Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Orofaniel]

Galhardir who had remained on the ship didn't believe his own ears. The first thing that came to him was the ill news about Carandû's death. He didn't want to believe it, although he knew it was what had happened when he looked at Annû. Annû was obviously devastated, without really accepting the fact that his brother was dead.

Galhardir felt much anger, but most of all sorrow. The two elven brothers had helped him twice since he'd first met them. Carandû was now dead, and he was dead without him, Galhardir, being able to even try giving something in return. The reason he had stayed at the ship was to be sure he was fully recovered. The horrible news that the Corsairs had been waiting for them and attacked had come as a horrible shock that no one had prepared for, nor had they thought something as drastic as this would come as they left the ship with Hilde. Galhardir held on tight to Rodhal, because of the sudden feeling that his knees would fail and he would fall. How had this happened? He didn't understand it. He looked at Rodhal, who had tears in his eyes. Galhardir wasn't sure if the boy shared the same feelings or if he'd even understood what had been said.

"Uncle?" he said. His voice was tearing Galhardir apart as it was full of sorrow and grief.

[Lalwendë]

Tarn stood impatiently stamping his feet to keep them warm as Nilak fumbled with the keys to the warehouse. Igal had supplied him with a bunch of large brass keys, and had informed him that there were several locks. None of these keys were marked in any way and it took Nilak some time to find the correct one for each lock. The snow was still falling and now that night had fallen, the temperature had plummeted.

When Nilak finally managed to open the door, Tarn bundled him in quickly.

“Let’s light a brazier before we start on this work”, he said, shaking out the fur he wore over his coat. The snow which had frozen to it flew out in a flurry as he beat the fur on the side of some crates. Thynne was still full of excitement about throwing the snowballs filled with stones and he could not keep still. It was beginning to irritate the two older men who had several hours work ahead of them and were cold and tired after the long walk from the market place.

“Thynne, go out and find some more coals for this brazier,” snapped Tarn, as he stooped, rubbing his hands in front of the meagre flame he had just sparked into life. “Trust Igal not to leave enough coals to warm an ice hut”, spat Nilak. Thynne asked for some money to buy coals with, but Tarn raised an eyebrow at the suggestion and the lad clearly got the message that he was to steal some.

Once they had warmed up, the men began to inspect the goods they were supposed to be packing for transportation to the Elven ship. Some produce was already packed, as Tarn found when he opened a cork on a large flask of wine. He dipped his finger in and tasted it, but did not drink any. His experiences with the drunken uncle who had taken over as elder of his clan had been enough to warn him off drink from a young age. “Here,” he said, handing the flask to Nilak with a knowing wink. “If this is any good you might like some. Drink it or sell it.”

The warehouse was quite a large structure by Lossoth standards and the light from the fire was not strong. Tarn saw large shadows looming up in the dim red gleam against the walls and looking in their direction, spotted the immense barrels which were to be loaded with goods for the Elves. Hefting one onto its side, he inspected it and found that the wood was strong but light; together with the great size of the barrel, a man could comfortably be concealed within.

The goods that the men were supposed to be packing lay along the opposite wall, clearly labelled. Tarn smirked as he saw them. Coils of rope, packages of canvas, an assortment of tools, spare blades for knives, nails and lengths of wood. Some of these things could easily be smuggled out of the warehouse and hidden, just enough to create space in the barrels to hide the Corsairs. The canvas, he could see, would make useful padding to muffle any suspicious noises from inside the containers, as they were sure to get a bumpy ride when loading the ship. As he saw Thynne come back in through the door, Tarn suggested to Nilak that the lad’s task should be to carry the goods out of there while they prepared the barrels.

[Arry]

Hands reached down to bring the two Elves quickly up from the rope ladder. Once on deck, Annû withdrew from the ring of questions that hammered against them, letting his companion answer them as he might. Others of the Elves made way for him as he walked to his room, their heads nodding slightly at his passing. No words or thoughts of comfort reached him. He had wrapped his grief about him, tightly . . . steely proof against unwanted access.

The door to their room was slightly ajar. For a moment he leaned against the frame, eyes closed, willing the familiar laughter at some puerile jest to come tumbling through the entryway. But there was only silence, broken softly by the thump . . . thump of a moth’s wings beating against the parchment shade that covered the low lit lamp near his bed.

‘You’ve left the lantern by your bed burning,’ he chided himself, stepping into the room. ‘Carandû will have your hide, little brother. You know how he hates . . .’

With a great wrenching pain, grief’s armor broke. Against the witness of the empty room it could not hold. Annû’s legs buckled and he slumped to the floor, his back against the now shut door. Head in hands he sobbed . . . waves of sorrow crashing over him . . .

Outside, the snow whirled softly against the ship; flakes disappearing as they met the icy waters.

[Kitanna]

Nilak had fumbled with the keys when they first arrived at the warehouse. Then he had to resist the urge to drink the wine he had put off to the side for himself. Every now and then he'd look up from his work and eye the bottle.

The hut was large and the coals were not enough to keep it heated. "Boy," Nilak snapped, "Get us some more coals. We don't want to freeze to death." Nilak went back to work as Thynne went out for more coals.

The two older Lossoths moved the supplies out of their way and worked some more on the preparing the barrels. When Thynne returned Nilak threw a coil of rope at his feet. The boy picked it up and moved it out like he had with most of the other supplies. Nilak and Tarn continued their work. Everything had to be ready for when Marreth and the Corsairs arrived.

[Imladris]

So that was how Marreth wanted to be, was it? Never mind that he just saved the entire expedition, nevermind that if it wasn't for him Hilde would not have been rescued. He supposed that Marreth didn't understand that sometimes things happened without forethought.

As for his daggers being poisoned...when were they not? A grim smile creased his face. It wouldn't be wise to let Marreth know that now, would it...

He threw a daggerous look at Marreth's back as they scrambled into the boats.

[piosenniel]

By the Great Winged One! Rôg muttered silently, flapping his wings against the falling snow. It must have been some great . . . no, strike that . . . make it cruel joke of the Elder King to make birds for this most inhospitable of lands. “May his fair winds keep us aloft!” he quickly whispered under his breath, casting a quick nod westward, to allay the harshness of his thoughts.

The same winds that aided his own flight, swirled the snow as it fell. From perch to perch his powerful wings beat steadily moving him silently toward his objective. ‘And what might that objective be?’ he wondered to himself and his great head swept from side to side, yellow eyes taking in the details of the frozen land below and the Lossoth community huddled upon it. ‘See what you can see,’ Luindal had told him. ‘Something to give us an inkling of what the Corsairs are doing.’

Leave it to an Elf to be vague . . . the snowy owl thought, snapping his beak in irritation.

He’d flown near the Corsair ship, noting only that it seemed busy much in the same way the Elven ship was busy. Too many crewmen were on board, even at this time of night . . . not safe to go snooping there now . . . passing over the top mast that held the identifying pennant, the owl answered a call of nature, leaving a large white splotch against the Southron flag’s dark background that wouldn’t be appreciated until the sun rose.

The Lossoth settlement seemed more promising. Most were in their homes, snug against the darkness and the weather for the time being. 'Now there is something promising,' he thought, noting a large building on the bayward perimeter of the settlement, not too far from the empty marketplace. What few small windows there were along its sides were all shuttered tightly, but here and there some soft light from within flickered. Curious, the owl glided down silently to the roof’s eaves, sidling along the beam they rested on until he found a small hole giving access to the high rafters. He peeked his head through the opening, then squeezed his shoulders and wings through, mashing his feathers close to his body. As his tail cleared the entryway, he sidestepped across the rafter until he had a good view of the room. Other birds had used the hole and beam previously he noted, their droppings frozen to the rough wood.

Rog hunkered down in the shadows of the high ceiling; the light from the brazier did not reach up here . . . nor did any heat, the bird noted sadly, fluffing his layers of feathers about him. Now to wait and see if anything of interest might unfold . . .

~*~

Later that night:

Odd goings on in the warehouse . . .

Curious, he thought, that two of the Lossoth should be here in a warehouse when others of their kind had closeted themselves snugly in their homes to wait out the snowy night. Rôg swiveled his head about taking the good neatly sorted along the warehouse walls. Coils of rope, he noted, length of wood, canvas . . . now wasn’t that interesting. These were the items he recalled Luindal had ordered stashed in the ship’s hold when they’d first left. One of his crew, the Quarter Master, he thought, had raised his brows at the meager quantity, but the Captain had assured him that additional supplies could be gotten from the people living round the bay. Now it made sense, the Lossoth would be seeing to the delivery of the goods sometime soon, and were going over the inventory. Yes, that would be it . . . there along the far wall were the large barrels in which much of the delivery would be crated.

One of the men pulled the cork from a small cask. He dipped his finger through the hole, tasting the liquid within. Rôg wondered if the two were going to warm themselves with the spirits, but the man replaced the cork and said something odd to his companion. ‘Here,” he said, handing the flask to Nilak with a knowing wink. “If this is any good you might like some. Drink it or sell it.’ Why would these men want to steal from themselves, Rôg thought. They looked as if they already had a proprietary interest in the goods.

Curiouser still, a young man came in. One of the men, laughing, suggested to the other that the lad should start taking the goods out, while the barrels were prepared. Prepared for what? They must intend to deliver the barrels as planned, but what was going into them? The young man listened carefully to the older and shook his head in understanding. One of the men pointed to a small cart parked just inside the warehouse front door. With a nod, the lad fetched it and began loading the wine and onto it, exiting through the back door when the cart was full. The rope came next, then the boxes of tools and knife blades.One of the Lossoth men, Rôg noted, had stayed the young man’s hand when he’d gotten to the canvas. A few words passed between the two, which Rôg could not catch. But the other man had chuckled as the boy went out with another load saying something about ‘ . . . wouldn’t want to lose our packing material, would we? Make a bumpy ride for ‘em!’

The back door to the warehouse opened once again; Rôg looked down to see what now the boy would choose to take out. But it was someone else who entered. A man – lean and lanky, with a long dark beard. Hints of dark red pants flashed out from his brown cloak as he strode purposefully into the warehouse and toward the two men. The newcomer’s gaze flashed back and forth at the contents of the warehouse. And in one of his passes, Rôg caught a brief glance of his face. The Corsair Captain! What was he doing here? Despite his acute sense of hearing, Rôg could not catch in full what the three men discussed. ‘Barrels’ he caught; gestures toward the canvas; soft laughter at some shared jest. ‘Elven ship’.

Rôg shook his feathers softly at these suspicious goings on, then sidled back toward the hole. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness outside the warehouse, the owl recovered his bearings as to where the Elven ship lay at anchor. On silent wings he sped back toward it. There was treachery afoot of some sort, of that he was now certain. Luindal would want to know of the odd meeting in the warehouse. What he would make of it, Rôg was not sure . . .