[Alkanoonion]

**** Harad/Umbar ****
It was late afternoon. The port of Pelargir for all the surrounding water was a hot and humid place. Despite the heat and humidity Fuinur had found a dockside crate to sit upon. He was waiting, waiting for news concerning the ships repairs. The crate was in an uncomfortable spot. However the location was perfect for a good sulk.

Their ship was to remain docked in the harbour for at lest a day as skilled shipbuilder were attempting to repair the masthead.

Although repairing the damaged vessel was a logical step, Fuinur felt frustrated. He resented a situation were every decision seemed to be what Urken desired. The man seemed determined to take control of every aspect of this venture.

“Oh get over yourself!” Fuinur reproached himself
“You could be with your men enjoying this time off to explore and enjoy this city”. Fuinur decided that he would go and find something to occupy his thoughts other than ships, untrustworthy travel companions, and disobedient
Oluphaunt.

Touring the bazaars and other popular sights were not a soldier’s idea of fun. Rather a public house; with a bar, lusty barmaids and enthusiastic musicians was what he needed. As well as a lot of grog. That’s what he needed to forget his problems, at lest for a little while.

Having talked himself out of his little sulk, Fuinur left the hustling harbour district to find some obliging pub for a little amusement.

The ‘The sailers barnacle’ was a popular public house for sailors and other undiscriminating residents. ‘The sailers barnacle’ was a nice rat infested hole of corruption. Not the type of place Fuinur would normally socialize in, it was more to Herumir taste, which was probably why he chose it. He was missing his friend, and the place reminded him of Herumir. There were several ugly barmaids and villenous looking characters hiding in the shadows.

Fuinur headed for the bar. After pushing aside a patron too far gone in drink, made him-self comfortable in his victims stool.
He ordered ale, after sampling this he turned to enjoy the attractions around him.

Many of the customers were kept occupied by the barmaids who instead of working appeared more interested in socializing.

Fuinur was amused to note one couple in particular; a barmaid who had a very generous bosom was sitting in an old sailors lap. The old sailor, being rather diminutive and aged looked most comical with the somewhat younger and plump serving girl. He was completely smothered by the enticing flesh so much so that the man was barely visable.

Fuinur, laughing into his pitcher of ale, turned back towards the bar. He had gained a new neighbour during all the fun. Beside him was Seth
“Where did you come from” said Funiur
“I just returned from riding out to catch up with Kurdin so that he lets Herumir know what has been going on”
“Any chance for a drink?” asked Seth
Fuinur called a barmaid over to bring a drink of ale for Seth.
The two men moved to find a quieter corner of the bar to drink.
The two settled in a dark corner to finished the first round.

It was Seth’s turn to bye the next round. After each round the two would take it in turns to bye the next round. This went on for quiet a time until later that night it was once again Seth’s turn, with no serving girl nearby Seth went up to the bar himself. Finding the barman Seth ordered the round and started back to fuinur. On the way back a drunken man decided to have some sport with Seth. The drunk stretched out his leg so that Seth tripped over him, sending the two mugs that Seth had been caring flying across the room and into the back of another patron.

The patron thought that it was the sailor across from him who had thrown the drink, because he had made a crude joke about the sailor’s mother. Tapping the sailor on the shoulder, the patron smashed his fist into the sailors face. The sailor threw a glass of stale wine at the man, narrowly missing him with the glass but instead hitting a group of dwarfs across the room, drenching them with its contents. The dwarfs, being drunk started fighting with all the customers leaving a bloody trail wherever they went. Soon the whole bar was a heaving mess of men and Dwarfs fighting.
“Deash t’all heashens, an’ coffen pyrates” (Translation: Death to all Heathen and coffee pirates) was the passionate but slurred battel cry of Funiur as he jumped into the fight, but being drunk he was soon knocked unconscious by a flying chair.
“So much for never being defeated in battel” Thought Seth, before he found a wall with his face and knocked himself out of the fight.

Later the local garrison emptied the bar. The garrison had thoughtfully dumped the two friends into a local gutter, rather then putting them in jail. It had been a busy night, so all the jails were full.

[ October 21, 2002: Message edited by: Alkanoonion ]