Thread: ATM II RPG
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Old 05-14-2006, 10:20 PM   #8
Formendacil
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Hyarmenwë son of Hyarmendil had entered Mordor determined not to like it. Well, more accurately, he had entered Mordor knowing that he would not like it. When you are as old and experienced as the Keeper of the Keys of Minas Tirith was, some things were predictable.

As it was, Hyarmenwë would have preferred to have avoided Mordor altogether, but one must face certain unpleasantries in one's life. In Hyarmenwë's case, travelling to Mordor as a part of a rather odd group of diplomats to deal with the rejects of civilized society was one of them.

Were the truth to be told, Mordor had not disappointed Hyarmenwë in the slightest. He loathed the place, and the many anakronisms that it contained. It wasn't hard in the slightest to pretend that the horrid things didn't exist, because he found them extremely distasteful. The sooner this particular task was over, and he could retire to the safety and peace of Minas Tirith, the better. Hyarmenwë was an old man, if hale, and cared little for adventures of any kind.

So it was that he had grumbled and fussed and done his best to act the perfect Gondorian nobleman and gentleman, and now found himself somewhere in the heart of Mordor, sitting around, and participating in... something... known as an "icebreaker".

Currently, it was Bearugard's turn to tell two truths and one lie about himself. Hyarmenwë, realizing that his turn must come soon enough, was paying but little heed to his fellow Gondorian's questions, and was concentrating on what his truths and lie ought to be. One must follow the rules of the game, of course. One must follow them rigidly. Whatever Angawen might seem to think, it was the part of a true Gondorian diplomat to show by his very example precisely how a real diplomat acts.

The lie, Hyarmenwë thought to himself, in Bearugard's trio, was undoubtedly that he had chicken for lunch. Not bothering to say that aloud, he began to ponder what he should say of himself. His clues ought to be trifles, of course, for one does not give his opponents valuable information without cause. By the same token, they must be related to him personally, so as to obey the rules. They ought also, and here Hyarmenwë cast a baleful glare at Bearugard, not disparage the negotiations. As worthy of being disparaged as the Mordorians were, the negotiations were also condoned by Gondor, and disparagement thereof meant disparagement of Gondor- and of its King.

Therein lay his problem, Hyarmenwë realised. All his life he had loyally and faithfully served the House of Telcontar, the Heirs of Elessar Aragorn. And he had remained loyal to it's right and eldest line through thick and thin. Alas, but these days were the days of thin, and not of thick.

Mardil II, of the noble House of Húrin though he may have been, and a great Steward history may have been destined to remember him as, was, in Hyarmenwë's book, an usurper. Unfortunately, he was a usurper with a great deal of power and influence. And, with his marriage to the Princess Morwen, likely to someday be the rightful Lord of Gondor. A troubling situation indeed, since Hyarmenwë would then be his loyal retainer- but a loyal retainer that Mardil would probably remember best as having opposed him.

It was a mess of a situation, and was likely responsible for his being sent on this mission, Hyarmenwë thought. Mardil would likely not be saddened at all were he to slip on an anakronism and land himself a permanent assignment to Mordor. On the other hand, Mardil trusted his loyalty to Gondor- even above his loyalty to his King- to see that a good job was done. And, Hyarmenwë had to grudgingly admit, he would do as best a job as he might, and so aid Gondor as best he could.

It would be an easier task had he been given some decent companions, Hyarmenwë sniffed to himself. Bearugard, currently at the centre of the group's talking, was a self-centred spoiled child. Hyarmenwë wished it were otherwise, but so many of Gondor's younger noblemen were that way. They did not have the backbone and moral fortitude that had been the hallmarks of past generations- including his own.

The Lady Angawen was somewhat better. She was not, it was true, someone he needed to worry about being lazy. She would, at least, keep focussed on the discussions. Nevertheless, she seemed exceedingly blunt for a diplomat- and a woman at that!- and she had a history that troubled Hyarmenwë ever so slightly. Rumour had it that she had killed her husband, and the bodyguards who accompanied her did nothing to dispel the myth. She might have been harder, more focussed than Bearugard, Hyarmenwë thought, but she did not seem a true servant of the Realm.

And then there was Malfoidacil... Hyarmenwë did not know what to think of him. He seemed very nearly a Mordorian in some respects- though what those respects were Hyarmenwë couldn't quite place his finger on. At the same time, though, he seemed very much what he seemed to be: an arrogant, blue-blooded son of Gondor. Hyarmenwë had hopes that he could be moulded into a fine Man of Gondor, but in the meantime he was so... YOUNG!

Which simply hammered back to Hyarmenwë the point that he had long since decided was correct: if this mission was to succeed for the greater good of Gondor, then it was going to fall to him to see it through.

With this encouraging though, Hyarmenwë's mind snapped back to the "icebreaker" game. Possibly half a minute had passed, thought being faster than sound, and Bearugard was still the one being questioned. Everything had gone somewhat silent. Apparently one of the Mordorian diplomats (Scitls, was it?) had just made a rather out-of-place comment.
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