Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[piosenniel]

‘Watch out below!’

There was hardly need to call out the warning. The Lossoth oarsmen rowed hard away from the Elven ship as the barrel broke lose from the winch and plummeted down to the icy waters. For a brief moment it was submersed entirely then bounced up, riding on the waves. It rolled round and round, making it hard to get hold of with the long oars. Once corralled, the ropes were resecured and the barrel hauled upwards again.

Rôg helped to support the runaway barrel as it was taken up to the Elven ship. For a brief moment, the edge of the barrel end rested against his shoulder, near his ear. A frown crossed his face as his ear was pressed against the staves. But the rope tightened, the barrel swung up, and he bent to help secure another barrel.

As the second barrel made its way to the ship’s deck, Rôg bent near Galhardir and whispered a question. ‘Was it my imagination, or did that first barrel seem to be whimpering?’

Galhardir looked oddly at the other man. Rôg shrugged and smiled sheepishly. ‘Perhaps it was just the wood creaking . . .’

[Arry]

Annû was on deck the next day to assist with the barrels. Perhaps I should have stayed below he thought, seeing how others looked away from him, not knowing what to say. For the Elves, it had been a long time since one of their own had died, and in such a brutal manner. And for the Lossoth, it was probably just the fact that they did not feel they knew him well enough to offer their sympathy . . . or perhaps it was simply their custom. He really did not care. Best that all leave him to his own grief.

The barrels were large, too heavy to be picked up and moved. Annû motioned for one of the Lossoth aboard to help him tip them over one at a time and roll each to a place more out of the way of traffic. Most of the barrels had some simple marking on them. In an effort to stack similar goods together, they placed the barrels with similar markings in groups about the deck.

One of the barrels, the first one in fact they'd brough aboard, was unmarked. They rolled it to a nook near the main mast, intending to place any others that were unmarked near it . . .

[Lalwendë]

The noble Elf was standing alone by the rail. He was watching the boats arrive with the goods, and had been on watch since the Lossoth had left the shoreline. Tarn had spotted the figure of the captain almost straight away, standing apart from the others onboard, his eyes trained on the line of boats heading out towards the ship.

Tarn kept a watch upon him as the small boats pulled across the waves, expecting the Elf to move towards the winch and make ready to meet the traders, but he remained motionless. He reminded him of a sea bird, eyes keen for prey, but still and calm on his perch.

In the second boat sailing towards the ship, Tarn helped the oarsman to steer the small craft towards the centre deck, where the winch stood. The great ship made the swell of the waves much larger, and Tarn’s face whitened a little in fear as for a moment he thought they would be swept under the hull by the undertow. But the oarsman was in control and soon lines were being thrown down to secure the smaller craft.

Tarn made sure that the scarf wound about his face was secure. The Elf Captain had now moved towards the winch machinery where all the activity was beginning to take place. He sent others to do his bargaining, and remained on deck to watch. He set to work helping with the winding of the winch handle. Still he remained silent.

Feeling as though those sharp eyes were boring into his own, Tarn turned his face away quickly and not noticing the shouts of the Elves, the falling barrel caught him unawares. The men in the first boat took up their oars quickly and pushed the little vessel away from the winch with all the force they could muster, sending their own boat crashing into Tarn’s. He fell to the bottom of the little boat, jerked from his feet by the bump. As the barrel broke free of its moorings and crashed into the water, it sent up a mighty plume of spray. The boat rocked and was swamped for a moment. Shaking his head, Tarn started to bail the water out furiously.

[Niluial]

Elwë helped the others move the huge barrels, it was a hard job, the barrels wouldn’t budge and they needed three or four elves just to lift one barrel but Elwë’s mind and heart was too heavy, too sad to put all his effort into helping or even worrying about the barrels. He did know he had to move on but Andtuariel meant everything to him, he loved her a lot even though he didn’t admit it. He wouldn’t even dare to think what the Corsairs were doing to her, if he did think of it, horrifying images came to his head… even worse was the thought that she may not even be alive.

He thought back to the evening when everything was perfect; the moon shone brightly in Andtuariel’s cabin and she looked lovely herself. It was the perfect evening Andtuariel had kissed him… He now regretted not telling her that he loved her, he regretted not hugging her and he especially regretted shouting at her all the time. Tears filled up in his eyes as he slowly rolled the next barrel.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Marreth waited inside the barrel as he felt the boat come to a stop in front of the main ship. He could not have been happier to leave his wooden prison. Drenched, cold, and nauseated, Marreth vowed never to travel in barrels again. He had been tossed around, pummeled by waves, and covered in flour, which still stuck to his soaked skin. It would be amazing if he didn’t catch a deadly illness soon after.

With a jolt, Marreth felt his barrel being lifted onboard right after it had been hoisted from the sea andthen rolled over to a spot. He was becoming dizzy, but took some consolation from the fact that he had devised such a perfect plot. He chuckled with glee as he thought that the very people letting him into the Elvish ship were the Elves themselves. With a dull thud, Marreth heard the barrel being set down on the ship’s wooden deck. There was the sound of feet scurrying away then silence.

Slowly, Marreth lifted the lid of the barrel, creating a small space barely large enough for him to look around. He peered out and saw that he was in the middle of a secluded niche, surrounded on three sides by walls. Bit by bit, other barrels containing his comrades were being set down, slowly filling up the deck. In his immediate area, however, he was alone. Marreth felt like jumping out and slitting some Elvish throats, but his common sense prevailed. His purpose here was to sabotage the ship by weakening its mast, inviting the slightest wind to snap it in two.

Marreth knocked cautiously on the side of his barrel, but there was no reply. He cautiously lifted the top an inch more and stared out. Marreth hoped that the Elves, too preoccupied with loading the supplies onto the ship, would fail to notice anything amiss. With all eyes rivetted on the containers still being loaded onto the ship, Marrreth was able to slide his body out of the barrel and then slink down to the floor.

Carefully replacing the top, but leaving a pile of flour in his wake, Marreth crept forward and reached the main mast, which stood strong, reaching high into the salty sea air. After hiding for a moment under a piece of excess sail canvas near the mast, Marreth began his climb. He moved nimbly skyward, clutching the boring instrument firmly in one hand while he scaled the pole. So far, the operation was proceeding flawlessly, and soon it would be complete.

Carefully aiming his tool, Marreth began boring energetically into the mast about half way up. A broad smile was on his face. When he had finished making the tiny whole that went from one side of the mast to the other, he removed a small piece of paper from his pocket and slipped it inside the hole. He was intent on his work, but his attention was suddenly diverted by a loud noise coming from the deck below.....

[Child of the 7th Age]

The last of the barrels had finally been brought aboard. Tarn and Nilak, the two Lossoth in charge of the shipment, had climbed up the side ladder and now stood beside Luindal, waiting for the Elf to sign off on the bargain. The Captain paced up and down the deck counting the number of containers and making sure that they were in good condition.

Coming to the far side of the ship, to the first barrel that had been loaded, he hesitated for a moment. The lid of the container was not secured tightly but seemed askew, as if someone had removed the top and then hastily tried to replace it. On the floor of the nearby deck were puddles of water and what looked to be globs of wet flour. Luindal walked over, tramping through the sodden mess, and leaned over, peering down to the bottom of the barrel. It was barely one-third full.

"Is this what you've sold us? Half-empty boxes?" The Elf turned towards Tarn with a look of displeasure on his face. "We paid for a full shipment. How many more are like this?" Remembering the warning that Rôg had brought him earlier, Luindal wondered if the Corsairs had tampered with their supplies, or if there was another explanation for this. His fingers strayed imperceptibly to the hilt of his sword.

When the Lossoth failed to answer, Luindal hurried over to the next batch of supplies, a scowl set firmly on his face, as he handed Rôg and Freyn heavy metal levers, asking them to wrench off the lids. The two immediately went to work, each on a different box. The first ones were opened with little fanfare. But as they began tearing off the tops of barrels three and four, the containers themselves began to rattle slightly as if there was something inside trying to move about. Rôg and Freyn exchanged puzzled glances.

Luindal opened his mouth to give orders to surround and wrestle the barrels to the ground when, high above, from the central mast, a voice rang out, "Get out mates! We've been discovered. Time for us to leave....."

A dozen barrels or more shook ominously as lids popped off. Luindal snapped an order as his followers charged forward with swords and daggers raised to try and keep the Corsairs from escaping.

[Arry]

Once the barrels had been brought on board, Annû had taken up a position on the quarterdeck, intending to keep a close watch on the proceedings. So far, nothing seemed amiss. The captain was with two of the Lossoth who had brought the barrels from the mainland, and was looking displeased. He had pried the top off one of the barrels – the one they’d stack by itself. Annû could see him gesturing and shaking his head at the two Lossoth. The stances of the two native traders stiffened as the captain handed a tool to two of his crew member, indicating they should pry open the other barrels.

A shout rang out from somewhere above and all at once a number of Corsairs clambered from the barrels they’d been hiding in, weapons drawn. Annû fired a number of arrows at them, nicking several in the arms. The foe was moving about quickly, heading for the sides of the ship. Annû fired several more arrows, most causing only minor wounds, but one sunk deep into the fleshy thigh of a Corsair.

Luindal had drawn his sword, and Annû could see the two traders start back a few steps then look menacingly at him. He could not get a good shot at them. Slinging his bow on his back, Annû drew his brother's sword and leapt down to where the captain stood against the two. The tip of his blade was leveled at one of the men’s chests. An older fellow, his dark hair gone grey at the temples. The fellow’s dark blue eyes widened at the presence of the second Elf. Then he scowled, squinting fiercely at Annû.

A certain rage boiled up inside the Elf, and he pressed forward, intending to run the man through. But the Lossoth feinted quickly to one side and knocked the blade away with his much padded arm. The sharp want of revenge mixed with the memories of his brother. Annû wanted to pound this Corsair sympathizer into dust. Rage rising further, he dropped his blade on the deck and stepped in close to the man, fists balled.

Grey eyes flashing in his stony face, Annû felt a stab of satisfaction as his knuckles collided with the man’s nose . . .