Prisoner of Númenor RPG

[Regin Hardhammer]

Azarmanô approached the prison apprehensively, fully conscious of the horrible fate that awaited their leader inside. Strangely, he felt a tinge of relief along with his fear, for they had managed to navigate their way through the boisterous crowd in one piece. At the prison’s front gate he passed a gruff looking soldier who, in an irritated growl, asked him to state his business.

“I am escorting this prisoner to her cell,” he replied curtly, at which point the guard nodded and motioned for him to pass. Entering the prison had been surprisingly simple, a fact that Azarmanô attributed to their flawless disguises. He suppressed the images of himself shooting the sleeping soldiers. There had been no other way, he stubbornly insisted to himself. It had been done for the sake of the mission, for Abârpânarú.

He waked through the massive archway, the oaken door with wrought iron hinges that marked the entrance of the building thrown back to admit him. Inside, the dungeon was dark, with only torches on the side walls to guide them. The stones themselves wreaked of an acrid odor, evidence to the presence of grime, mold, and mildew that thrived within and upon the dank, stagnating walls. Well could Azarmanô imagine this hole in the ground to be a dungeon. Although, he thought dryly, I doubt a prisoner pays much attention to the smell while they wait for the ritual to begin.

He had no idea where Abârpânarú was being held, since the dungeon held hundreds of Sauron’s prisoners. How would the group ever locate the one that they wanted? He passed a supply room full of food, spices, and spirits. Azarmanô looked into the cells as they passed, anxiously hoping to see Abârpânarú’s familiar face, but the process proved unsuccessful. He saw many faces, some desperate and weeping, others stoic and resigned to their fates. If only we could rescue them all, he wished wistfully.

A loud rumbling of voices came from farther down the hallway. A feeling of dread descended into the pit of his stomach as he realized the impending danger. Three soldiers appeared from around the corner. They marched up to the party and leader stepped forward and spoke.

“We have been sent to receive this prisoner. She is considered dangerous and we will be escorting her to the high security section in the north tower. Your services are no longer needed.”

Azarmanô panicked as he heard the disastrous news from the somber guard leader that stood before him. It was now his turn to concoct a plan to pacify the soldiers just as Marsillion had done. He could not allow these men to take Inzillomí, for he did not want to rescue two prisoners. But how would they be able to escape when the guards stood right before them, blocking their path. The soldiers would not allow the rescuers to leave without first relinquishing Inzillomí and any attempt to do so would certainly expose their identities. Which is why, reasoned Azarmanô with a mischievous smile, he would do his best to make sure that before long the guards wouldn’t be standing.

“Here you go. Take the prisoner.” he snapped as Inzillomí gaped at him in disbelief. “But before we part, what do you say we have a drink. I saw a supply room a while back with some fine ale. You men sure look thirsty. What do you say?”

At the mention of alcohol, the soldiers loosened up and became much more amiable. The trio seemed to be in agreement that a slight delay in bringing the prisoner back to the cell would not cause any harm. “Well, I suppose one or two flagons couldn’t hurt,” reasoned the captain, “Go and get the Ale. Be sure to bring mugs. But after the drink we really must be going. Sauron considers this prisoner of prime importance.”

Hastily, Azarmanô retreated to the storeroom to search for ale. At first he found a small keg of ale as tall as his knee, but he reasoned that would not be large enough. Then he found a bigger one that measured up to his waist, but, to be safe, they needed a keg that was even more capacious. These guards were large men who were used to drinking prodigiously. Finally Azarmanô glanced upwards to spy the largest keg of ale in the entire store house, towering slightly above his head. Now that was the keg of ale that he was looking for. With great effort, he rolled the barrel, already on its side into the hallway. After returning once more to scrounge six gigantic flagons, he sat down with the rest of the rescuers and guards on the floor, distributing a large measure of brown ale to all. Azarmanô furtively pushed Inzillomí down to the floor and tied her chains to the bars of a nearby cell, taking care not to hurt her. “So the prisoner does not get away,” he explained.

After the guards finished each drink, Azarmanô graciously offered the soldiers a refill of their mugs, which always was met with a swift reply to the affirmative. Not wanting to pass out himself, Azarmanô drank from his mug in sips, periodically spilling some on the ground behind him when the guards were not looking. The guards, however, appeared to grow more and more friendly as they consumed increasing quantities of ale, eventually hugging Azarmanô and calling him their “best buddy.”

After the guards appeared thoroughly drunk, though not yet out cold, they began singing amorous ballads about the girls they had left at home. Azarmanô had never heard anything so horrible in his life. Ignoring their atrocious wailings, he smiled politely and proceeded to pour them more ale. After what seemed like several hours, and about fifteen mugs of ale, the soldiers seemed to be growing extremely groggy. The first one to go unconscious was the leader, who had the appearance of a happy child curled in a ball deep in slumber. The other two guards weren’t two far behind, both of them passed out around ten minutes later, one slightly ahead of the other.

After Azarmanô was sure they were safely snoring, he swiped the keys from the side of the leader’s belt. They were big and bronze, emblazoned with the words “high security” on their stems. Azarmanô hoped they were heavy sleepers, because he wanted to be safely outside the dungeon with the mission completed by the time they awoke. Azarmanô untied Inzillomí’s chains from the bar and led her, along with the rest of the group, down the corridor which ended at a set of stairs that he hoped they could follow to the north tower.