Legacy of Traitors RPG

[Amanaduial the archer]

Smoothing his shirt a little self-conciously, Atharen regarded himself a little dubiously in the mirror. Clothes suitable for a smart dinner had prudently been laid out on a chair in his room, obviously not deeming the ranger's rough garb appropriate for polite society, and Atharen knew it would be rude not to comply by putting them on. Nothing too smart mind: dark brown breeches of some soft material, a white, cotton swordsman's shirt, the sleeves loose and baggy until the cuffs, and a black jerkin made of the same material as the breeches. Pulling his own nearly knee-high, black leather boots on over the soft trousers, he took another glance at himself in the mirror, rising. To his surprise, he actually felt quite dashing - in the naive, foolish sense that aristocrats might romantically aspire to, he added cynically. Still, he would do. It isn't often that I get to play fancy dress...

Realising that to wear a sword at his sword would be too obvious, he debated for a moment, then attached it anyway. Frankly, with the Lady Maen's safety at risk and he her protecter, Atharen was taking no chances. And the same stood for Crystal. Walking down the corridor to the dining room, his face softened as he thought of her, of their kiss earlier, then he pushed open the door into the room, where the other guests were already seated. They all turned to look at him and a wave of self-conciousness took over Atharen: still, he didn't show any of it, no blush showing on his pale skin as he lifted his chin proudly, smiling charmingly to all there.

"Apologies for being late, Lord Arriten."

"Ah, not at all - and just Arriten will do. You are...Atharen, are you not?" Atharen couldn't help taking a liking to the man, and the ranger was a good judge of charcter. He had too much experience not to be.

"Aye," he replied, his Rohirrim accent coming out strongly as he shook back some hair from his forehead. Seeing Crystal on the other side of the table, he simultaneously saw two free chairs: one seat just a place or two down from Arriten's arrogant young son, the other opposite him, beside Crystal. Remembering his...fabricated past with Crystal, he caught Crystal's eye and grinned. As her fiancee, there was one obvious place. She smiled back, a slightly mischievous glint in her eyes as well. This should be fun...

Moving around the table, Atharen passed behind Crystal, his hand trailing across her shoulders casually as he passed, a natural, affectionate gesture. Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before seating himself. To her credit, Crystal didn't flinch, and smiled back up at him. The whole scene would have seemed perfectly natural...to all except the few of their confused companions who exchanged baffled glances. Atharen suppressed a wicked smile and, under the table, he gave Crystal's hand a quick squeeze before releasing it, not looking at her but with a smile meant for her.

"How do you know he is here my girl?" The suddenly sharper, less indulgent tone of Arriten's voice drew the ranger's eyes instantly to the man's face. He didn't need to have been there earlier in the conversation: it was obvious what was going on. Maen pressed on easily though, her voice calm but her fiery eyes and passionate face coming alive as she realised she was onto something.

"The fact that Lysia acquired some information; you are the Lord of this place, aren’t you? I would think you know where people live."

Arriten was tense, worringly so Atharen deemed. Turning to his meal calmly, he kept the corner of his sight always surreptitiously on the Lord of the household.

"Yes, a Lord should know, but alas I do not, though I do have lists. Arridan will take you into the cellar after dinner there you may look, but now lets eat and be content." The look that passed between Arriten and his son was unmissable, as was the stunning unsubtlety of the suspicion in Arridan's returned look. Arriten continued, "But only you will I allow there, no one else, Privacy matters must count for something."

Instantly, Atharen was on-guard. Alone? I don't think so, my Lord...she is going nowhere out of the sight of myself or one of my companions... Arriten was unaware of the ranger's unease though, and smoothly changed the subject. "You noble sirs, tell me of yourselves and your reason for being in this young lady's company."

It was more a demand than a question, and the man's eyes instantly turned to Atharen. "You are a ranger, are you not?"

Atharen laughed softly, a delicate sound, and he exchanged a look of with Crystal, a natural, easy look. "Aye, but 'tis not why I am with Maen. She and my fiancee, Miss Crystal Fallowheart, are good friends, have been for several years, and when Maen took off, Crystal insisted on following! Why, I am merely along for the ride!" Atharen gave another little laugh and, catching on, Maen and Crystal followed suit. Crystal even went so far as to roll her eyes, squeezing Atharen's hand where it lay on the table. The ranger had to restrain himself with all his might from kissing her again, the shock of her touch shooting through him.

"Aye, indeed, Atharen." It was Arridan who replied this time. His voice was civil, but he was evidently after something. "But surely it must be of some consequence that you are a ranger on such a dangerous mission?" There was more than a hint of mockery in the man's voice.

But Atharen was more easy with deceit than he was sometime comfortable with. He shook his head, with maybe a hint of regret. "Nay, well, if Maen wanted a ranger for protection, she could have chosen a better one than myself."

"Why is that? I mean, if you don't mind my asking..." Arridan added, to soften the bluntness of the question.

"Why, because I am hardly much experienced."

"But your scar...?"

"Ah, a childhood wound, I'm afraid - much as I could dress it up as a battle wound!" Atharen replied cheerfully, smiling and rolling his own eyes as if the thought of the scar's true nature was a ridiculous concept.

"Your childhood..." Arridan paused, but subtelty was evidently not a strong point of his. Atharen neither liked not disliked him - yet - but he certainly didn't trust the man. "When was that?"

"You mean, how old am I?" Atharen replied, quite as frankly. He looked straight at Arridan as he replied. "I am but twenty four years old, Arridan. Hardly an ancient old warrior, hmm?" He smiled genially and took a sip of wine. The deceit was complete. Both men believed him, he was sure. Looking across at Arridan, he settled forward a little, moving into the conversation. "And yourself, Arridan? I heard from Maen you are a soldier... I suppose you will have served much?"

'I heard from Maen'...sure, a little flattery never did any harm...

[Kransha]

Idruil sat forward, having trailed Arridan, Arriten, and Maen herself into the immodest dining room of the manor, in his comfortably arranged chair. As his eyes, half glazed over with a dose of weariness, sparkled more fervently as his face contorted into a sly and voracious grin. He hadn’t seen such a supply of food in a great while, and the site of the many brimming platters decked out on the table before him was quite a site to behold. He quickly slid his limp jaw back into place before it’s out of place position was notice and pulled back, arching his cricked neck and grinding a ovular index finger against his sore temple, which was, for an unknown reason, filled with a steady and painful drumbeat that thumped in rapid succession against the hollowed wall of his skull.

The glint in his gaze fading as the pain of a cranial ache became more apparent, Idruil looked up, his nostrils flaring several times as he imbibed the savory wafting plumes of fine odors emitted from the table’s luscious array. He looked quickly towards the master of the house and his son, then to Maen, who was speaking with them, and finally to Crystal Heart, who was descending to another seat with a most noble air, almost an aura surrounding her as it would a woman of power and the command of great respect. It was a look that Idruil, in the time he’d spent near her and Atharen, had not seen before and was thoroughly unfamiliar with. He gave her a pleasant nod of acknowledgment as she sat and turned back to his occupation of staring at his plate.

Soon enough, his gaze went up again, this time to see Atharen walking down the length of the stretching table, looking strangely cunning, like a fox who was about to do something particularly clever. It wasn’t, though, something particularly clever that Atharen did. Idruil couldn’t help but smile when he saw the concealed shock on the faces of his brethren, all save he and Roryn, when Atharen leaned down and gave Miss Heart a prompt but well-aimed kiss. Arriten and Arridan took it in stride, of course, since Atharen’s reason and acting was satisfying. Atharen sat and quickly engaged in an uncomfortable discourse with Arridan, which again elicited a scathing grin from Idruil. He’d never seen a ranger’s tricks, and he hadn’t expected theatrics and false pleasantries to fall into such a category. So far, Atharen’s façade was totally successful. Of course, Roryn and Idruil were the only ones who knew that the ranger’s affection towards Miss Heart was by no means a façade.

As the dinner continued, Idruil, becoming self-conscious at this point, noted the tense air surrounding Arriten and Arridan. They had shot more than enough suspicious glances at each other to pique Idruil’s curiosity and surely that of the others. Atharen continued with his calmed pleasantries in conversation, but the Lord and his son continued to seem as if they were hiding something, possibly a simple nervousness, but it seemed to be more. Already, most of those at the table had worked their way through most of the food, leaving only threadbare leftovers on each plate, all but a few. Finishing the last remnants of edible material on his plate, Idruil cautiously leaned over towards Maen.

“Lady Maen,” he said quietly, his conservative whispers overruled thankfully by Atharen, who raised his voice very slightly to conceal the words, “perhaps you and Lord Arriten should see to his lists in the cellar. Something is not right here.” Idruil had no intention of standing by while Maen was escorted, alone, into an unknown place without protection. He knew she could handle herself, but, as overly suspicious as the man of Minas Tirith was, he had already nurtured a great deal of suspicion for the two men sitting across from him. As he finished, he swiftly recoiled back to his own seat and turned to Arridan, heaping more flattery to augment what the ranger had said.

“Yes indeed, Arridan. What of your soldiering exploits? Are you as much the warrior as we were told or was all that we heard of you merely exaggeration?”

[Everdawn]

Arridan folded his arms. “Warrior? If that’s what you will call it yes, I was a captain and a very successful one at that. After the three houses were abolished by Guriel I was fortunate enough to be called into service by the Steward.”

“Whey are you not a soldier now?” Idruil asked.

“Because, your gallant leader left me heart broken. Yes little, fair, Maén Il Galoth left the day before our wedding. Ill tell you, good luck to the lad who happens to tame that one, she was lucky to get me.” He coughed. “I simply came home and served my father, I head his guard now.”

“Do you see? Do you see! lucky to get him! you couldn’t handle me Arridan, everything you ever did was for yourself, and what’s more is you proved me right when you ran back home.” Maén said annoyed. “Its in the past now anyway, you have irritated me for long enough.”

Maén nodded at Idruil who was seated beside her as a sign that she was going to take his advice. “Lord Arriten, I am growing anxious of what may be hidden below, you must understand that it is in my interest that I know as soon as possible.”

Lord Arriten smiled a little. “As you wish my child, as impatient as ever I see.” He said with a slight chuckle as he rose and offered his arm to the young woman who took it, her hazel eyes glancing sharply at her companions.

“I shan’t be long.” She said as the young woman accompanied by the old man left the room. It seemed that they had been walking for an age around narrow stone catacombs until she was sure that they were underground. Arriten stopped to light a torch and lead the way which was only wide enough for one person. Finally he opened a narrow ebony door and went inside.

What Maén saw there when she entered was amazing, rows and rows of shelves filled with parchment and old documents. Immediately Arriten began looking through rolls of parchment and spread what he did have over another table.

“Are you sure you want to do this Maén?” the old man asked to which the young woman nodded. “very well” Maén rolled out the first roll of parchment, which was a list of all the townspeople and where they lived on a map. Eagerly scanning it was not long before she came across a name which she had been looking for. Here eyes widened in amazement.

“Guriel Il Galoth!” she cried, her finger hovering over a space on the map which was not far south of Jacobe’s Run. She turned to the old man who was still. It was then that she felt the pit of her stomach drop and a cold sweat overtake her. “You… You knew.” Arriten nodded. “How could you!” she yelled but before she could yell some more Arriten had her by the neck.

“Its easy my dear, You ruined my plans to get your family form the inside, I was his wish, you refused my son. Arriten may have been an old man but Maén was a small woman, his hands tightened around her throat. “Ive tried for so long to destroy the last of your family but have never succeeded, and now, perhaps now I will have a chance to live up to Guriel… He took great joy in killing your family, and great joy in torturing your father until he was a blubbering mess able only enough to tell the steward of what happened.”

Maén could feel that she was loosing strength, the world around her was going black, the torch which Arriten had put behind on the wall was glowing steadily dimmer, but the gleam in his eyes was still in her mind. With her last strength Maén pulled, concealed in her skirts the dagger given to her by Lysia, unsheathed it and drove it into the side of the old man’s neck. Almost instantly she felt his grasp loosen and she began to breathe. “Go and succeed in dying, it will give me more satisfaction.” She said raspy, still catching her breath. There was a steady flow of crimson on her gown, but it did not worry Maén, her priority now was to get back to the others, perhaps in time to save them from Arridan.

She dragged herself back through the winding passages and into the main part of the house. Her hear was pounding, she tripped and fell onto the carpet of the hallway. With a cry she got up and continued on her way to the dining hall where she threw open the doors breathing heavily, covered in blood. “We’ve been tricked”.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

As Maen ran back up the stairs, twisting and turning until she finally reached the door that lead into the dining hall. She burst into the hall and cried "We've been tricked! Roryn, Atharen! Arridan is-", "dead?" enquired Roryn. Maen looked ot where Arridan was sitting, she hadn't noticed it in her hurry, but he was slumped over the chair, an arrow pierced right the way through his head through his right eye. Ferethor was sitting in shock, Atharen had a broad grin across his face, Roryn was impassive. Crystal was sobbing quietly into a napkin.

"He went for Crystal first, he lunged at her with a knife...but it seems age hasn't dimmed Roryn's speed or accuracy." Atharen said bluntly. Maen gasped, then sank to the floor, "He was a horrible man, but no man should die like that...", Roryn muttered and sat back into his chair.

...

[Crystal Heart]

The prospect of the entire night was too much for Crystal to handle, especially another assasination attempt. She grabbed a napkin and sobbed, not knowing what else to do.

She consoled herself quickly then looked up. She was angry. She hated being tricked. She got up quickly and reached up into her skirt and produced her small dagger that she had been carrying within her boot, but couldn't wear in the delicate shoes that she had been given to wear.

"Even if he didn't deserve to die, there wasn't anything else we could do. He would have killed us all if he hadn't been stopped," Crystal said as she went over to Maen. She looked her over, the poor woman before her was covered in blood.

"This blood isn't yours is it Maen?" Crystal asked her worriedly. It was everywhere. She hadn't seen so much blood since the day her father killed Arty right in front of her then sneered at her screams of horror. But that was a long time ago and it was clear that Maen wasn't dying in any way, but the sight itself disturbed Crystal more then any thing. Maen shook her head no, relieving Crystal from her fears. She stood up and turned away.

She could usually stand the sight of blood, of nasty bruises, of deep wounds that showed bone and muscle. Yet at this moment she couldn't handle any of it. She had no idea why. She knew she wasn't sick to her stomach, but her eye sight started becoming fuzzy. Before she knew what was happening she started to fall. In her mind she thought she was still standing and didn't realize the darkness that was overtaking her.

[Everdawn]

Maén gathered up herself off the floor, looking around wildly rubbing her badly bruised neck, taking no notice of anyone around her. “We need to go” she said, her voice raspy from the attempted murder. “We don’t want others to come after us. He- they’ve been with Guriel all along, I know where he is.” She said and ran up the stairs to her room where her things were, somewhat slower as it was hard to breathe. The young woman did not bother to change her dress, but gathered up al her things not forgetting Lysia’s knife.

Lady Il Galoth did not know whether the others had followed her, and at this point in time she did not care, all that was coursing through her mind at the present time was one world; Revenge. Hittai was in her stall, her saddle not far away. However weak Maén was at present, she did not think on it, breathing heavily she attempted to saddle Hittai. But in her weakened state it was a struggle.

“Here” came a voice, It was Aelimur, “Ill do this for you, you shouldn’t be running around like a mad thing.” He spoke as he saddled the horse before turning to his own.

“Haste… haste is needed… He’s so close now, so close.” Maén said through laboured breathing as she mounted her horse. She saw that Calimir was already ready to go. It was strange; she did not remember seeing him at the dinner. But Calimir was not important now; the golden haired woman was going to kill her family’s great enemy. At once she went off at a gallop, the sturdy little horse gladly obeying her mistress’s orders.

Maén looked back only once, the party was behind her, she felt a renewed sense of gall towards her enemy, and rode on.

It was not long that Maén came to a small shanty off a dusty beaten road. She pulled Hittai up and waited for the others.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor couldn’t be bothered to lose any longer time. He rose from his seat swiftly and impulsively, apparently unaware of the fact that his stool was knocked over at the impact. His fist was clenched as he followed Maen’s distraught footsteps, his countenance deathly pale with the worry of both Maen and the fate of Guriel. “I’ll be with Maen.” He called over his shoulder before he headed straight for the stables where Aelimur was saddling Hittai for Maen.


After seeing that she was off, Ferethor did not trouble to take the time to saddle a horse and swung himself up the nearest one with the swiftness of a soldier who had been in such circumstances before. His clear yet desperate voice rang out, with a metallic tint to it that left all in the hearing vicinity no doubt of his career. But probably all were still in the house.


“In the name of Gondor and the High King, Aelimur, I’ll have to pursue and stop Maen from killing the renegade Il Galoth. We cannot let Maen be slain by him, and still less have Maen kill him. Both would be disastrous. I don’t know what my presence is going to do to stop the two Il Galoths that thirst for the blood of their adversary, but my duty as a soldier of Gondor impels me to try my best. Damn the race of Il Galoth!”


Not waiting for an answer, Ferethor compelled his horse to move with a sharp cry and was off in the dry path Maen had taken. His injury was not quite healed, but that was forgotten in the concern for both the young woman and the duty he could not leave unfulfilled.


And Maen. The death of one of his companions and his own injury had wrought a slow change in him that he did not even notice, that of ... compassion, if it could be termed thus for such an unyielding, harsh and callous a soldier. It would not be good for Maen herself to throw her life away for the sake of the vengeance long forgotten, for blood did not wash away blood. It was better to forget the past, and to live and take joy in living. But would she see it? How can he convince her to see it when he wasn't sure that he saw it himself?