Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Wyrma paced the floor of her room restlessly, feeling like a caged lioness. She had been sitting for too many hours, busy with parchments and messages, when Tinar came to tell her that the Gondorians had not only heard rumours of Shapechangers, but were searching for them.

Were these sailors spies, disguised as merchants? And what did the Great Kingdom of the North intend to do with Maenwaith if they found them? Uncertainty always made her feel uneasy; she hated waiting for others to act and much preferred taking the first step herself.

But we are planning a step against them, she reminded herself. They shall be thrown into confusion when… Her thoughts wandered to the results of her planning, and a corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny, triumphant smile.

Now, if she could only leave the palace complex for a brisk walk, she would feel better. However, in a city of cutthroats and robbers such as this, that was only possible with guards to protect her. And a walk with guards would not make her feel less caged. If only she could spread her wings and fly, away from this squalid city with its dark passageways. Yet that too was not possible – she had instructed those of her people who stayed here that they should not transform unless necessary. They could not risk discovery, which would almost inevitably be followed by persecution. They had experienced that many times throughout the decades. That was why they needed a city of their own, where no one would attempt to harass them because they were different, where no one would fear them and they needed to fear no one.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

“Enter!” Tinar called in reply to the knock on his door. Korpúlfr strode into the room – the very person he wanted to see! He could not wait to hear what had happened at the northern ship.

“You missed some interesting hours!” Korpúlfr grinned, continuing with an account of the events. “Now, I know you would have liked to be there,” he finished, “but I can offer you a compensation. I have invited the captain and his mate to dinner this evening, and they accepted. Would you like to come?”

Tinar accepted eagerly, knowing that his mother would have no objection to a possibility for finding out more about these men.

“But tell me, what did your mother say about the news I told you?” Kor asked.

His companion shrugged. “Not much – you know that she thinks before she speaks. But I think it startled her. I do not know what she plans to do, but I am sure she will take care to prevent our people’s discovery. We must be cautious this evening, and not give ourselves away.”

“I must go now,” Kor said, turning to the door, “there is much to prepare.”

“I shall be there punctually,” Tinar promised.

[Nerindel]

Korpulfr walked confidently through the long corridors of the palace contemplating the little Tinar had revealed to him and turning over the many preparations that still needed attending before his guests arrived. He had full confidence that his household would already have many of the preparations well under way, but he always found that it never hurt to be overly cautious when entertaining strangers. As he walked, he watched the palace staff dutifully going about their business and could not help but wonder if Lord Falasmir had such confidences in all his own staff. The thought brought a wry grin to his face as he thought of the Lords newest advisor. Wyrma was certainly not one to be trifled with, she too hungered for the freedom of their people, but it did not occur to him to what lengths she would go to secure that freedom. His faith in his kin and the injustices he had witnessed during his child hood years blinded him to any such indiscretions the current Wyrm might commit.

Striding through the courtyard he nodded accordingly to the lords and ladies of the gentry that walked the grounds oblivious to advisor Wyrma’s true nature, concerned only with the ship and crew currently berthed in their port, he had to marvel at the irony of it all! While Falasmir plotted and schemed and the people of Umbar overly concerned themselves with their guests, they failed to see the dragon in their midst’s and the wolves closing tight around them ready for the kill, or so he was lead to believe. Each day the council of eldars assured him and his father that plans where going well, but of what those plans entailed he was never told, if his father knew he never spoke of it and he never asked. Having full confidence in the leaders of his people and never having any cause to doubt their words or sincerity.

Reaching the merchants entrance of the palace kitchens he procured the signature of the store master and went to retrieve his cart, leaving the palace for once in decidedly high spirits, despite the cold looks he received from the guards as he passed through the iron gates. On reaching the house, he left the cart and horses in the care of the stable hands and set about ensuring that all preparations for this evening’s meal were well in hand. Once satisfied that all was indeed ready and having seen to many preparations himself, he retired to his room to wash and change, stopping briefly to drop off paper work, look over, and sign some documents Asrim had left for him in the study.

Standing on the balcony to his room he watched as the sun dipped its head into the cool blue waters of the sea. A cooling breeze ruffled the light fabric of his shirt as his gaze fell on the three ships berthed below in Umbar’s port, dark ominous shadows against the orangey red glow of the setting sun. “It is time!” a familiar voice behind him announced drawing his attention. With a grin he turned to see Asrim standing in the doorway waiting for him, carefully fixing the cuffs of his shirt so they showed beneath his finely cut russet jacket, his advisor looking the very image of a fine Haradwaith gentleman merchant. Next to him stood Hasrim, but unlike Asrim the desert warrior did not stand on formality or pomp, choosing instead to wear the simple yet practical attire of the desert people that they once were, his weapons hanging openly at his waist. Lifting a plain but finely cut red waistcoat he slipped it over his loose cream shirt and followed his cousins to the entrance hall to greet their guests as they arrived.

Already many of the Maenwaith merchant's and their families had arrived and were milling about in small groups discussing the day’s trade. The squeal of children’s laughter brought a smile to his face as he stepped to one side to narrowly avoid a collision, as a number of small children chased each other around the hall. Tinar too had already arrived and sought him out with an excited wave of his hand. A small bell rang and the children and his kin all stopped what they were doing and made their way into the dinning hall as they did every evening, all except Tinar who at his askance joined them to greet his guests when they arrived.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The old man was locked in feverish speculation, scarcely aware of the small bird’s questioning or the insistent tapping on his ear. Aiwendil could not understand what was happening. For endless years, he had remembered only scraps of what he had known before. The knowledge, the skills, even the stories from across the Sea, had gradually dimmed, fading from his mind.

Wandering through the vales of Mirkwood along silent, empty paths, he had consorted only with wild creatures, sometimes purposely avoiding Men and Elves. Refusing to be drawn into a world in which there was too much pain and grief, he had held onto only a small piece of what Manwe had entrusted to him. His memory of the lost road had receded; even his yearning to return West had grown less urgent, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness. Now, the memories were slowly coming back, yet Aiwendil had no idea why or to what purpose he should put this new understanding.

Aiwendil hastily put a hand up to his ear to ward off the offending bird. But, before he could react, the small dark eyes stared back at the istar , demanding an immediate answer to a lengthy string of questions. Something inside Aiwendil whispered that this chance should not be ignored. Somehow, some way, he must plant a seed of hope and resistance in this gentle hearted maenwaith .

Aiwendil reflected on the old times as he searched for words and images that would have meaning for his companion. He glanced over at the small winged creature and deliberately spoke, “The birds…. the birds. They were marvelous to see. The old tales do not speak of it, but the great Sea birds that made their home in the Far West often ventured eastward, bringing bits of the magic with them. These creatures had plumage so startlingly rich that all who saw it were amazed,not like the simple white and grey cranes and gulls that you have seen. With scarlet and gold and silver wings, they glided above the waters and the people of the Star Isle would look up and marvel, glimpsing a tiny hint of what lay beyond.”

“But, alas! All that is gone. The wondrous birds, the Elves and their graceful ships, even the tall palaces and monuments that the Men once built…. and in its place only empty waves. The storm was so great that the wall of water reached up and sucked everything into its path, even the poor flying visitors who had ventured too far to the east. Later I returned; I wept to see only a few feathers scattered in the whirling surf, and all the other animals gone. For the people brought destruction not only on their own heads, but on all the innocent creatures who dwelled in that place.” Aiwendil sighed and looked out across the sands.

“There were so many evil ones then? To bring about such carnage?” the small bird interrupted, uneasily cocking his head.

“Not so many, not at first,” Aiwendil responded. “Only a few turned their back on the old ways and sought to impose their will on others. It could have been stopped if the rest had acted and stood up to oppose the lengthening shadow. But folk went about their business and paid little attention to the cries of those who were hurt. And, by the time they realized the peril had spread, it was too late to do anything. It is so easy not to act, to come up with an excuse and let others tend to the problems…..”

Aiwendil fell silent out of shame and humiliation. Was he saying these words for himself or Rôg? Perhaps both. Memories of Mirkwood and what lay before came flooding back as the camel’s rhythmic stride continued to eat up the sandy track. The wild dunes flew by and their trek inexorably continued towards the interior of the desert.