Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal carefully slunk out of view, well hidden by the grey shadows playing fitfully along the wall as he stooped down behind a bulky cauldron that was used to prepare soups and stews for the Corsair crew. He could hear the sounds coming from atop the garbage heap; Rôg had leapt on top of the mound and was munching contentedly through an assortment of peelings and cores.

Despite the grave situation, Luindal could not help but smile. Many would describe the Palantir as an object of untold magic and power, a strange and wondrous thing that had been crafted by Elves in the days of old. Luindal was well aware of the history and power of the Stone and the fact that its power could be abused. His men and many of the Lossoth allies had died trying to keep it out of the clutches of the Corsairs. He wished it could have been different.

Yet, if there was any true magic in the hold, its greatest expression lay not in the Stone crafted by Elven hands, but in the small rat who sat unnoticed, munching his dinner amidst the chaos of battle. Naturally quiet and scholarly, Rôg was reluctant even to fight. Yet, in the wrong hands, this Shapechanger could be used as one of the most lethal and far-reaching weapons that Luindal could ever imagine. The Elf shuddered slightly and shook his head, glad that Marreth was not aware of who the small rat was or what he could do.

Luindal's thoughts quickly turned to other things as there was a loud thud coming from the direction of the garbage chute and Marreth's lanky form suddenly appeared. Quickly, the Corsair raced over to the spot where he had left the Stone and began furiously digging, a gloating look of pleasure on his face. As his fingers touched the glass float, he smiled and began to lift his treasure into the air. But once he had gotten a closer look at it, he smashed the object to the floor and cursed, "Pock-livered Elves.....may they all rot on the bottom of the ocean! Someone has been meddling here. Luindal, come out. I smell your hand in this."

In an instant, Luindal slipped from the darkness and directly faced Marreth with sword in hand. "I have your Stone on my ship. There is no more reason for you to fight. We've gotten what we came for. Call your men off. I will rip your sails into pieces to ensure you stay put for a while, and we will depart in peace. There has been enough bloodshed to both our men."

Marreth turned to face Luindal with a snarl. All he had heard was Luindal's boast that the Elves now possessed both the Stones. Everything else flew by him unnoticed. Roaring his disapproval, Marreth moved in to attack.

[Regin Hardhammer]

After Luindal’s offer, Marreth directly confronted the Elf. He sneered incredulously and quipped, “You lie, Elf. You plan to strip our sails and then slaughter every one of us while my ship lies immobile. Dirty vermin never keep their promises. I demand that you send a messenger and instruct your crew to hand over both the Palantiri, or I will slice your head in two.”

Marreth spit on Luindal’s right boot and gave him a sneer of utter loathing, as if a fire was burning a hole straight through his belly. Luindal returned Marreth’s challenge by lunging forward, wielding his two-sided broadsword with strength and agility. Marreth parried the blow with some difficulty, but scoffed at the Captain's attempt. “You Elf swine really ought to stick to bows,” he chuckled. Burning with hatred and desire for the Stones, Marreth lashed out with his rapier towards Luindal, his blow aimed directly at his foul heart. The Elf jumped nimbly out of the way and answered with a return thrust.

Back and forth they parried. Yet, as the fight continued, Marreth slowly gained the upper hand. Luindal had spent years learning how to read the magic of the forest and to build the tall-masted ships. Marreth, on the other hand, had given all his effort to learning how to raid and fight, and the difference was beginning to tell. The Corsair smiled as he realized that Luindal was not as experienced a swordsman as he himself was.

Gradually, Luindal's blows began to lose momentum; the Elf's grip on his sword slackened for a single instant. Marreth pounced on the opportunity and swiped a blow at Luindal’s body, nipping his upper arm with great force. As fast as a great eagle pouncing on his prey, Marreth sprung forward to the kill. His rapier flew to the Elf’s throat, tracing a cut across the side of his neck. Luindal dropped his broadsword and fell to his knees, grimacing in pain.

“Now,” growled Marreth triumphantly, standing over the fallen Elf. “Give me the Palantiri if you don’t want to be switching bodies anytime soon.”

In the background, Marreth could vaguely hear the sound of a single rat scuffling over the floor of the garbage hold....

[piosenniel]

They always resorted to metal . . .

The rat’s bright, beady eyes took in the two combatants as they hacked away at each other with their blades. Like two cooks having at a haunch of roasted deer, they were slicing away at each other with some precision. At least one of them was . . . the bad one . . . the Southron . . . Luindal, for his part, was really more like a poor goat herder stumbling upon a wasps’ nest by ill chance. His blade moved back and forth, trying to swat away the sting of the sharp point and edge of Marreth’s blade.

Rôg scrambled closer, his little rat feet moving quickly over the stinking refuse. Luindal, he saw, had dropped his blade, and now the Corsair moved in for the kill. And it would be a kill, despite the Southron's words. With or without the receipt of the smaller palantir, Marreth would do in the Elf. And knowing Luindal, he would force the Corsair’s hand to a sooner course of murder with his refusal to give back the stone.

The hum grew quite loud as the rat leapt up, and changing, began to beat his small wings furiously. Darting through the air, a black and yellow insect made for the back of the Southron’s hand; the hand which held the sword. He stung it twice, sending a wave of fiery pain coursing through the man’s limb. The blade dropped as the Corsair batted wildly at the offending wasp. None hit the insect, save for the whooshes of air displaced by the manic pawing. Rôg’s next target was the side of Marreth’s face, near his left eye, and then quickly as he could, the upper tip of the fellow’s right ear. This left the Captain hitting at his head as he yelled wildly in several Southron dialects.

Plummeting down toward the floor of the garbage hold, Rôg resumed his human shape, grabbing, as he reached the slippery boards, at the handle of a discarded pot. It had a large crack in the thick, iron metal, and while no longer functional as a cooking utensil, it would serve his purpose well. He stood quickly and brought it in a quick, hard arc against the side of the Corsair’s head. Marreth dropped limply to the refuse strewn floor.

‘Up Elf! he rasped at the dazed Luindal, nudging the dropped broadsword toward the Elven captain. ‘I’ve downed him with my well aimed kettle; now take up your blade and make sure he doesn’t revive while I fetch some rope . . .'

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Aye, aye, and thank you," Luindal responded with a sheepish grin. The Elf hastily regained his bearings and again leapt to his feet, all the while continuing to talk to Rôg but keeping his broadsword aimed squarely at Marreth's chest. "And remind me if I am ever foolish enough to try to make you angry. For someone who professes not to have skill with a weapon, you certainly pack a powerful wallop."

Within a few moments, a rope had been retrieved and Marreth trussed up like a fallen stag who was to be carted home as a prize from the hunt. The Corsair was taken from the ship and brought over to the Spirit in full sight of his own crew. He was to be imprisoned in the brig until he could be brought back to Cirdan for judgment. From that moment onward, the tide of battle quickly shifted. Once the Corsairs saw that their Captain had been captured, their will to resist was implacably weakened. The fact that both Jarlynn and Diera had earlier met their demise meant that the pirates had no other officers to step forward and lead them. The Elves quickly gained control of the helm and began securing the weapons of those who had been fighting.

Luindal was in a quandry what to do with those who remained alive. There were too many to take as prisoners on his own vessel. Nor did he have the heart to slaughter unarmed men, even those who had caused great mischief and brought about the deaths of his crew. Yet if he scuttled their ship, the pirates might head for the shore and wreck vengeance on the Snowmen who had allied with the Elves. And what was to be done with the Lossoth allies who had fought for the Corsairs, some willingly and others out of fear?

In the end it was decided to set the Lossoth adrift in small boats to go back to their homes. The Elders would be free to devise whatever punishment they chose. Alakhseey had whispered that it was not the normal way for Snowmen to fight Snowmen. It was likely they would be forced to turn over any booty. Their activities would be closely watched but they would probably be allowed to resume their normal lives.

Luindal had come to the reluctant conclusion that the Corsair ship could not be scuttled. The sails would be stripped down and the mast disabled. It would be some time before the necessary repairs could be made to allow the vessel to sail. But at least the prospect of having their own seaworthy ship should keep the men from wanton destruction; the weather was also on Luindal's side. It was almost winter, when the Bay would freeze over. If the Corsairs applied themselves day and night for the next week, they should be able to finish the needed repairs and slip out of the Bay, heading south. Any needless delay or military detours, and they would become victims of the relentless ice and snow.

"But what if they do make it out? What will they do after they head South?" one of the Elves had pressed. "They could wreck havoc on innocent folk."

"You could be right," Luindal acknowledged. "But , with Marreth out of the way, they won't have the skill or tactics to be very successful. And we're leaving them with only the most meager of weapons. I admit this whole setup doesn't make me comfortable. But slaughtering unarmed men is something I can't do. And neither the Lossoth or we have the means to imprison such a large group of men."

There was some muttering and complaints but Luindal had made up his mind and refused to listen to any further grumbles. "And the Palantiri ?" other Elves had asked.

"I've already been in contact with Cirdan, " Luindal confided. "And he with Elessar. The two Stones are to be delivered to the Havens and then brought to the West on one of the ships."

Once the Corsair ship had been disabled and set adrift, and the Lossoth dispatched in another direction, Luindal went about the sad task of having the crew say their goodbyes to many of the men who had been lost in the fighting. It was not an easy job for him or for his crew. Those returning to the Havens were far fewer in number than those who had sailed north just a short time before.

Perhaps, when I return to the Havens, Luindal mused, I will have some Elf skilled with verse sing of the bravery of Annu and Carrandu for never have I seen two brothers who shared so much with each other, a bond that has endured even after death. With that, Luindal went off on his own and began considering what his own part should be after they arrived at the Havens with the Stones. For should he continue to follow the path of the Stones returning to be with his own family, or tarry further in Middle-earth?

[Lalwendë]

Tarn’s chest was in greater pain than ever. The hurt was somehow deeper and sharper than the pain of his broken ribs, it swept over him in waves, and deep in the pit of his stomach was a hole that felt like it would never be filled. He saw stars in front of his eyes and his heart ached with bleak emptiness.

Sitting on a barrel, his hand clamped on his chest, he barely noticed that the battle was almost over, that the Corsairs had lost. He felt as though all the life within him had flown somewhere else; he had almost been taken down some shadowed path with the Elf as he died. He had seen something of the life which comes after death and his eyes were wide with the fear, filled with bitter tears. This life after death had not been one of light but one of darkness. The Elf had shown him where he was going to go. His mouth hung open and his gaze was fixed on the horizon, as though he expected to see something dark waiting out there on the wide ocean, waiting to take him away.

As the shouts began to die away, he finally started to breathe more easily and looked about him. There were lifeless bodies all about, and the victorious Elves looked to be heading for the ship. He almost did not care if he was captured and taken prisoner, but after the shock and the intensity of what he had felt, the fighting spirit rose in him again and he made his way to the edge of the deck. Slowly and carefully, he climbed over the rail and his weary, battered body dropped into the icy water. The sharp shock of the cold sea woke him from his reverie and he looked about frantically for something to hold on to as he swam back to shore. The swim would sap his energy, as it was far, and the water was so cold he could see ice in it.

As he felt about for anything he could use as a float, panic rising, he felt a breath on his face. He looked straight into the eyes of one of his seals. The creature, with its huge eyes, made a sound and rolled over. Tarn, cold as he was, knew the creature wanted to feel his touch, to be affectionate, and so he reached out his arm and put it about the seal’s neck. As soon as he did, the creature began to move, cutting through the water with speed and grace. Tarn did not let go; he knew the creature had come to rescue him. He knew animals better than people, and they knew him well.

When he finally lay on the rocky shore, staring up at the sky, Tarn reflected on how he had always been alone, even when he was surrounded by other people. Working with the Corsairs was the first time he had thrown in his lot with anyone; but he could see that it had all been for his own foolish pride, his need for power.

He thought of Galhardir with his family’s love, the Elven brothers with their deep bonds, and Regan and the comradeship he felt with his crewmates, and then he began to cry for the first time in his life. He had taken lives, he had broken the bonds of other people, taken their loved ones. He had cheated and he had stolen and he had exploited. And now at the last it was an animal that had saved him from the icy seas. He wept because there was something good left in him at the last. He had almost been lost and somehow he had found something to save his blackened heart and turn it around.

Tarn thought of Thynne and how he had wanted to use his labour, to exlpoit it to make himself even more powerful. The lad was the same as himself at that age; he was without a friendly hand to guide him, vulnerable, and he could see, twenty years down the line, another Tarn emerging. Shaking his head, he sat up. He would not allow this to happen. He would treat the boy as a younger brother; he would attempt to give him something resembling a family, something to guide him.

Tarn smiled, and as he did so, his pack of seals appeared, their heads breaking the water offshore. They cried to him, and then disappeared again under the waves, as a broad and heartfelt smile spread across his face. His dark eyes lit up with the light which had started to grow inside him, and he reached into his pocket and took out the filthy knife. Without hesitating for a moment he cast it into the sea, turned, and headed for home, filled with a new sense of hope and purpose.

[Child of the 7th Age]

A small coracle with a thatched wicker frame covered in deer hide advanced steadily towards the sheltered cove. Once the boat touched ground, the two Lossoth set down their paddles, climbed onto the beach, and dragged the small vessel several feet higher where it would be safe from the tide. Only a close observer would have noticed that the stocky figures tugging at the boat, garbed in heavy parkas and thick woolen scarves, were both women of mature years, the brown braids gracing their heads shot through with iron grey.

Alakhseey, the taller of the two, turned to speak with Hilde, who had picked up her satchel and was beginning to walk away. The Elder’s voice was manifestly polite, a modulated tone that masked whatever real feelings were hidden underneath. “You are free to go. The Council has said that all may return to their families. Should you have acquired any booty while with the Corsairs, these things must be returned to the owners." Under her breath, she added, " At least things will be normal again, and that scoundrel Marreth is safely locked up and will soon get his due.”

Hilde nodded and shrugged her shoulders, as if to indicate she would comply with the measure but that it was of no concern to her. The only souvenir of her expedition was the small pouch of coins that Marreth had awarded her from his treasure store. These had been lost when the Elves had dragged her off to prison. Other than that, Hilde had only the few meager possessions she had brought along when she had first approached the Corsair captain. She would return to her household, visiting her sons and their wives, just as she had always done, and make her living by doing odd chores for the benefit of her neighbors. Outwardly, nothing whatsoever had changed.

Yet, there are things that change inside a person the world can not see that may be more consequential than outer appearances or wealth. Hilde grunted her consent to Alakhseey and parted with a swift shake of her hand, adjusting her pack on her back and trudging northward across the stony beach. She struggled to put down the smile that kept slipping over her face. When she had walked on for some time, she stopped and set down her pack, hugged her belly with her arms, and collapsed in a convulsion of mirth as she recalled the Elder’s final words: That scoundrel Marreth is safely locked up and will soon get his due.

Marreth might have been a scoundrel to the Elves, but he had been a grateful and hearty fellow, and a handsome eyeful to boot, who had rewarded her with an open hand and had not failed to come to her rescue. She had spent enough time as a housekeeper on the Spirit to know its every nook and corner. One day she had been given dozens of keys to the storage rooms to help prepare them for the new supplies. Attached to the same ring had been another key, so old and forgotten that no one had even noticed it. A little investigation had shown it to be the key to the brig. For once, she had done something right and had immediately presented her treasure to Marreth, just in case he found himself in a tight situation one day. He had thanked her and hung it on a chain around his neck.

Let all the stuffy Elders think they had defeated the dashing young pirate. Hilde knew that they were wrong, and that pleased her enormously.