much as you can, and do not linger. Should the Shadowed one already have made his move, we will move a small force up to the seventh tier and seek out the treasury, if we can.’ He looked closely round the table at his assembled captains. ‘Two days at the most, is all I want. A nice tight operation with as little bloodshed as possible. Then we set sail south to Yr Saldan.’

The next morning at first light, eleven merchant ships were bound for the White City. Their white sails unfurled in the early morning breezes, they plowed up the river toward their target . . .

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Eäris jumped as the carriage thundered past him. He heard his wife call him to get on, and for once unquestioningly, he did. The horses ran at full pelt away from the city. Eäris struggled to catch his breath.
"I take it-" he began, but had to stop panting. After a few seconds he began again. "I take it you have a good reason for leaving without your two youngest children, wife?" he asked Astarielle. As soon as he had said it he felt sorry. He had not meant to hurt her, for he could see how upset she was.

"I am sorry" he said gravely. "They have been kidnapped by these, these- pirates!" he spat.
Shock seemed to reverberate through the coach. There was silence among the many inhabitants for a moment, then they all began to peak at once.
"Quiet!" called Eäris. "We must get home, get to the King, as soon as possible. We must tell him-"
Suddenly he stopped with a humourless laugh. "What am I saying? Trying to pretend I am important? Dol Amroth will have sent messengers already. Faster ones, no doubt. There is nothing for me to do." He was speaking to himself now.
"I can do nothing" he whispered softly.

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[astarielle]

Astarielle comforted her husband, "You can do something, We can do something. We can search for our children. We had to leave as more of those priates were chasing us, but we have left them behind.Now we must concentrate on retrieving our dearest children".

Quoting from an ancient text, Astarielle said these words,

"Whilst hope lasts, victory will endeavour, but whence it should fail swift will be the darkness."

"We must never give up hope."

[Carrûn]

"Do you see any guards?"

Awyrgan jumped slightly as Rochelle spoke behind him. They were pressed up against the nearest warehouse, the fog providing them with limited cover. The man peered around the corner carefuly. Near the door stood a single man, slight in build for a corsair. He turned back to his companion. "One." He considered their options. "Let's take the direct approach."

Striding up to the door with Rochelle in tow he grinned broadly at the guard who stood with his mouth agape before demanding the green-eyed man's name. A knife was in Awrygan's hand. "My name would kill you." The corsair's eyes bulged and he drew his own sword. Before he could raise it a clenched fist with a hilt in it came smashing into the side of his face, shattering the jaw. Blood spurted from his nose as Awrygan picked him up, placed the knife to his throat as a warning, and then kicked the somewhat rotted door off the hinges. Rochelle was through the door quickly, arrow noched with Awrygan close behind with his "catch." They both stopped short as they entered the room.

It was all but empty. Two men sat slumped against the wall in pools of semi-dried blood. Awrygan recognized the uniform of the High Guard and by his dress the other was of some higher form of nobility. His tounge worked silently in his mouth for some time before words would come out. "Is this it?" The guard of Dol Amroth attempted what seemed to be a nod, but the other shook his head. He coughed blood, and struggled to speak. "There were others, adults, they took them but I don't know where...children...two...lots of guards came took them this morning....I think..." He slumped back into a semi-unconcious state.

Awrygan had let the corsair slip from his grasp onto the floor, where he was beginning to regain his senses. The green-eyed man gave him a swift kick in the ribs and there was a sharp crack. He dragged the man up, and pulled him roughly out the door as three surpsied pairs of eyes stared at him from inside. He saw red briefly, memories of what seemed a hundred years came flooding back. "Where are they?" The corsair did not answer, instead, he spit blood into the outcast Ranger's face. Something in Awrygan seemed to snap, he seemed like some dark lord; terrible and tall. "Poor decision...." A serrated-edged knife was on a rapid descent towards the man's throat before another hand intercepted it, catching the green-eyed man's hand in it's own. Awrygan's normally green eyes were still a flaming red as he turned to find Rochelle standing next to him. "Not like this." Her face was a calm contrast to Awrygan's as he slowly lowered the knife, and sent the man off into the mists with a mighty kick and a string of curses seldom heard by men. Rochelle looked at him. "I did not mean to let him go..." Awrygan turned away. "Then go after him." Rochelle shook her head and dragged the corsair back into the building.

Walking back into the warehouse he buried his knife up to the hilt in the wooden wall and stood silently, attempting to regain some sense of control over himself. He was more surprised at his antics than Rochelle, but it appeared the other way around as she glanced quizzicly at him as she passed. He was, for the moment out of the picture so she walked over to the palace noble. Kneeling down she spoke. "Do you have any idea where the children might be?" Awrygan stood silently against the wall, right hand resting on the burried knife, left hand slowly tracing the scar on his face.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

She knelt beside the palace noble as he slowly struggled to open his eyes. The left was swollen beyond all recognition of an eye, and she grimaced at his pain. “Do you have any idea where the children might be?” His mouth opened to speak and all speech was lost save a whisper. “…the palace…they took them to the palace.” Speech was exhausting for the man and she looked up to Awyrgan who was lost in his own thoughts.

She returned her focus back to the noble. “Do you know the palace well?” The man nodded subtly. Her eyes looked him over, he had a major cut across his forehead which had caused his face to swell tremendously. She took out her medicine bag and revealed leaves of athelas. She crushed them in her palm, the sweet smell of orchards and pine escaped, bringing renewed vigor to those around. Carefully she placed the leaf shards in the cut and moved to rip off the hem of her cloak. With this she wrapped it about the mans forehead so that the medicine could do its work.

She sighed and looked to the corsair who had been cast aside. He had not dared to move from where he landed for fear of another assault. She stood and moved over to the man, kneeling beside him, hand on the hilt of her knife. “What devilry wroughts the minds of your comrades corsair?” The man just stared at her, this was the woman who had slipped from his grasp only the day before. He frowned and cursed Khazdifir for not allowing him to take up the chase when she had escaped.

She brought her knife to his throat, the tip testing the softness of his skin. “What was that you muttered? Tell me, what plan does your leader have with the children?” The corsair grinned a toothless grin, “Milady, you should be minding house and husband…not running around aspiring to be victor.” He uttered a short laugh before a blow to his temple sent him unconscious.

She ran the back of her hand across her mouth before resheathing her knife. “Bastard.” Her eyes darted to the guard, then to Awrygan. “I don’t think this corsair will be of much help to us…if the noble can manage to travel, I feel he may yet be able to help us in our search.”

[Carrûn]

Awrygan did not reply, but nodded silently. Rochelle's blow had stunned the corsair, but he was regaining conciousness. Picking him up, Awrygan strode back outside. He spoke to the man in his own tounge. "It is said corsairs fear dishoner more than death or pain." The pirates eyes blazed in hatred as two quick knife strokes removed the long braids of his beard. Awrygan spun him around. "Go know to who you will. Fear, for I will return for you." The man took two steps away and then spun around, leaping bare-handed and the darkened Ranger. Sidstepping him, Awrygan knocked him to the ground.

He strode to when a horse had been left tied to a post, its owner dead or forgotten leading it back to where the corsair lay he tied him to the saddle. "I doubted you would leave willingly. Pleasent travels." He held on to the horses bridle, whispering words of fear into its ear. Its eyes and nostrals flared and as the man released his hold it bolted into the darkness with the man on its back.

Walking back inside he found Rochelle again administering aid to the injured noble. He sat down next to the High Guard who seemed to be making a decent recovery on his own. The guard began to speak without prompting and for a time Awrygan listened in silence. He was somewhat relieved to discover (although it was unfortunate in retrospect) that the Prince was away in Minis Tirith. His own thoughts trailed off until they were again inturruped by the guard's voice. "I did not reveal all of the hidden armory locations." He grinned. "I used to be an actor, I guess it turned out to be a useful skill. There are still many weapons available if we could find the people to wield them." Awrygan laughed strangely and the man stopped talking. I walk South, am convinced to look for a couple of brats and now I'm supposed to help liberate a city. On the bright side, if I die trying I won't have to worry about getting dragged into this again. "I came here for two, not two thousand soldier," he said. He nodded towards Rochelle. "Words are wasted on me, you should talk to her." He sat back and lit his pipe. The guard produced his own and Awrygan helped the man light it. The two sat smoking waiting for Rochelle to finish with the noble.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Envinyatar]

Prince Elphir, Imrahil's son, accompanied Durmán and his company of hastily gathered guards, down toward the lowest level of the castle.

Before they entered the level of the tunnels, most of them armed themselves with burning brands. They tied off the legs of their breeches and shirts to prevent the spiders from crawling into them, and hung fine netting from their helms, draping it down to protect their head and neck.

Some of them, who were placed in forward positions had great cauldrons of hot water held between two guards, and they had wrapped thick leather about their lower boots to ward off the heat of the liquid.

Just as they entered the stairway ot the tunnels, one of the guards cried out. there at the bottom of the stairs, in the dim light from the torches, they saw the crumpled body of a guardsman.

'Cadrir!' one of the descending guards called out, but there was no answer. When they reached him, his face was swollen and purpled from the poison of the spider bits.

The word passed back among the ranks of what had happened. each man shifted nervously and felt to see his own netting was in place and his bindings tight about the legs and wrists.

Then Elphir and Durmán rallied them, and all were filled with one desire - to find the creature and destroy him who had done this to one of their own.

Like a great, silent wind, they passed down the corridor - rushing first to find the King. Then would they sweep over the evildoers like a sharp scythe against weeds and cut them down . . .

[ March 24, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Rochelle]

She had finished indeed and had overheard the men speaking. She was at a loss of what to do next. She made her way over to where they sat vigilant and made a place nearby for herself to sit.

She turned to the guard. "What are you saying sir? That you know of men who will be able to aid us? For I am certain that I know of none." The man simply smiled and puffed away on his pipe, content in his leisure. She stood and walked to the point where they had entered and cautiously looked outside. No one was in sight, but she felt they should no longer stay.

She walked back over to Awyrgan and spoke. "What do you propose we do now? Take these men with us or leave them behind? You know that I wish to make for the palace and find the children...but I am not exactly sure of the best course to take..."

No answer was brought forth at first and so she returned to her place beside the door. Her mind drifted to Quellë and hoped he was being watched over carefully. She did not know what the next hour would bring...but for some odd reason she trusted the coarse man with her, he had not betrayed her yet and his skill and experience seemed genuine.

The hood of her cloak had fallen and she repositioned it over her golden hair. She missed her fair clothing, but these new garments had not brought her misfortune as of yet. She flexed her arm slowly, it was healing properly and she would not even notice it soon.

[Carrûn]

"What do you propose we do now? Take these men with us or leave them behind? You know that I wish to make for the palace and find the children...but I am not exactly sure of the best course to take..."

Neither do I for sure, but it would not help to show that. Awyrgan shifted uncomfortably against the stone floor, attempting to find some semblence of a position that did not leave his joints aching. He hated these decisions, the ones that could lead to "what-ifs" but had to be made or there would be no time later to do so. He looked down to notice that his absentminded tapping of his knife against his hand had produced a few small cuts. Grinning, he placed the knife back in its sheath. He waiting a few moments longer before attempting to answer Rochelle's question.

He turned to the guard sitting next to him and tapped his shoulder. The man didn't respond so Awrygan reached over and snuffed his pipe. The man turned with a glare which Awrygan returned with a bright flash of green eyes. "Do you know if they were planning on leaving you here for a while or did they have other more interesting ideas?" Awrygan asked. The guard smiled grimly. "I think we have all but outlived our usefulness. Thus the small guard; I doubt they seriously thought that two broken men could do much damage. They were wrong." He paused. "I honestly think that my friend and I will not require your assistance much longer, thanks to the healing skills of your companion here."

Arwygan nodded. "I would have you come with us but four are no better than two for this; success depends on stealth not force. Unless you have several available companies of men readily available." The guard laughed darkly. "Not a company, but I could probably find a few groups if given some time." "That we do not have," said Awrygan. "However any trouble you could cause would undoubtedly aid us." The guard nodded and rose stiffly. "I will do what I can." He picked up a set of keys off the ground. "Lucky for us your pirate friend dropped these before you sent him off on a horse ride." With a slight bow to Rochelle he exited through the empty doorway and was gone. Awrygan turned back to the noble and Rochelle. He nodded silently as if assessing the situation. He knelt next to the man and examined him on his own for some time. His brow furrowed for a moment as if he found something that troubled him but he pushed it back into the back recesses of his mind. He helped the man shakily to his feet. "You should be fine in a few hours or so. Do you know the ways into the palace?" The man nodded weakly. "Good. I can carry you until you can walk." The noble was a slight man and Awrygan lifted him onto his back with ease. He turned to Rochelle. "Ready?" She nodded. "Very well. Try not to get injured, one is easy enough but carrying two may be a challange."

With that he walked out into the mists. He turned his head over his shoulder towards the noble. "Which way?" The man pointed off to the right and Awrygan strode off into the night, one on his back and one on his heels keeping a close guard on the rear as they approached the captured palace.

[ March 26, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Envinyatar]

There was the sound of hooves clattering on the stones outside the palace gates, and the ragged breathing of the great beast at the whispered urgings of its rider to go further on. The guards came running, their calls for the rider to identify himself unheeded. Blades drawn, spears at ready they approached the rider slumped over the saddle.

‘Grab those reins!’ one of them called, as the spooked horse neighed and reared up. ‘It is one of our own. Altayeb! He is injured and bound to the mount.’ Strong hands reached up to pull him to safety as his bonds were cut. The horse, free of his blood-scented burden, reared up once again and then with a mighty leap, flew over those who would restrain him, speeding wildly away from the perceived danger.

‘Take me to Yr Saldan,’ came the ragged voice of Altayeb to his comrades. ‘There are two who would enter the palace and see his plans come to nothing.’

Two strong arms helped the injured man to his feet, and helped him up the stairs to the palace. Yr Saldan, alerted by his guard stood in readiness in the entry way to receive him. ‘Lay him down there, on that seat, and let the healer tend to him.’ he directed the two who held Altayeb up.

He knelt by the injured man’s head, and gave him a few drops of chilled wine to drink. “Here,’ he said, ‘something to ease your parched throat.’ He looked closely at the man’s cut beard and the swollen, purpling bruises to his head. ‘Who did this to you?’

Altayeb raised himself weakly on one elbow and told the story of the two intruders at the warehouse. Yr Saldan’s eyes blazed with anger that they had been allowed to penetrate so far into the city. ‘Who was held captive there?’ he asked Altayeb, ‘And what were those two seeking at the warehouse.’ Again, Altayeb rallied and related what he had learned.

Once Altayeb had been taken to a room to rest, Yr Saldan went into the garden and paced restlessly, thinking hard. His ever present guard kept a watchful eye on him as he strode back and forth. After a dozen passes, Yr Saldan stopped abruptly before the guard and spoke hurriedly to him. ‘Find Jem. Bring him to me at once. It is the children they seek, and now they have one with them who has the knowledge to penetrate the palace in its secret ways . . . the ways we have not learned as yet.’ The guard hurried off to find the young Corsair.

‘Tomorrow,’ said Yr Saldan to the now empty garden, ‘tomorrow we will move the children. And if we cannot get the information we need from them, we will kill them . . .’

[Orual]

The children had been unresponsive to his teases and attempts at friendliness, so Jem had taken to simply watching them. They were frightened, he could see that. But still he admired their bravery, that they did not cry out or break during the sometimes overly harsh interrogations that they underwent. This time it was different, though, as the corsair questioning them had taken it upon himself to strike the girl, who Jem still referred to as "Myself".

Jem strode forward and caught the man's hand as he prepared to hit her again. "Don't hit a lady," he said in a low voice.

The man looked at him quizically. "What's gotten into you, Jem?"

"You don't hit a lady," Jem said, still gripping the man's wrist. His voice was a deadly whisper. The girl was staring at him.

"You've seen girls hit before. You've hit girls before. I don't think that you'd mind me hitting Airan. Besides, they hit girls where you came from, didn't they? In the slums?" The man's voice had now taken on a mocking tone, and he sneered at Jem, looking the young corsair up and down. "Yr Saldan was too good to you when he gave you this job. Even your street life didn't toughen you up enough for a corsair's life."

Jem's face twisted in rage. Letting go of the man's hand, he gave a roar and struck him full across the face with his fist. "Don't you ever speak of my childhood! You don't know what I went through. You don't know what I still go through! No child deserves to live like I did, and no child deserves to be hit like you hit her! I am their guard, and I refuse to submit them to this treatment. If you value your life, you will run. Very fast."

With Jem looming over him, the older corsair stumbled and fell, then took off.

"Don't mention it," he snapped to the girl, who hadn't even opened her mouth. "I don't want your thanks. I would've done it for any girl. I--"

"Jemennan, Yr Saldan wants to see you," a guard called, panting with exertion. He had apparently run the whole way from Saldan to Jem. "It's urgent."

Jem nodded curtly to the guard, then turned back to the children. "I'll be right back," he assured them, though he didn't know why. They probably didn't care.

He jogged to the garden, and found Yr Saldan. "You call--"

"Tomorrow," said Yr Saldan, "tomorrow we will move the children. And if we cannot get the information we need from them, we will kill them..."

Horror-stricken, Jem backed up, nearly tripping over the threshold back inside, and took off at full speed back to the cell, trying to find some way to save the children that he had been ordered to protect, from the man who had ordered him to protect them.

[ March 27, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Envinyatar]

The current of the Great River pushed the ships gently against the dock at Harlond. Here the river was wider to accommodate the ships coming into the white City’s southern port. Eleven merchant ships, bringing wares from the exotic southern regions lay at anchor, peacefully tied to the pilings. A few men moved about on board each, bringing crates from the hold to be piled on the dock. The sun was just setting as the last crate from the Windrunner was placed carefully on the quay.

‘Is that it, Hafez?’ asked the brown skinned merchant leaning on the bow railing. His dark, conservative cut clothing betrayed nothing of his Southron heritage. His dark eyes glittered in the fading light as he waited for his first mate to answer, his left hand going up to caress the feathered earring in his ear, forgetting he had removed it to play this part.

Hafez grinned broadly at Khazdifir, and nodded his head ‘yes’. ‘It will be like Dol Amroth, Captain. Only easier. This city is in disarray with the King missing. The guards are fragmented in their searches, and do not spare any men to patrol the lower levels of the city. It will be easy pickings and quick, if I have the right of it.’ His hand went down to touch the pommel of his sword, hidden beneath the folds of his cloak.

‘I and the other captains will remain aboard the ships with a crew of ten each. You will supervise the dispersal of the men on the lower tiers. Tell them they need go no further up than the third tier. They must secure the passage ways that lead to each level and post sentries to alert them of any interference from the city guard. I would avoid losing any men, if at all possible. This is to be a grab and run venture – concentrating especially on the warehouses on this level and the jewelers’ and metal smiths’ shops on the third tier. When the moon stands high against night’s dome, all are to return. We will make swift passage back to the bay and return to Yr Saldan with our bounty.’

‘As you wish it, so will it be.’ Hafez bowed slightly to his captain, and strode down to the dock.

The crate handlers were gathered round him, and he gave them brief instructions on what would be happening and when. Each went to his assigned post near a section of Southron crates, and settled in to wait for the signal. Hafez nodded up to Khaz, and perched casually on a piling, drawing his pipe and pouch out as if to enjoy an evening smoke on this fair summer’s evening . . .

[Everdawn]

And so the rescue party was stopped. Bebberyn took this chance to wipe residue from the blade of his sword. He watched Durmán and Elphir look over the poisoned guard.

Bebberyn stood at a junction of another tunnel which joined the one in which they were standing. There was a quiet ehco, movement far away. Bebberyn stood still and listened. Something was moaning. "Elphir, Durmán! I can hear something down here!, wait I will take some men and see what it is."

Elphir nodded and Bebberyn with a party of seven men, including Darius began to ward off to the left. Bebberyn took a torch and walked in front, always listening.

They came to another junction, this one was filled with more water. A light lingered to the right. Bebberyn cautiously approached it. There came a mouldy room, and a man, who was tied to a chair seemed to be unconscious.

"By the White Tower! It is the king!" Bebberyn exclaimed and rushed foward leaving the rest of the company to follow. Aragorn was pale and weak. Bebberyn cut his bindings with his sword. Aragorn moaned. "You are safe Lord, I am of Imrahil's men, and your own men are here, we have rescued you!"

"Here!" he yelled at the men. "Take the king, lets find the rest of the men and get out of here!" Darius and another guard by the name of Protoren took the king, his arms draped around their shoulders as they carried him to safety. Bebberyn ran ahead through the junctions until he came once again to the main party.

"I have found him!" He yelled.

[ March 28, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Rochelle]

"Very well. Try not to get injured, one is easy enough but carrying two may be a challange."

She gripped her bow firmly with a smirk. "I think I can handle myself..." She stepped into the mist and quickly took up the rear of the company. She walked silently a pace behind, eyes darting from rooftops to hidden alleyways, alert for any movement.

After they had gone a ways, she moved next to Awyrgan as he stopped against the building. Her gaze followed his and she saw the walls of the palace ahead of them. She also saw something that was not settling. The black figures of men were at guard, alert as if expecting something.

She looked back to the man with the noble across his shoulders. "I have no doubts that the corsair you set loose had anything to do with this call to arms..." her voice barely held register before she turned to the noble. "The main entrance is heavily guarded...is there no other way?"

The noble nodded "There are many ways in, but the tower is closest to the main entrance...if you can get to the side unnoticed however, the gardens might provide a less noticable approach."

She moved to look again. "I can not see the guard near the gardens, nor at the tower. I suggest we take that route none the less...it may prove to be less perilous than charging all those men."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

As his sister returned to the cell, Rolan could only hug her and comfort her. The nerve of that man, to even think of striking a child, especially a girl! Rolan now had a new bit of respect for that man Jem, who had threatened the man who had hit Gil. Gil had only a slight trace of fear in her eyes, and for that, Rolan was proud to call her 'sister'.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Rolan asked frantically, ready to break out of that cell and kill the man who had struck her. "If I could have gotten near that man, why, I'd...I'd..."

"I know," Gil quieted her angered brother, and assured him profusely that she was alright, thanks to that Jem man.

"I'll be right back," The guard Jem promised the two, just before he ran off.

"D'you think we should tell him our names? He did kind of risk his neck back there," Gil wondered aloud.

"No, I think he's taken a liking to the names, 'Myself' and 'Him'," Rolan replied, just as the man Jem came stumbling back into the hallway in front of the cell.

"Something wrong, Jem?" Rolan asked curtly.

[Envinyatar]

Darius and Protoren, accompanied by ten of Elessar’s personal guards, took the King upstairs to his apartments. Arwen was alerted and a healer was brought quickly to his chambers. Imrahil had accompanied the Queen to Elessar’s side, and stood back until she motioned him forward.

He clasped the King’s hand firmly and Aragorn raised himself up on one elbow and pulled him near, speaking raggedly. He bade the Prince tell him what had happened, his face becoming grim at the news from Dol Amroth. He urged Imrahil to leave the White City soon and speed back to his own land, taking what troops he might need.

The Prince demurred, saying Aragorn would have need of his troops here, until the White City was secured. When that was done, then perhaps Elessar would send troops as needed. ‘I will in fact leave tomorrow at first light. Now that I see you are not mortally injured, Elphir and I will set sail with our men and return as fast as we can to our land.’

The healer stood near wringing his hands worriedly, and Imrahil took the hint, withdrawing with a grin and a nod to the King.

Once outside the door, he called for Darius. ‘Where are Bebberyn and my son?’ Darius explained that they had continued on the trail of the necromancer, determined to capture him. ‘He didn’t act alone, you know,’ said the Prince, as he walked along the open hall with the guard. ‘There was was someone well placed in the palace who assisted him. That is the other viper you will need to find.’

Imrahil dismissed Darius once he reached his rooms. He called for his assistant, telling him to get every thing ready to go - they would be sailing in the morning. ‘Ask Elphir’s assistant to square away his things also.

The Prince called for some wine to ease his thirst and took his map case from the chest. He pulled out a detailed map of his land and the terrain surrounding the city, and spread it out on the table in his room. ‘Call the captains of my guard – at least the ones who have not gone with Elphir, to come and attend me,’ he directed the guard at this door. ‘And send someone to have the Captains of my ships attend me also. We have plans to make before we reach Dol Amroth.’

[Envinyatar]

Search as they might, the necromancer had eluded them. ‘Gone like one of his nasty spiders, down some dark hole to crawl away and hide,’ came the voice of one of the guards when Elphir called a halt to their searches. Others of the guards laughed and snickered at this image, until Elphir’s quiet voice cut through their grim mirth. ‘A spider he is, men – and a dangerous one. He does not hide simply to escape us, but to lie in wait until his poisonous fangs can lay low one of us once again.’

It was getting dark, night was full upon the city, and the torches that they carried were burning low. ‘Post sentries at the entrances to the palace from these underground caverns,’ he bade the captains of the city guard who had accompanied him. ‘Let us all get some rest and we will hunt him once again tomorrow.’ Elphir and Bebberyn took their leave of the others and made their way back to Imrahil’s quarters.

[Envinyatar]

The moon had sailed behind the clouds, rising in its path to the top of night’s dome. Hafez glanced up at the Windrunner and made out the dark figure standing against the bow railing. A small hooded lantern was in the figure’s hand, and he opened the aperture in the face of the lantern three times in rapid succession. The signal had been given. Hafez strode quickly toward the first of the crates on the dock. Already the ‘merchant’ seamen were prying off the front panel of the large crates in answer to the signal light.

Ten men, dressed in black, armed with cutlasses and knives came silently out of each crate and grouped quickly with their leaders. Thirty crates, three hundred men in total now moved with a single purpose into the welcoming darkness. They spread out, looting quickly and efficiently the warehouses and places of business on each of the first three tiers. They made little sound as they moved up the streets and did not stop to menace people who chanced upon them. Intent only on securing what treasures they could, they made a thorough circuit as their leaders directed them and filled their loot sacks with all that they could find.

[Orual]

Jem was halfway to the cell before he realized that he was holding his breath, and had to twist his ankle three-quarters of the way there before he stopped to realize that he was crying.

How many years had he been with Saldan? Nearly ten? And all of them he had been deceived. He had always perceived Saldan as his savior, a man who cared about him, and just happened to be a corsair on the side. If he had cursed the foolishness that earned him his wounded arm, he cursed the foolishness that had gotten him involved with Saldan a hundred times more. He would have been better dead on the streets than a part of this crew.

He was only several yards from the cell when he stopped to dry his eyes, to make sure that the children did not see him weeping.

"Something wrong, Jem?" the boy asked as Jem finally approached the cell, still stumbling. His ankle was not badly hurt, but it pained Jem a little. He barely noticed.

"Shut up and just do as I say," Jem snapped. It was the harshest he had ever been with the children, and they looked at him, surprised. He gave a frustrated sigh and went to unlock the cell. "We don't have much time. I don't know who you are, but Yr Saldan wants you dead if you don't tell him. You didn't tell me, so I'm guessing that you won't tell him, and he won't ask nicely, either. I've got to get you out of here." He jammed the third wrong key into the lock, and cursed savagely. Then he looked at the children and cursed again, silently. "I mean, blast. Quit looking at me like that."

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan was restless. The many cups of wine he had consumed had not taken the edge off his worrisome thoughts. His resources for holding the city were stretched thin at the moment, and he had received no word back as yet from those he had sent North for information from Minas Anor. His thick finger traced the line of the river from the bay to the port of Harlond. Damn the founder of Gondor’s ruling city for not locating it at the mouth of the river! But then again, how clever of those sea-going Men of Númenor to place the chief city of this land away from the dangers of attack by sea.

A short, coarse laugh escaped him at this thought. If he had the right of it, his captains and ships should even now be looting the city. His fingers curled and uncurled, longing to be there with them. His feet on the deck of a ship, his blade gripped in his hand – watching the city burn and its streets run red with the blood of its weak citizens.

Wine splashed clumsily into his cup from his increasingly unsteady hand. He shook his head, thinking that it was best that Khazdifir headed this operation and not he. Khazdifir would see that the treasures of the city were taken and then leave swiftly, losing as little men as possible.

‘But then, he has the Sea and the deck of his ship rolling beneath his feet to keep his temper cool,’ he muttered to himself, sloshing wine on the map spread out beneath his hand.

The dark red stains spread over southern Gondor bringing another wicked laugh from Yr Saldan. What was he thinking that he should have condemned himself to being landlocked for so long a time. Pah! He spat on the smooth stone floor of the palace garden’s terrace.

His thirst for power was not alleviated by the wine, nor was it by his schemings from inside this landbound building. He could almost feel the walls close in on him, and the stink of the gardens was cloying and overpowering, as if the earth itself meant to suffocate him.

This was a mistake he said drunkenly to himself. To make a seaman into a king. Better he should torch this land, take its wealth and flee back to the free life he knew best.

Yes, that’s what he would do. Order the monies and treasures be put aboard the ships. Torch the city, killing those who would oppose him. Soon, soon . . .he could not stand much more of feeling trapped inside these walls . . .

His hand reached shakily once more for the bottle . . .

[Carrûn]

Awrygan glanced towards the seemingly vigilent guards at the main tower entrance. Obviously the man he "set loose" had returned to his master. Fortunately, this could work to there advantage in several ways. He nodded to Rochelle's suggestion and was about to move forward before the noble spoke quietly. "I think I can walk now." Awrygan put him down and the three crept silently into the guarden.

Moving along the one wall covered in foilege the noble produced a small key. Within a few seconds a small door opened. He turned to Awrygan and Rochelle. "This tunnel enters a side staircase that should lead you to the only dungons in this building. I don't know where else they would be keeping people." He paused. "I am sorry but I think I will be no more use to you here, I will find somewhere quiet to weather the storm." Awrygan shook his hand and the noble was off.

The pair entered the tunnel. It ended at a small door which Awrygan cautiously pushed open revealing a staircase that travelled upwards into the heights. They increased their pace, until they reached a hallway with rows of doors. Reaching the first one Awrygan peered through the bars. Looking through there was nothing. Moving on to the second he looked in to see a corsair. And the two accursed children he had been chasing. He turned to Rochelle and nodded. Drawing two knives he kicked the door open with a crash and strode into the room.

[Everdawn]

There was agreat look of concern on Bebberyn's face as he turned to talk to Elphir. "It troubles me to think that the same halls we ran through as boys is now occupied by corsairs." he frowned.

"And this spider- I must say i grow more pesamistic by the minute! There must be miles and miles of catacombes here, The only way to find them will be to fill the tunnels with kerosene and fire them out, but that may do more damage than we shall like."

He stopped suddenly. "or will it?"

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Envinyatar]

Through the haze of alcohol Yr Saldan heard the crash of the door from the hallway leading to the tower. He rose from his seat, unsteady, his reddened eyes trying to focus on the spinning entry way from where the sound had issued. He drew a long, ragged breath and leaned heavily on the table, trying to pull himself together.

Some semblance of normalcy returned to him as his mind clamped down on his wayward limbs and took control of them. He blinked, and his vision cleared somewhat. Drawing his blade he advance down the hallway.

There! At the entrance to the tower, there were sounds coming through the grate in the door. From above.

He opened the door cautiously, and crept up the stone stairs, one hand on the wall to steady himself in the darkness, to the source of the noise . . .

[Orual]

Jem finally found the right key and opened the cell. "Follow me, quickly. I've got to get you out of here before Saldan finds out what I'm up to. No, don't ask any questions! You'll just have to trust that I won't betray you. I won't. Besides, it's either trust me or get back into the cell and wait for Yr Saldan to come run you both through."

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. The children didn't show any signs of being distressed by his violent imagery, but he knew that they must have been. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just in a hurry. I--"

As he spoke two people crashed into the room. He got halfway through another vicious curse, but stopped himself. They were not corsairs. They must be here to rescue the children.

"Take them," Jem said urgently. "If you're here to rescue them, take them. I can hold off here for a while. I'll tell the other corsairs that Saldan took them, and Saldan that the other corsairs took them. Please, help me save them."

[Envinyatar]

Elphir urged Bebberyn to put that plan from his mind. ‘Let us report to the King what we have found . . . or not found, I should say. Then, let him decide what he is to do with his palace and its infestation.

He motioned for the Royal Guard to follow him. They hastened back to where his Father, Prince Imrahil, waited for them. The City’s guards would need to deal with the problem of Linghril now. They were making ready to go back to Dol Amroth with all speed possible.

[Hirilaelin]

Narwen held her staff tightly as she and specially picked men from her ships slid through the darkness of Harlond's quiet streets. The blade of her first mate's cutlass shone in the moonlight as he leaned closer to her to whisper. "Orders Captain? Where should we strike first?"

"Patience Fhaaraz. We will strike at the warehouses. They should be filled with valubles. Bear in mind however, that killing should be kept to a minimum. Understood?" The burly man nodded. She raised her voice, continuing her instructions, as she broke the men up into groups. "Vilja, take twenty men and comb the first tier. Xivker, you can take the second tier. Fhaaraz and I will lead a group to the third tier. Understood?" The men nodded. "And as little killing as possible. This is imperative! Any disobedience, and you will feel the lash upon your backs." Departing into the night, the strike began.

* * *

In the third tier, Narwen's group approached the first warehouse. Motioning a man from her group to her, she whispered to him, "Dlass, you were a thief, were you not? It is time to put your skills to use. This door needs to be opened. Do so." The man nodded, and came to the huge doors of the warehouse. From his pouch, he produced a rag and a small vial of liquid, which turned out to be oil. Spilling the oil onto the rag, he carefully oiled the first hinge. Narwen watched in appriciation.

Soon, the hinges were oiled. Next, Dlass produced a set of lockpicks, ingeniously stowed in a small, slender wooden box. He held one up in the moonlight and inspected it. Inserting it into the lock, he gave it a jiggle. Nothing caught. Another jiggle. Nothing. He selected another pick. "You're certain you can open this thing?" Fhaaraz asked him. Dlass nodded. "Of course. Just a few moments. Locks are delicate things." Pushing the next pick in, he jiggled it. Narwen watched with baited breath. The pick caught. With a small click, the lock was opened.

Motioning the men forward, they pushed on the door. The well oiled hinges gave narey a squeal as the great doors swung slowly inward. As the crack widened, Narwen darted through. In the shadows of the door, a guard waited, poised to strike. But her sudden rush startled him, and with a sharp crack on the head from her staff, he sank to the floor. "Gag and bind him," she told Fhaaraz. Moving forward, the man did as he was told.

Inside the warehouse, all was black, except when a coin or jewel caught the moonlight and flashed with sudden brilliance. "Load the packs, but don't get overly greedy, you won't be able to get back to the ship if you're so burdened down that you can't move." Moving forward, the men proceeded to fill the packs. Narwen inspected the riches that they were plundering. Gold coins, jewels, goblets, bangles. Gondor was rich indeed. But unvigilant, as proved by the easiness of their ingress.

[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Maegaladiel]

“Confound it!!” bellowed Lhingril. The man cowering before the necromancer flinched at his angry words. Being the bearer of bad news was a deadly job, especially if the news was for his master Lhingril.

“They have found the King, AND have plans to set my tunnels ablaze?!?” the dark man hollered. Under his hard gaze, the little man seemed to shrink.

“Y-y-yes, my lord,” he sputtered. “B-b-but a ship waits for you at the docks, master. We have made arrangements for your escape.” Lhingril slapped the underling alongside the head. The unfortunate man yelped like a frightened dog.

“You’ll have more to whine about when I’m through with you, you mangy cur!” the necromancer spat. “I plot for weeks on end to create the perfect plan for domination, and now I must crawl on my belly to escape the wrath of a Prince and a handful of men?! They shall all die like the useless maggots they are!! And your fate will be ten times worse!” The grunt’s eyes widened in fear. Lhingril rubbed his temples, deep in thought.

“It seems as though the spider has been chased out of his own web by a small swarm of flies. But no matter,” a wicked grin crossed his face, making him look hellishly demented in the flickering torchlight. “I shall return, and when I do, I shall feast upon Gondor’s blood. Not even the Valar shall be able to stop me!” He strode down the hallways aimed for a secret passage that led all the way to the docks. The little man followed at his heels like a scolded puppy. Lhingril stopped abruptly.

“And where are you going?” he asked. The man sputtered that he was going to the docks. Lhingril raised an eyebrow.

“You’re staying here. I said you were to be punished. I cannot go back on my word, now can I?” The wicked smile returned. “Besides, someone needs to feed my children.” Lhingril snapped his fingers, and a spider dropped from the ceiling, landing squarely on the frightened underling’s head. Two more joined their brother in his feast, and the little man’s screams of terror echoed long and loud through the tunnels, unheard by all but the dark figure making for the exit. Too bad, he thought to himself. In a few moments, all those spiders would be dead. Such a tragic loss of life.
*********

Later, Lhingril spoke quietly to one of the sailors aboard the Windrunner.

"I have arrangements with Yr Saldan," he said. The man nodded and motioned for him to follow.

Soon, Lhingril would be ten times as powerful. He would breed a new spider army, one stronger and swifter than the last. Gondor would be his. And no one would be able to stop him. No one.

[Envinyatar]

‘Wait here!’ Alephir motioned for the man to step back from the door to the captain’s cabin, directing him to a seat nearby. He flinched as the darkly clad man drew near him as if to argue with his request. There was something about this person that made his skin crawl. Worse than his presence, though, was his voice – low, and oily, it flowed over him when he spoke like fouled water from a poisoned well.

Alephir rapped once on the door, and was admitted quickly. The muffled sounds of a clipped conversation followed. A few moments passed and the door to the captain’s cabin was opened wide. A broad swath of light pierced the darkness for a second, then the lamp within was doused.

Khazdifir strode quietly to where the man sat in shadow. His figure seemed to suck the heat and light from about him, leaving a cold, dark emptiness in its stead. Khazdifir narrowed his eyes against the tricksy illusion and spoke out clearly.

‘Linghril, is it not? Or so my crewman say you are called.’ No answer came, and he plunged on. ‘He says Yr Saldan had made arrangements for you. I have no knowledge of such arrangements. But since it appears that you have need of leaving this city as do we, my ship will bear you to a safe port in Harondor. From there you may find transport to wherever you need be.’

Khaz called for two of his crew to escort the ‘guest’ below. ‘Make sure he is comfortable in his quarters, safe from prying eyes . . . and well secured.’ He looked up at the moon’s position against the night sky. ‘Another hour, and we should be on our way.’

[Rochelle]

She hurried quickly up the stair well and entered behind Awyrgan. At the words of the corsair she seemed mystified, not willing to believe his words at first. "You wish for the children's safety? How are we to know that you want to help us, and that we should not kill you now?"

At any rate, the barred door was opened and the children stepped out, followed by the corsair. Rochelle dropped to the floor and smilied to the rather dirty pair. "Stay behind me alright? We're going to get you out of here..." The children nodded and she stepped in front of them, a questioning look still upon her face about the corsairs predicament. "Shall we trust him Awyrgan?"

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan continued up the stairs. The voices were becoming clearer now. Adult voices. Three by the sound of them.

He reached the landing, and drawing himself deeper into the shadow, peered cautiously down the short hallway to the children's cell. He could hear them clearly now. Two males, one of them Jem's voice. And one female voice.

His eyes narrowed. Jem was not fighting back; he seemed to be inviting the others into the cell! May the unrelenting waters of the sea take him! He was angry now, coldly angry. And the wine he had drunk gave him fool's courage.

Moving quickly down the hallway, he came up to where the female stood in front of the children talking to the other man and Jem. Jem's eyes went wide at his approach.

Saldan grabbed the girl child roughly with one hand and pulled her to him as he thrust his blade forcefully toward the flank of the woman . . .

[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Carrûn]

Awrygan did not have a chance to respond to Rochelle's question, even if he had he wasn't sure what to say. Before he could open his mouth a large corsair rounded the stairs, normally red eyes now glazed and blazing with fury. Things seemed to move in slow motion as the corsair grabbed the girl and swung towards Rochelle. Fortunately she had seen the young corsair's eyes. As the blade whistled towards her she ducked and quickly blocked the blow. Somewhat surprised the man backed up, holding his blade to the girl's throat. The young corsair was busy attempting to hold back the other boy.

Awrygan slowly approached the man. "How weak...." he commented, keeping his voice level but with a slow taunt. "Do you really need to latch on to a child to support yourself?" The corsair laughed. "You fool, do you not know when to back down." Awrygan smiled. "Unfortunately not. But I know a fight I can win when I see one; provided the other is not too afraid to accept it." He sheathed his knife and waited. The corsairs face was a mass of twitching fibers as he pushed the girl away roughly; she would have fallen hard on the stone floor if Rochelle had not caught her. Awrygan smiled grimly. "You should remain on the sea where the breeze does not cloud your mind." He drew his own sword as the corsair raised his. Bringing it up over his face in a salute he lowered it so that the point was facing his opponent's feet. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing who I am to entertain?"

The corsair had seemingly calmed himself and gave a cold smile. "My name is Yr Saldan and you will rue the day you heard it." With that their blades clashed.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

As quick as the agile woman rescuer had caught Gil, the little girl was in Rolan's arms again. Rolan had fought back Jem's restraining grip, and Rolan then snatched his sister out of the stranger's arms. Hugging his sister as if to protect her from some unseen danger, Rolan looked up to the woman.

"We have to get Gil out of here." Rolan spoke, and eyed the woman. "Who are you?"

"I am Rochelle. Who is this? Why is he helping you?" the woman asked, and Rolan turned to a mystified Jem.

"He's Jem. He isn't like the other evil corsairs." Rolan answered as his attention turned to the battling men in front of them.

Rolan wanted to kill that corsair. He would pay for his evil ways and the ways of his kin that he harbors. The pain he gave to the children of Dol Amroth would return to him in his final moments.

"I want to stay. This corsair will not live to see the light outside of this place." Rolan spoke, and the two females and the man Jem looked at the boy strangely.

"We won't leave you here, we all have to get out. ALL of us!" Gil wrestled from her brother's arms and looked into his pale, hazy blue eyes. "Besides. You can't fight with a hurt toe." the girl smiled at the joke, but Rolan kept a resonant and stern gaze.

[Sadbh]

Gil was thrust from the corsair's grip and would have fallen onto the stone floor, had the woman not caught her. No sooner was she saved than the clash of blades sounded behind her. She was caught in a fiercely protective hug from her brother, and she tried to slow her pounding heart, and not appear so terrified.

The events leading up to everything were blurred together, and she let her mind slow wearily, hearingthe voice of her brother as he spoke to the stranger.

"We have to get Gil out of here. Who are you?"

"I am Rochelle. Who is this? Why is he helping you?" The woman gave a quick response and let her eyes turn warily to Jem.

"He's Jem, he isn't like the other evil corsairs." Gil noticed their discourse falter, and she followed Jem's gaze to the fighting corsair and rescuer. Their blades continually connected and flew apart, never scathing more than the sleeve of a shirt. Then Rolan spoke again.

"I want to stay. This corsair will not see the light outside this place." It was this comment that awakened Gillan from her hazy conciousness and brought her to full reality.

She twisted and pulled away. "We will not leave you here. We all have to get out. ALL of us." Gil felt her breath quicken in worry as she saw the stormy cast of her brother's eyes. "Besides, you can't fight with a hurt toe." The girl smiled, but could see it was of no avail.

"Rolan, please." Gil stomped her foot in impatience. "Don't be so brash." Nervously, the girl watched her brother as the fight went on. For a brief second, she galnced back at Jem.

"What do we do?"

[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan stepped back quickly from the engage of blades. He held the grip of his long sword with both hands. The tip pointed upward, canted slightly to the left, toward Awyrgan’s right ear. The sharp edge of the blade faced the man. Awyrgan now held his blade with tip directed just to the right of Saldan’s shoulder. Saldan’s eye’s narrowed as he took the measure of his opponent.

The others stepped back from the conflict, giving them room to circle one another in the wide hallway. Keeping both feet planted firmly as much as possible, they took short, light steps, watching each other closely.

Awyrgan made a first feint, testing the ability of the other man. Saldan dropped the point of his blade quickly, deflecting the man’s sword away to the side with a push at the blade. The Corsair took a short step backward, taking an angular slash at the man’s shoulder as Awyrgan followed. Awyrgan leapt back quickly, avoiding the cut.

And now they moved together in the deadly rhythm of their blades. Again and again the metal rang out as they clashed, and retreated and advanced again. Seeking always, that momentary advantage . . .

[Carrûn]

His opponent was good, very good. Undoubtedly a leader or chieftan among their kind of some sort. The duel took on a rhythmic pattern, steps in unision followed by the harsh clash of steel. Neither combatent spoke, but focused soley on their objective. One thrust, the other parried. One circled, and the other mimicked his movements. Something had to give. Suddenly, Awrygan laughed. It was a harsh laugh from the back of his throat and it surprised all who heard it, including himself.

He couldn't help it. The thrill of the fight, watching the blade pass with inches of his face; knowing the pain it would cause if he did not block it. He felt....alive, in a way he had not felt for many a season. Even stranger was the inexplainable bond that seemed to form for a time between two parties attempting to kill each other. He felt like he was falling off a cliff into space, weightless and giddy.

He came back down to Arda with the sharp impact of the corsair's boot giving him a kick that sent him rolling down a nearby staircase. Eru, that hurt. He He brought his blade up in time to block the swing of the corsair's but it still sent a jarring ring throughout his arm. He briefly reached back to feel the small stone that was sticking into his back. Spawn of Umbar.... "Ah Saldan, you disappoint me." The words were spoken in the corsair's own tounge and Rochelle and the children looked at the pair strangely. He settled back into his rhythm, waiting for the other to give him an opportunity. He was confident that over time he could easily wear the man down but time was not one of his greatest assets at the moment.

His eyes strayed to the corsairs flowing robes. Blocking Saldan's blow with the sword in his right hand he drew a knife with his left and flung it at the corsair who dodged it with ease. However it gave Awrygan and opportunity to stamp down hard on the robe. His sword came crashing down on Saldan's, knocking both of them away. Simultaneously both men drew a knive and swung. They both intercepted each other. They stood locked; a knive in their right hand and their left grasping the right arm of their opponent. The strove silently, pushing the other, veins bulging...

[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Envinyatar]

Between the feints and retreats, the crashing blows and the skilful parries, Saldan, in a moment of flashing awareness looked deeply into the man’s eyes and saw the fires of life blaze up in them. ‘Here is one also who is not made for the idleness of a simple life. He relishes this as much as I!’

He watched as the man drew him self up on the landing, bringing his blade up once again. Awyrgan stepped back, inviting Saldan down the steps to continue the dance. All traces of wine now burned from him, the Corsair moved like a cat down the steps, his blade pointed at the man, the tip slightly raised.

A sudden furious skirmish, and the swords were knocked from their hands. Knives flashed as they strove against each other. Locked together, as Death stood trembling between them, an enticing mistress waiting to be won. With a great shove, Yr Saldan pushed the man from him, and just as quickly picked up his blade, as did the other.

Again, they circled one another, in tighter theater of the landing this time. Saldan was graceful, his lithe body moving surely and lightly, thrusting and swinging his blade with precision. Awyrgan was powerful, capable of great bursts of speed. Evenly matched, they fought on, until Saldan leaped aside, avoiding a slashing cut to his gut. Slipping his blade beneath the man’s, Saldan took a swipe at the man’s midsection. Awyrgan stepped back and twirled round swiftly, the cutting edge of Saldan’s blade barely missing him. Completing his spin he brought the flat of his blade hard against Saldan’s left flank, throwing him off balance.

Saldan crashed hard against the wall of the landing. Shaking his head to clear the momentary daze he dropped into a defensive stance, his back to the stairwell, then advanced on Awyrgan. He saw the momentary look of disbelief on the man’s face, and smiled. ‘Surely you did not think such a blow as that would overcome me?’

But it was not his advance that had caught Awyrgan off guard. It was the movement from behind the Corsair which startled him. In the heat and focus of battle, Saldan had not heard the steps come swiftly down the stairs. Nor did he at first feel the quick sharp pain as the blade entered him from behind, forcing its slender death between his ribs.

He fell - an O! of surprise on his face, his sword clattering to the ground as his hands tried vainly to hold back that crimson flower now blooming where the sword’s tip had run him through. Awyrgan he noted briefly had stepped back, the point of his blade resting now on the ground.

Saldan turned his face, the shadows already gathering behind his eyes, and beheld the one who had slain him. ‘You! . . .’

And then with a whispered gasp, he was gone . . .

[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Carrûn]

"Jem....." Awrygan spoke slowly. The young man's face was awash with emotions, a mixture of disbelief, satisfaction, anger, and fear. Awrygan retrieved his weapons, wiped them clean on the dead man's cloak, and sheathed them. He turned back to the boy who was standing with his sword idly in his hand. "You forgot to clean your blade, young pirate." Jem raised his head and spoke with effort. "I am no pirate."

Awrygan's face held an amused expression at the young man's words. "I see...." He reached around and pulled out the stone that had embedded itself in his back with a curse. A small but steady stream of red flowed out. It would have to wait. He tied a small sash around it and turned to his companions. "We really should be leaving."

[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

She had agreed to stay atop the stairs with the children while Gem wandered down below. Only when the clash of steel had ceased did she dare venture downwards. She motioned to the boy and his younger sister to stay put until she could clearly see what was happening. Her hands gripped the hilt of her sword as she cautiously descended. The sight beheld was one of surprise.

The last few steps came quickly and she was soon beside Awyrgan and the dead corsair. She smiled to Gem as she noted the come from behind move. Though she didn't linger for long. She could see the open door from which they had entered, wary that soon others would make their threatening apperance.

Soon the children came down the stairs and she turned to them with a finger to her lips. Her eyes darted to Gem then to Awyrgan "Let's make haste, where there's one there's bound to be a few more."

[Orual]

Jem stood frozen with the bloodied sword in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, then at Saldan's body. Something had taken control of him, some rage that he could not control...Saldan had been every man who had ever refused him food, every innkeeper who had kicked him out of the stables where he tried to keep warm...and his arm had moved, stabbing the corsair through the back. He had killed him.

And he was not sorry.

A tremor flashed through him, and his hand began to quiver. "You will be repaid for your crimes," he heard himself say, then a wave of nausea overtook him. How could he speak to the dead like that? Saldan's eyes were open in death, staring at him accusingly...

The woman who had taken the children smiled at him, and he smiled back, his strength returning. "Let's make haste, where there's one there's bound to be a few more." He followed them, and his head cleared. He had done well. Had he? Yes. He had saved the children, saved the man who was trying to rescue them, probably saved himself. Would Saldan have let Jem live after this, after his betrayal? It would have come to killing him anyway. The road was taken. There was no turning back.

And he was not sorry.

[Envinyatar]

The Corsairs flee Dol Amroth . . .

A messenger had come looking for Yr Saldan, and when he couldn’t find him he had spoken with several of the guards stationed at the outer entrances. They assured him Saldan had not left the palace, and grew concerned when he said he could find no where. The captain of the palace guard called for ten of his men to spread out in pairs and seek Yr Saldan.

The two who found him came running back, faces pale, to the captain. They described the scene and that Yr Saldan was indeed dead. ‘Someone has taken the prisoners from the tower . . . the two children.’

‘Jem,’ asked the captain, ‘is he dead also?’ The guards said they could not find the young man. The captain frowned at this answer wondering what really had gone on. He sent messengers to run to the harbor. The captains who remained in port were to be brought quickly to the palace. A decision must now be made on what to do.

*******

And hour later, they gathered in the garden, Yr Saldan’s body had been wrapped in a tarp and brought down to the foyer. The conference was brief; none of the captains wanted to assume the position that Yr Saldan had placed himself in, nor did they want to stay land bound any longer.

One of the older men spoke up. ‘We have plenty of loot and new conscripts to man the ships. I say we torch the docks and set sail south.’ ‘I agree!’ came the chorus of agreements.’ The older captain spoke up again. ‘We can meet up with Khazdifir and Narwen.’ He looked around at the garden they stood in. ‘This place is closing in on me. Give me the open sea, the rhythm of the waves, and a fair breeze to take us home!’

*******

At sunrise, they were ready to leave. The wooden structures on the quay had been spread with pitch and set ablaze. Now men with pitchy brands boarded the empty ships of Dol Amroth and set the masts and sails on fire. It was a red and smoky scene that they bid a brief farewell to. They turned their faces to the west at last and set sail out of the little bay. Not one looked back.

And when they were well out to sea, sailing south, they raised their blades in salute as Yr Saldan’s body, weighted down with rocks taken from the jetty at Dol Amroth, slid from the plank and sank beneath the waves.

[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Envinyatar]

Meanwhile in Minas Tirith . . .


The City Guard had been alerted. Word had come from a beleagured merchant who slept over his shop that the Corsairs were raiding the lower tiers of the city. Elessar himself had given the command to take troops and secure the docks and street of merchants. In fact, he had risen and called for his sword, but his physician had nay-sayed the order, as the King staggered and was assisted to sit back down.

Two hundred of the White City’s finest raced downward through the passageways, drawing their swords as they spilled out onto the third tier. The good citizens of that quarter surged around them, frightened. The only evidence left of the marauding Corsairs was the broken in doors and the spillage of coins, gems, and small pieces of metalwork that escaped the greedy clutches of the looters.

‘Where have they gone?’ commanded the captain of the guard to the head of the metal smiths’ guild, who stood surveying the damage to his storefront. He turned, his eyes red from lack of sleep and the thought of all valuables that had been taken. ‘They’ve gone,’ he said, his voice weary and defeated. ‘They swept through like an ill wind, and just as quickly they have left.’ He pointed to the passageway leading down to the second and first tiers. ‘That way. But I doubt that you will catch them. They are not looking for a fight.’

It was just as the metal smith had said. The Corsairs had withdrawn, leaving panic and confusion behind them. The harbormaster informed the Captain that the Corsairs had come disguised as merchants, and in the confusion of the King’s kidnapping the usual precautions had been overlooked. He pointed to the crates that had hidden the Corsairs, the only evidence left of the being there.

The current of the Anduin was with them. And their sails billowed in the morning breeze, pushing the sleek cutters even more swiftly to the Bay. Hafez stood at the helm of the Windrunner. Khazdifir stood near, watching the river ahead. So far, they had seen no sign of pursuit. They had kept meticulous notes on their passage upriver, and now they would use those to sail round the clock, in sunlight and darkness. Three days should see them to the outskirts of the bay, then they would head to Dol Amroth - to Yr Saldan and divide up the ‘profits’ of this trip. Khaz smiled grimly. He hoped there would be no problems when he told Saldan that he wished to return south to Umbar . . .

[astarielle]

Astarielle and her husband had reached the gate but an arguement errupted about which road to take, the road north to Minas Triath or back into the heart of the city.

"We cannot leave them we must go back" said Astarielle earnestly, for she did not want to leave her children behind. "Divided we will fall but if we stay together we can save them from a life of darkness and torment! Can you live with the thought that if we go back to Minas Triath and later after many days recieve a notification of their' death? Or worse still, none?"

There was a pause, all was still. Astarielle collected herself and begun once more,"For me the path is clear, we must go back."

[Rochelle]

The newly assembled group stayed put in the tower momentarily. Rochelle cautiously looked out the door that lead into the gardens. She could hear muffled voices and only managed to understand that they had had enough and were returning to the sea.

She breathed a sigh of relief and watched the dark group exit. She brought her bow around and notched an arrow nonetheless. "They have left, Yr Saldan has fallen from his own folly and his clan does not choose to fight any longer." She stepped out into the new dawn and made her way down the garden path.

No one was in sight, and as the company moved along the main wall of the palace, even the front gate had been left unguarded. Her eyes darted from the rooftop to the corners, yet she saw nothing save a carraige moving to the maingate.

[Carrûn]

Awrygan trailed in the rear of the party, content to let Rochelle take the lead now that their primary objective was accomplished. The city was quiet like the previous day, but a hidden warmth and joy seemed to linger in the early morning breeze.

He strode silently with soft but firm treads; his mind wandered and his hand subconciously played with the bizzare scar on the left side of his face. His eyes followed the small carriage moving steady towards the large gates of Dol Amroth. He could see a pair of figures conversing. He glanded at the children and could see their eyes focusing intently. "Do you recognize them?" he asked.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rolan frowned as he followed the woman Rochelle and kept a firm hold of Gil's slender hand. Just like any fairy tale I've ever read...thought Rolan bitterly. The good guys always win. The group neared the front of the palace, and all was peaceful. It was as if nothing had happened in Dol Amroth at all. It's just like the bad guys to make a quick getaway.

Rolan was lost in his thoughts, and hardly noticed when Gil slyly slid her hand from his. He only snapped back to then and there when the sound of a carriage pulling up to the gates of Dol Amroth. Who is that in the carraige? Rolan wondered. It looked an aweful lot like...

Apparantly the sword-man had caught Gil and Rolan's stares. He asked something, though Rolan was so intent on the carraige that he paid no heed. Could it be? No...

"Mama and papa!" Gil cried, and Rolan sighed.

Someday I'll write a book about this little adventure. Perhaps I'll call it, 'My Holiday in the Sun'. It has every aspect of a good children's tale! Rolan considered as the both expected and unexpected parents arrived in the carraige.

[Rochelle]

She smiled as the children rushed by her into their parents waiting arms. She turned back to Awyrgan with a grin "I'd say that was a job well done...and we came out of it unscathed for the most part." She'd never been a part of anything like it, and she felt a joy unsurpassed.

The concern at the back of her mind could now be brought forthwith. She whistled a unique note and soon the clatter of hooves on paved stone were heard. Her smile widened as the white stallion cantered up past the carraige and layed a soft muzzle in her palm.

Ai mellon nîn, i Eruchîn band. Hannon le henia. The stallion snorted and tossed his head. She patted his fine neck before running her fingers through silky mane. "Where our road leads us now is not yet forseen..."

[Sadbh]

With the silence of shadows, the five slipped down the steps, past the dead body of the once-mighty corsair. His expression was vivid, and Gil averted her gaze, holding more tightly to her brother's hand. Soon they had descended the spiral tower.

The stones of the courtyard were under foot, and the pale, gentle dawn sky was overhead. By that time, Gil had slid her own hand from Rolan's, and she looked about in wonderment. Although much as the day before, this dawn had a brighter feel than the morning before.

"Do you know them?" Awyrgan's voice drew Gillan's attention to the Main Gates, where a carriage was clearly visible. The shapes inside were so familiar...

"Mama and Papa!" Gil caught her breath and started for the carriage. She turned qucikly and called to Rolan. "It's them Rolan!" As she was running, her foot caught on her hem and ripped the lining of her gown, and she could not have been less worried.

"Mama!" Gil finally reached the carriage, and embraced her mother who leaned from the opened window. "Elvira, Papa." She hugged each of her family members in turn.

As she turned slowly, she smiled at Rolan who had reached the carriage shortly after her, and at their three rescuers, still a distance away. If she had tried, she could have never smiled more gleefully. "We're safe." She whispered softly to no one in particular.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Eäris waited as his wife railed about going back for the children. Every time he went to open his mouth she started talking again. The carriage had stopped, the coachman waiting for a decision from the master and mistress. The assembled household watched with interest as Astarielle argued. Eäris felt uncomfortable with their stares and thought that maybe he should reassert his authority.

"My dear" he said slowly "I myself wish that I thought we could help the children. But I do not see how putting ourselves all in danger would achieve anything."
Astarielle opened her mouth to reply. Stifling a sigh Eäris forestalled her.

"I will go back for them" he said firmly. "But you will all go a further distance from the city. I refuse to let my wife, my daughter and my household, not to mention a baby, get in any more danger."
Once again Astarielle opened her mouth, and it looked like Elvira was going to say something too. Quickly Eäris jumped out of the carriage, dropping a kiss on his wifes forehead and touching Elvira's arm.

Well that went well! he thought ruefully. And precisely what do you think you are going to do against a city full of Corsairs?
Still, he realised that having made the decision to do something he felt much better. Squaring his shoulders he vowed to do Gondor, the Prince and his family proud.

"Mama and papa!" The scream filled the air. That sounds like "Gil" he breathed. "And Rolan. Eru be praised!"
A shape ran at him, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Papa" said Gilian, and he hugged her so hard he was worried about hurting her. "My little girl. Thank Eru." he repeated, kissing the top of her head.

Rolan followed at a rather more sedate pace, and not caring for his sons dignity, Eäris swept him up in a hug too.

"We're safe." whispered Gil.
"We are all safe" answered Eäris and smiled around his family.

[Orual]

Jem hung back as the children were reunited with their parents, feeling awkward and out of place. He fingered the hilt of his sword briefly, then pulled his hand away. Never again would he use it outside of self-defense.

And what would he do, now that he could no longer be a corsair? He had told Awyrgan that he was not a pirate, and it had been the truth. He was no longer a lost child, frightened and ready to fall in with whoever showed him some small kindness. He stood at a crossroads in his life, and he would have to choose a path.

He stepped up to the children, asked their parents with his eyes for permission to speak, then smiled gently at them. "Ulmo bless you and keep you, and may you always find with the sea a safe haven," he said. He stood up and turned to their parents. "You are fortunate to have children like these. They were braver in the face of danger than most adults I have known. Wherever their paths in life lead them, they will have nothing to fear." A little startled by his own words, Jem let his hands drop to his sides. "I'll let you have your time alone. This will take some healing. Myself, Him,"--this he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a sly grin--"take care of yourselves. Walk in the light of the sun until we meet again, my young friends. I will remember you."

He bowed to them, and walked away into the sunset. He would remember them, and he hoped that they would remember him. They had given him a great gift; now to form a new life for himself.

[ April 01, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan returned Rochelle's grin but it was half-heared; he did not share in her elation. He watched as she called her horse to her and nodded in admiration as the great stallion came running over the land towards her.

It felt strange really. Here he was returning two children he had never met to parents he had never met; something he had never intended on doing and yet ended up right in the middle of. He smirked. I should be more choice in my companions if I wish to avoid such involvement in the future. His smirk turned to a grimace and he re-bandaged the gash on his shoulder where the rock had once embedded itself.

His mind was wandering as he contemplated what to do next. He had seen Dol Amroth, as he had planned, and it was time to move on. But where to? I have no family, few friends. Plenty of enemies but one does not need to go looking for them. He considered continuing in his current direction into the Far South, maybe to figure out why so many of the corsairs had sailed. Yet something in the back of his mind told him that this issue was already being addressed by others and the situation was in hand.

Another part of him longed to return to his "homelands" in the North. Rochelle had her horse and the grasses of Rohan and the forests of Mirkwood. Awrygan had the chilly hills and dells of the northlands. It had been quite a few years since he visited the North Downs or the Ettenmoors. A cruel part of him wondered for a moment about returning to Mordor to see if anything had changed for the better since he had left. He shivvered slightly at the memories. Finally he decided he would make for the land of Eregion, a spot that evoked sadness from him but also gave him peace.

Having made up his mind he looked around. Jem and the children were talking with the parents and Rochelle was busy re-uniting with her horse. He considered speaking with the parents but decided against it. Not one for goodbyes he moved quickly like a wraith into the rows of tall grass, dropping a small stone with the elvish ruins for "A" carved on them. Once out of site he headed off in the direction he had chosen, ever the wanderer.

[Envinyatar]

The Windrunner broke into the waters of the bay on the fourth day of sailing, mid-day. Two more days and they reached the open sea. All traces of their 'merchant' disguise were discarded and they set sail north toward Dol Amroth.

They had gone but half a day in their new direction, when the lookout from the crow's nest called down to them, pointing north. 'Sails, ho!'

Hafez extended his spyglass to its fullest length and frowned, then handed it to Khaz.

'What's this?' Khazdifir spoke in astonishment as into the field of the lens came sailing what appeared to be the remaining Corsair ships from Dol Amroth. 'Hail them!' he instructed the lookout.

The man in the crow's nest flashed a highly polished silver mirror in a short series of prearranged bursts. For what seemed an eternity, though was only a few seconds, there wa no answer. Then the flashed answer was received.

Hafez grinned at his captain. 'They are ours!' 'Yes,' said Khaz, telescoping the spyglass back in upon itself, 'but why are they sailing south?'

The Windrunner headed further out to sea, drawing all the ships farther away from the coast. Three hours brought them together, and it was then that Khazdifir learned of Yr Saldan's fate. The captains from Dol Amroth told him also that they loaded all the treasure they might onto the ships and had torched the quay and burned the ships of Dol Amroth. 'They will not follow us. We have made sure of that,' they assured him.

'It was not them I feared,' said Khazdifir. 'It is the Prince and his armed ships from Minas Tirith that I do not wish to engage.' He looked round at the number of ships now in their small armada. The others seemed to look to him to make a decision.

'We will all head south together. Keeping out in open waters. Should the Prince follow us, we will outrun him, and come safe to Umbar. He will not dare enter those waters. He has no authority there.' He looked at the other captains, letting them know that they too had brought in their share of valuables from Minas Tirith. 'We will all be rich men, crew and captain, when we reach Umbar.'

Like sleek birds skimming over the waters on white wings, the Corsair ships cut through the waves, speeding south . . .