Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[piosenniel]

Rôg spied Galhardir attempting to look a great deal braver than he felt. He understood the feeling and recognized the signs. The sword in the Lossoth’s hand was wavering and beneath the grim face he’d put on, the skin was blanched white. And then, of course, there was the added problem of the pain from the arrow. Rôg could see how the Lossoth favored his leg. He was sure to fall soon. The Corsair with the blade had advanced closer to Galhardir, the fellow with the bow had already turned and run for the side of ship, attempting to get off as his captain had ordered.

‘Give it up!’ Rôg heard the Corsair hiss at Galhardir. A leering grin on his face, the Corsair drew closer to the man, knocking the sword easily from the Lossoth’s hands.

‘No . . . you give it up!’ yelled Rôg, running up behind the Corsair, his weapon swinging in an arc. This time the crowbar connected with the side of the intended target’s head, knocking him unconscious to the deck. The clatter of metal against the wooden deck made Rôg look round. Galhardir had collapsed on the deck, his leg bleeding. Rôg crouched down beside him.

‘Can you make it over there?’ he asked, pointing toward the hatchway stairs that led into the interior of the ship. The man nodded, yes, and Rôg motioned for him to make haste. But Galhardir put his hand on Rôg’s sleeve and pointed toward the stairway to the quarterdeck. Annû had just collapsed as had the man he’d apparently been fighting. Another Lossoth . . . Annû’s face was battered and a sickly shade of grey; his hands clutched at his side, blood welling up between his fingers. The Lossoth opposite him laughed, his knife held up to taunt the Elf.

‘Can you manage on that leg at all?’ Rôg asked Galhardir. The Lossoth flexed his leg, grimacing, but indicated he could still use it. ‘I’ll distract that Lossoth fellow – you grab Annû and get him to safety down below.

~*~

The small, blue-grey merlin circled once above the Lossoth holding the knife. Legs extended, he dove down from behind him, his sharp talons tearing into the man’s skull. He beat at him with his wings and tore at his ear with his strong, curved beak.

The man lurched to his feet, beating at the demon who besieged him, and stumbled toward the ship's railing, blood streaming down his face from the cuts on his head . . .

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Lalwendë's post

As if the pain in his chest were not bad enough, a sudden searing pain gripped Tarn’s head and he couldn’t help but let out a loud groan. He put his hands up to the top of his head, to find his hair matted with fresh blood. Clumps of hair and skin fell away in his fingers. But what was the shrieking noise? He thought he was going mad, or that maybe he had died and was meeting some kind of dark devil. He opened his eyes and looked up, just in time to see the blur of wings and claws swooping down at him for another attack.

Putting his head down just in time, he attempted to cover it with his hands, to protect it from another attack. But this thing was relentless. It wanted to hurt him. Whatever he did to cover his head, it was determined.

He felt a surge of pain at the side of his head and fell sideways. Looking up, he saw a Merlin with a piece of his ear in its beak, and he almost fainted. Covering his eyes with one hand, he lashed out wildly with the other. He hit nothing but air, the bird was too swift for his confused, half-conscious flailing. Staggering to his feet, almost falling back down again, he lurched towards the side of the ship, blinded by madness and fear.

Ripped apart, with a broken nose and ribs, missing part of his ear and bleeding profusely, Tarn collapsed over the railing at the very edge of the deck. His arm caught in the rigging and prevented his half conscious body from falling into the icy waters. As he hung there, the ship tossed about on the waves and a plume of spray splashed his face, waking him from his nightmare. He opened his eyes and heard the voice of Marreth, urging the other men to escape.

[Orofaniel]

After being hit in the arm by the Corsair's arrow, he'd fallen, and hurt his foot as well. It was bleeding heavily by the time Rôg had rescued him from the bloodthirsty Corsair.

Meanwhile he spotted Annû, who was also lying on the ground after a fight with one of the enemies. Galhardir felt uneasy and wanted to hurry over to help him, but he couldn't. His leg felt stiff and the pain was aching, and it was torturing the poor man. At the same time, he had forgotten about the arrow that had hit his arm. He could only feel the blood flowing from that wound as the pain had disappeared, or just forgotten in all the chaos. Slowly, Galhardir finally managed to get up with a little help from Rôg.

Galhardir halted towards Annû closely following Rôg with his eyes. "Hurry Annû!" Galhardir whispered and took him by the arm. Annû followed and together they made it down below without great difficulties. Of course, both of them were badly hurt, but together they were stronger than one would have thought in the first place. In Annû’s room both of them felt exhausted and said little. Galhardir was still shocked by having his enemies so close. They had surprised them once and for all. This surprise wasn't highly appreciated. They were both tending their wounds, examining their injuries; The wound on Galhardir's arm was not bleeding anymore. Instead there was a thick mass of dried blood that was covering the wound, but while cleaning if off, it started to bleed again. It was in fact deeper than he thought at first. The bandage was luckily close at hand, and Galhardir managed to tend it as good as he possibly could. Then the leg remained. Even though he was still bleeding heavily this wasn't such a major injure. He would be able to walk properly on his leg within a couple of days, or so he expected.

Annû poor thing had some pretty nasty bruises which probably would last for quite some time. Galhardir asked him, when he was finished tending his own wounds, if Annû needed some help. Annû smiled but told him that he would manage on his own.

Just as this had been said, Galhardir could hear from above that the Corsairs were feeling…”About time,” he said angrily.

[Imladris]

The elf buttoned her lips and sat up a little straighter. Jynne sighed, and eyed the liquid filled goblet. "Elf," he said silkily, "I would highly recommend you tell me what I want to know."

"I do not fear pain," she said stiffly. "Or anything else you have to offer."

Jynne smiled thinly. "Whoever said anything about pain?"

Her face paled, yet a spark of hope flickered for an instant in her blue eyes.

"Do you see this goblet, elf?" he asked, drifting it in front of her nose. "This goblet is full of wine...no doubt your kind would consider it crude...but it is fine quality aboard ship."

She licked her lips. Jynne figured she would be thirsty. Extended stays on salt water had a tendency to do that.

"In this wine, however, there is a fine poison...it is deadly, however," he said, looking at her with a sort of sinister puppy eyes. "It is also relatively painless. If you do not give me the information I want, I will force this down your throat. There you will be faced the dread knowledge that you will die...and not face the doom of elvenkind. In a way," he said in a musing voice, "I'm glad I did not give this to Jarlyn as it would not have the same affect mentall on him as it would you..." he tapped his temple meaningfully.

The door crashed open, and Diera flew into the room. "So it has been you that has been making Jarlyn sick...I am sure that Marreth would be very interested in hearing this news." She smiled viciously.

Jynne sniffed. He tried to remember why he had been poisoning Jynne in the first place....ah yes...so that he could gain Marreth's trust. Pity the plan had failed miserable. As he licked his lips, he drew his dagger and flung it at Diera's chest. He could almost see the poison spread through her veins as she stumbled backwards, her hands clutching the hilt of the dagger.

[Regin Hardhammer]

As soon as the fighting had begun, Marreth had climbed down the mast as quickly as he could and joined in the fray. His own work was done. He had cleverly bored through the wood leaving a well concealed hole that none of the Elves should be able to see. The next time Luindal went sailing and a stiff wind blew up, the mast should snap in half and leave him helpless to sail any further.

Just let the Elves go out and pull up one of the Stones from the depths of the Bay, Marreth would be waiting nearby and kindly relieve him of the prize. Just to make sure that Luindal would know who’d done this to them, Marreth had left a little note tied onto the lower portion of the mast with his signature prominently displayed in bold letters.

Too bad their little ploy had been discovered. His men might have caused more havoc by emerging from the barrels after the Elves had put them on one of the lower decks and then retired for the night. But now that he’d finished his chore, their real job was done, and they needed to leave the ship.

Marreth signaled to the men to retreat and go immediately for the shore. One of Luindal’s Lossoth allies had scuttled their small boats so they would have to swim for it. That shouldn’t be too hard. They were fairly close to the beach. The only problem was the bitter cold waters. But they should be able to make it and warm themselves by the hot fires and by changing into dry clothing.

Some of the men had been injured, but even these were managing to make it over the side of the ship and swim to shore with the aid of their comrades. The one who looked to be in worst shape was Tarn. This was the Lossoth who had helped him set up this little operation and Marreth had no intention of leaving him behind if he could help it. Tarn had staggered over to the railing and was barely standing upright.

Quickly, Marreth retreated to the side railing and put his arm around Tarn’s shoulders, supporting his sagging body. He yelled out an order to another Corsair to hurl one of the half empty barrels down into the Bay. Fighting off the others with his free arm, he managed to climb over the rail. The two slipped together into the water with Marreth continuing to hold onto Tarn. “Here, grab onto the barrel stave as hard as you can,” he shouted at the Lossoth above the noise of battle. Marreth took off his belt and tied one end about Tarn’s shoulder and the other onto a half loose stave to make sure the wounded man would not let go.

Amid a volley of arrows, Marreth climbed up on the barrel and managed to grab one of the poles they’d brought on the small boats that was now floating in the water. He bagan paddling furiously for shore, keeping his head as low as he could. Once more, Marreth’s luck held. Despite the arrows whizzing through the air, the Corsair received only one cut on his upper arm as the sharp edge sliced through his doublet but then buried itself in the wood of the barrel instead of his own body, or that of Tarn. It was not long before they reached the shore. Some of the men left behind were waiting there with thick fur hides and blankets. They had sledges drawn by deer which took them immediately back to the ship where there was hot drinks and healing herbs as well as beds to rest. Marreth immediately asked the cabin boy to go get Diera so he could tell her what had happened and find out how Jarlyn was doing.

[Kitanna]

After the Corsairs were discovered a battle on the Elven ship began. Nilak had done little in the way of fighting. At first he did what he could to make sure the Corsairs were out of the barrels. He wouldn't want any to be left behind by themself. During the battle Sernir had stayed close to Nilak. Probably using me as a human shield, Nilak thought, but Sernir did watch his back.

Nilak took a few punches from the angry Elves and the Lossoth allies, but he just punched right back. Somewhere between taking and giving hits Nilak turned to see Tarn being attacked by a bird of prey.

He tried to come to Tarn's aid, but he heard Marreth urging them to escape. The Corsairs jumped over the side of the ship. Nilak would have joined them, but he felt the need to get Tarn first. He stopped when he saw Marreth helping Tarn over the edge and into the icy water. Nilak leapt over the rail and into the water. He swam alongside the Corsairs toward the shore as arrows from the ship rained down on them.

Once on shore Nilak was given a fur blanket to warm himself. He had someone help him back to his hut where he started a fire and changed into dry clothes. He fell asleep not long after.

[piosenniel]

The Corsairs had left the Elven vessel. Captain Luindal called for those of the crew who were not injured to go in groups of three and check that there were none of the Southrons or their allies hiding yet on the ship. The small patrols swept the Sea-Spirit from stem to stern, reporting back to the Captain, at last, that all was safe and secure.

‘There are a few of the crew with scrapes and bruises,’ one of the Elves reported. ‘Annû, though,’ chimed in his companion, ‘seems quite beat up.’ The Elf grinned, and Luindal looked at him questioningly. ‘He says we should have seen the other fellow!’ The first Elf nodded his head, but added with a note of concern. ‘He waved us off when we asked if he needed a healer to see to him. Said it was just some bruising and nothing to be done about it. Said he’d be fine.’

Luindal organized the crew to clear away the mess made on the deck when the barrels had opened and the Corsairs burst from them. They salvaged what goods they could, stacked the staves of the broken barrels below in the hold for further use, and checked the ship for any damage needing repair. ‘The Corsairs had been in such a hurry to flee that there had not been enough time for them to accomplish any real mischief,’ the crew reported.

The Captain thanked them for their thoroughness then ordered all to attend to their wounds if they had sustained any, take their meal, and rest until the next day. The Sea-Spirit would put into the bay to search beneath the water for the palantiri.

~*~

On the way to his cabin, Luindal found Rôg, crowbar still in hand. The man held it up, grinning. ‘Not only a useful tool, my dear friend,’ Rôg said, waving it in the air, ‘but a useful weapon as well for cracking the heads and knees of Corsairs.’

‘If I didn’t know you better, I would say you enjoyed that encounter,’ the Captain commented, motioning for his friend to accompany him to his quarters.

‘Not enjoyed, really,’ Rôg said, his face now more serious in its demeanor. ‘But there was a certain satisfaction in driving the scum from the ship.’ He entered the cabin as Luindal held open the door. ‘So, the plans we’ve discussed,’ he went on, shoving a few books, maps, and the odd piece of clothing from one of the more comfortable chairs in an effort to find somewhere to plop his tired body. ‘We’ll put them in motion . . . tomorrow . . .?’

[Arry]

With the help of Galhardir, Annû had made it to his room. A fierce, generalized ache and hurt had begun to assail him where the traitorous Lossoth had landed his hard blows, and already the purplish spread of new bruises had begun to creep across the pummeled areas. He would be sore for a while, but the bruises would fade, the ache recede, in time. What worried him the most was the wound from the man’s knife.

With careful fingers, he peeled off the temporary bandage Galhardir had applied, a wadding of clean rags bound on with the belt Annû wore. The flow of blood from the wound had slowed to an occasional oozing. It was not a large cut nor had it gone in particularly deep he saw, as he twisted this way and that to see it in the room’s small mirror. But even this soon the edges of it looked red and angry, and the serous fluid did not run clear but was tinged with a yellow color. He cleaned it as best he could, with water from the jug and a rag. Some folded strips from an old clean towel served as a bandage, with one longer band of it to tie about him. Fishing through his pack he found a soft, loose tunic to pull on.

His movements were stiff from his bruises and the wound, but he steeled himself against the hurt, and walked carefully to the galley to find food and drink. Many of the crew were already there. He nodded to those who called out to him and passed by them as quickly as he could. Taking a bowl of the inevitable chowder, a chunk of ship’s bread, and a mug of tea, he made his solitary way back to his quarters.