Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[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.