[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Feanor of the Peredhil's post


As Mabalar pulled their mount to a tense stop, Inzi felt an inexplicable warmth spread across her midriff. She ignored the palantir for only a moment before it became uncomfortable. Untwining her arms from around her husband's waist, she slid one hand beneath her robes, palming the artifact. In the din, her actions went unnoticed. She lowered her eyes seemingly modestly, glancing into the swirling depths in wonder:

a face... a face familiar as the feeling of a horse beneath her... Elendil, and he spoke; another face... two... Isildur with Anarion... a nod; hailstones gathering in fountains... crying children; horses, tack...

The palantir warmed her hands as rain poured from the sky. Lightening lit the scene as Inzillomì stared transfixed. Herugor's men surrounded the small group. The kariborim, courageous though they were, pranced in discomfort, eager either for battle or for calm. Inzi, nearly invisible of the darkness of the storm, knew nothing of the blowing wind that had pulled her hair from its sturdy braid. Her black locks danced in the wind, soaked through, and the men shouted to be heard. She saw more:

a road, pitted and broken; a great wave; she gasped unheard now: long lines of Faithful, riding hard, her brothers leading, faces terrifying in their purpose; fire now, burning, cleansing... her vision went dark.

Inzillomì swiftly hid the palantir once more, taking in what was now happening. It had been mere seconds that she had viewed it, but she knew what she had seen: an army, led by the sons of Elendil, and coming swift upon this very road. She had recognized the land so quickly shown... they were a mere mile off.

"Inzillomì," spoke Mabalar over the wind, barely loud enough for her to hear. "have you faith?" She could feel him tense... wavering in his confidence of escape, still weak from imprisonment. They had come so far to be stopped now... she spoke carefully in his ear. He registered her words more from the feel of her warm breath than from sound... thunder rumbled and cracked above them. A tree was hit by lightening upon a nearby hill... it began to burn.

"I have faith, my love..." she murmered. "What is more... I have hope."

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Himaran's post


It was terrifying.

The island was tearing itself apart. The earth shifted and bucked underneath Kali's legs as the steed gallaped away from Armenelos with Abarzadan clinging to his mane. Trees were hurled from the ground as their very roots were disloged from the rocky turf. Newly formed gysers burst open and streams of water shot upward into the air. The wind had increased to a violent speed, throwing leaves, branches and small stones all about. And everywhere, water was rising. The earth itself had become almost sponge-like, completely saturated. Streams had become ponds, and ponds had turned into lakes. There was no longer a path; Kali was running on pure instinct, and the man could do nothing but hold on and hope. A tree crashed to the ground ten paces from them, but the horse was ready and leaped over it, never breaking stride. A branch broke of a nearby tree and slammed into Abarzadan's head, but through sheer force of will he kept his balance. Heavy rain added to his misery, pelting the sizable wound. Blood mixed with water trickled down his forhead, imparing his vision. The man was utterly helpless, at the mercy of his mount and the elements.

Then an arrow whistled by his head, thudding into a nearby tree. Wipping his face, Abarzadan strained his neck around and could make out the shapes of several riders trailing him. They must have been following him since he and Kali hurtled through the city's east gate, although at the time it had appeared that their escape had been complete. The man grimaced. He had no weapons, was wounded, and had no idea how far away the shore was, or if the Faithful were even still there. He would have to use the only tool available to him: his horse. Taking a firmer grip, he directly Kali to he the right, dodging trees, boulders and other unexpected obstacles. He waited until they were over the next rise, took a backward glance, wispered an elvish phrase into the steed's ear, and dove off of his mount. On all fours, he crawled behinds a bush and waited. Kali's hoofbeats disappeared in the distance. By the sounds, their were four riders, and three of them continued onward. One, however, slowed, stopped, and turned around.

Abarzadan waited, holding his breath.

The rider's horse sniffed and whinnied, and its master said something to it in reply. Heavy steps came closer, stopping in front of the large bush. A string tightened. The man winced in dreaded anticipation. The string twanged, and an arrow burried itself in the ground and inch from his leg. Apparently satisfied, the soldier turned his horse away and trotted in the opposite direction. This, however, was not an opportunity Abarzadan was going to miss. He rolled out from behind the bush, dashed toward his unexpecting opponent, and dove towards him. The two collided and collapsed off of the horse. Brandishing the arrow he had plucked from the turf, the last remaining member of the House of Batanzaira plunged it into the neck of the stunned Numenorean. Snatching his bow and quiver, Abarzadan climbed onto the obediant horse. The pair raced away from the scene, heading in the direction Kali and the others had taken.

~*~

It was not long before they were located. Abarzadan slowed his mount and hopped off, readying his bow. Ahead, three men and four horses were gathered, one of which was being admired by its new masters. Kali stopped! The realization struck him with horror. What if he missed, and hit Kali instead? He need a diverstion. Turning to his waiting horse, he gave it a little shove in their direction and barked an order. Snorting, it trotted away from him and towards the others. Abarzadan circled around to a better angle, moving from tree to tree. The ground squished and his boots filled with water, but he kept moving. In the clearing, the three men turned away from Kali and looked the other horse over. Time was running out.

The man took careful aim, exhaled, and sent a shaft whistling towards his targets, and it hit one in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Now Abarzadan was running, notching another arrow. He released it in full stride, watching with satisfaction as it came to rest in the head of the second enemy. Now too close for ranged combat, he dropped the bow and pulled the quiver off of his back, swinging it by the strap. The final soldier backed away, sword at ready. The pair circled one another, with Abarzadan keeping the quiver spinning at full speed. "So it has come to this, my friend," shouted Abarzadan over the rushing wind. "Numenoreans killing each other over a senseless disagreement."

The other merely grimaced. "You are a heretic, like all the others. You should have died at the temple with the rest." Kali punctuated his statement, drilling the unsuspecting man to the ground with a swift kick from his front hooves. Abarzadan chuckled. "A pity you couldn't be back at Armenelos. I am certain that the sight of your great temple crumbling to the ground would be an unforgettable one." Leaving the stunned soldier to decide his own fate, the man tossed the quiver away and climbed onto Kali's waiting back. As they got further from the center of the island, the storm gradually melted away, but the man knew it would not be long before the entire landmass would share the same fate. Suddenly, the pair burst from the forest. They were on a grassy hill looking down on the coast. The man whooped with joy, for the ships of the Faithful were still anchored in the bay.