[Manôphazân]

Name: Lan’kâsh

Appearance: Lan’kâsh is classic example of a mixture of Black Númenorean and Low Harad. Tall and thin, with the fine-boned look of ancient kings and the swarthy, mottled complexion of an Umbarian beggar. Among his own people he might be called ‘interesting’, but travelers from the north find him somewhat disconcerting, a reaction he often uses to bully merchants into excessive tributes (which go straight into his pocket). His eyes are dark, like his hair, which hangs shoulder length but is covered with a conical metal helmet and connected aventail.

Though he usually mans his post along the Harad Road in a sleeveless tunic and a pair of loose trousers over sturdy boots, he also has a mail jacket and a set of bracers, which he dons now and then when it isn’t too hot (which is seldom). Over it all he wears the official jacket of an officer of the Army of Harnen, which bears an emblem of crossed black swords on a field of white. He is armed with a vicious iron tipped spear and carries a medium sized banded shield with which he has killed almost as many enemies as he has with weapons.

Background: Lan’kâsh is the third son of a minor priest of Doburl, a coastal city more than 200 miles south of Umbar. Because only the oldest son of each of a priest’s wives were expected to continue in the clergy, Lan’kâsh was automatically enrolled in military school at age 11. At 18 he killed his first enemy, a Variag bowman, and by the age of 25 he had participated in no less than a dozen battles. All of his life was dedicated to war, and he spent several years rising through the ranks until finally obtaining a garrison of his own in the far south desert stronghold of Lo’dreth. There he led over 300 men, but Lo’dreth was a conquered land, and it quickly grew boring.

Stranded without an enemy, Lan’kâsh found another – himself. Within six months of taking over the massive sandstone keep, he spent every evening deep in a bottle and every day deep in slumber. Only in his dreams did he find battles and enemies, until one morning he woke to a nightmare and discovered that the desert town was not as isolated as he had thought. Without warning, his garrison was overrun by dark nomads wielding deadly spears, and he was forced to abandon Lo’dreth. Less than half of his men survived the attack, and only by the influence of his father’s temple was he permitted to live. He was demoted to the rank of Lieutenant and reassigned to a customs post at Harnen Crossing. Today his life consists of inspecting merchants traveling to and from Harondor and the lands to the north.

Personality:
At 30 years old, Lan’kâsh is a recovering alcoholic who used to be good at soldiering but now has grown weary of hot assignments in barren lands. He would like nothing more than to return to Doburl, meet a nice girl or two, and open a shop selling fine products from around the world. In his current post he has made many good connections, and he is sure he would make a fine merchant. For now though, he knows that is only a dream because rumor from the south hints that the Army of Harnen has plans of pushing north soon.

Though he dreads the idea of yet another battle, he likes the thought of killing a few more Wingers (as his people often call the knights of Gondor) before he retires. It has been a long time since he has been up North, and there is sure to be profit in it. He is still an expert with a spear and shield, and he is very proficient with a sword or dagger, but he has always been a terrible shot with a bow.

As far as personality goes, Lan’kâsh at one time was angry and loud, but now he has become angry and quiet. He is usually lax with discipline but will punish a perceived transgression against him or his authority with sudden violence. Surprisingly, he does have a sense of humor, but he keeps it well hidden. And though his family is religious, he does not actively practice the faith he was born into, but he respects others who do. He treats members of the priesthood with honor, occasionally donating to various temples in hopes of the favor of the spirits he normally ignores.

First Post
A small mote of dust on the horizon at morning turned into a churning cloud by midday as a company of lancers approached the border outpost of Harnen Crossing. They formed the forward contingent of the Army of Harnen that would be moving through the area within the week. Just before reaching the town they broke formation and quickly began to bivouac on the sandy plain. A small group rode ahead of the main mass and stopped at the southern picket where the garrison commander greeted them.

Lan’kâsh raised his hand in salute and invited the company leader, a young captain, to the comfort of his headquarters. Walking together, the two made small talk until they reached a two-storied brick building overlooking the river just to the north. Once inside, Lan’kâsh commanded a shirtless slave to bring refreshment, and the two officers sat down on a shaded balcony where a cool breeze blew in from the surface of the water. The slave brought tea and fresh fruit, as well as a plate of various meat delicacies, and then moved to a corner where he stood in silence.

The captain drank the tea without speaking for several minutes, looking across the river at the rising hills and the occasional tree.

“Not a tree in sight for the last 50 leagues,” he grumbled, holding his cup out for more tea. The servant rushed forward and filled it. “I do so like trees but seldom get to enjoy them. It seems the few forests we do have near the city shall all be cut down by the shipwrights soon.”

Lan’kâsh held his silence. Though he had much more experience than the young captain, he knew that he must continue to show him the proper respect. The rank of lieutenant was an embarrassment to wear, but he knew that he was fortunate to wear any rank at all.

“Over there,” the captain pointed north to the hills, “are miles and miles of forest.” He smiled and took another sip from his cup. “Forests for the shipwrights.”

Lan’kâsh nodded and waited for the captain to continue. Hopefully he did not go on about the forests.

“As you know, we intend to cross the Harnen tomorrow when the rest of the division gets closer, so I thought I’d ride ahead to have you gather your men to fall in.”

Lan’kâsh finally spoke. “Fall in, sir?.”

The young captain smiled a crooked smile and answered, “Yes, of course. Did you think you would be staying here while we rode through?” He did not give the lieutenant time to answer,a nd snickered, “As of this moment the border is sealed, and since this is no longer the ‘front’, your services and those of the rest of this border patrol are required in the real army.”

Though he had began their meeting with civility, the captain had quickly changed his tone to one of condescension. Being from a good (and rich) family, the young officer falsely assumed that the dirty looking lieutenant was the unlucky son of a merchant or maybe the rare man that had rose from the ranks. But he never considered that the man in front of him had dealt out more death than he had ever yet imagined. Lan’kâsh looked up quickly and caught the captain in a cold stare that lasted only as long as it took him to imagine running his spear through the foolish youngster’s throat, long enough for the captain to wonder if he had made a mistake in taunting the odd, dark skinned lieutenant.

The moment passed, and with a long outward breath Lan’kâsh let his anger pass and said quietly, “It will be our pleasure to join the invasion of Harondor.”

“Yes,” said the captain uncertainly, “Yes, you shall be joining us. Muster your men outside this building first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lan’kâsh stood to salute, but the sudden move startled the captain so that he nearly dropped his teacup. The young officer stood quickly, returned the salute sloppily, and retreated down the stairs, deciding that he had definitely made a mistake with the real army comment. The look in the lieutenant’s eyes had sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted to distance himself as quickly as possible.

As the captain’s footsteps thumped down to the first floor, the lieutenant sat back down and held his cup up. The slave filled it and sat down heavily in the seat the captain had recently vacated. He was smiling from ear to ear.

“That one ain’t gunna last long, ‘tenant,” he said, showing a gap-toothed grin. The slave snatched the captain’s cup and filled it for himself.

“No his isn’t,” said Lan’kâsh laughing, “but we are, sergeant Benel. Get our things ready and pass the message along to muster in the morning.”

“Yes sir,” said the slave, standing and giving a snappy salute. He snatched his jacket from where it hung on a hook and put it on. “I’ll take care of it right away, sir.”

Lan’kâsh looked across the river where trees were throwing long shadows in the late day sun.

“Look out Gondor, here we come.”