The Ambassador's Son RPG

[Himaran]

Graring watched the battle from a distance. He felt strangely detached from it all, like he was on no one's side. He watched without feeling as Jurex was felled, and Avershire's throat was cut by Jythralo. What did he care? Let them all go to the Devil!

Then he saw it. Sails on the horizon. And not of Corsair make, either. In the darkness,Graring could not make out the flags - but he was fairly certain he knew. Gondorian reinforcements. The corsair cause was lost..

Forgetting about his leader, the corsair uprising, his ideals, what he had fought for his entire life, Graing made a quick decision. All that mattered was survival. And so he turned and dashed into the forest.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"You'll pay for that, boy..." the low, threatening mutter caused Callath to spin around, furiously, ready to run the corsair through...but his sword was still buried in the neck of Sedal's attacker. The corsair gave an ugly laugh and, with the strange, many-tailed whip he was holding, thrashed Callath across the side of the face.

With a shout of pain, the boy fell sidewards and backwards, his hand coming to his face as he felt the blood began to well from three gashes across his right cheek where the whip had lashed him. To his fury, he felt tears welling up in his eyes as he propped himself on his elbows, running his tongue around the gums on that side, tasting blood where the force of the lashes had caused the gums to bleed. But looking up, he saw the corsair standing over Sedal, the whip raised to strike the surgeon as another corsair held Sedal's arms. Not that they needed to really: Sedal's face was pale and sweating, his teeth gritted and eyes closed against the pain. In a second, Callath registered what was wrong: the wound had split again and the broken rib may even have splintered, either of which would be causing the surgeon excruciating pain. This man had treated illness and hurt all his life and was now suffering some of the worst....

"Get away from him!" Callath yelled, springing to his feet. As he did so, he felt a strange heaviness swing against his ribs. His hand seemed to guide itself to his jacket and, feeling into the insie pocket, his fingers closed on the heavy object. He took a precious second to recognise it: the brass knuckles. As the gashes on his face burned, his resolve strengthened – what choice did he have? – and he tore them from his jacket pocket. Jamming them on – and they fitted surprisingly well – he stood in a lithe motion and covered the small distance between himself and Sedal’s attacker, who had now grabbed Orda. The man turned towards him, his face ugly, cruel mouth twisting violently, and he held up Orda by his shirt front to Callath, daring him to attack whilst the corsair held the boy. He looked down at Callath’s hand and sneered as he realised the boy apparently held no weapon.

“What, we’ll play for fisticuffs –” he sneered, but was cut off sharply as Callath drew back his fist and with snake-like speed punched him across the face, the brass gleaming on his fist. The man yelled in pain and fell, blood flowing from his mouth and from the gashes which now scarred his cheek. Callath nearly savoured the irony of it: now he had paid him back for the lashes quite fittingly. Shaking his fist more from habit than from hurt (the metal protected his fingers, although he would have bruises tomorrow), he knelt beside Orda where the man had thrown him. The boy was grimacing in pain, but opened his eyes and looked up at Callath.

“I’m…I’m ok,” he murmured, but the way he shifted jerkily told Callath otherwise. It was possible his wrist had fractured from the looks of it, and what about the blood flowing all the way down one side of his face…Callath raised a hand quickly to Orda’s cheek to examine it, but the boy flinched from his touch. Or rather, from the touch of the cold metal against his skin. Realising, Callath drew back quickly, disgust at having used the weapon now catching up with him. But instead of pulling them off he stood quickly, hearing another shout, shielding his eyes against the sun to see…

Devon, stepping into Avershire’s place. About to fight Doran.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Doran jeered as he held up the sword stained with Avershire's blood.

"Your going to pay old man for everything you've done," Devon growled.

"Come boy. I've been waiting long enough,"Doran said.

Devon yelled and charged forward and struck. Doran blocked and was surprised at the strength at Devon's strike. But he recovered quickly and counter attacked. Devon easily blocked it, and Doran stepped back.

"Is that all you have, old man? That's all that the famous corsair Jythralo Doran has?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Hasn't anyone taught you to respect your elders, boy?" Doran replied. Then he struck and it was Devon's turn to be surprised at Doran's strenght. Devon stepped back and Doran took advantage of it and pushed harder and harder. Devon stepped back and fought harder.

As the battle raged on around them, all Doran could see was the boy in front of him that he wanted to kill.
__________________________________________________ ____

The sun was rising. The battle was almost over. Many men lay wounded on the floor. Some Gondorians had fallen back, but most of them had lain down their swords in surrender. Many of the corsairs lay dead or dying but Doran wasn't worried-he still had three ships full of men ready to fight.

Doran was a little winded and he could see that Devon was tired also. Devon struck at his head. Doran blocked but the power at which Devon struck knocked the flat part of Doran's sword into Doran's head, knocking Doran onto the ground.

Devon smiled. "Ha, got you old man."

Devon raised the sword to finish off Doran but at that moment, many cries rang out.

"Gondorians! The Gondorians are here!"

Devon looked behind him and saw dozens of Gondorian soldiers charging down the beach killing and capturing any corsair they came upon. They were saved. The battle was won. Devon smiled in relief.

Doran saw that this was his moment. Quickly, he stood up and plunged his sword into Devon's back. The smile faded from Devon's face along with his life. He uttered a cry and reached behind him, trying to touch the wound. Doran leaned over close to Devon's ear-
"It looks as if it is I who has you."

Devon fell to his knees and onto the ground.

Doran looked down at the boy. Finally. He finally had his revenge.

At that moment, three Gondorian soldiers appeared, swords raised. Doran raised his arms into the air. He had lost the war, but had won the battle. Devon was dead.

[Durelin]

Nuranar's Post

Even at a distance Calnan could tell that Avershire was dead. His heart swelled with rage as the corsair captain laughed -

"Calnan!" The high-pitched terror of Orda's young voice pierced the roaring in Calnan's ears. He found himself scrambling with desperate urgency over the rocks toward his cries. Off to his right Callath, too, was sprinting to the rescue.

A corsair arose directly in his path, but Calnan never hesitated. Driving straight into him, he hurled the corsair to the ground with tremendous force. The man's sword clattered among the rocks.

Wild at the delay, Calnan snatched up the cutlass he'd dropped, took two running steps - and a strong hand jerked his ankle. As he fell he had the sense to drop the cutlass and not to break his fall with his hands, but he heard a dull crack, and an agonizing pain shot up his left arm. The full weight of his body had snapped one forearm bone in two. Dizzy with pain, Calnan cradled his arm, oblivious to the world around him.

Without his instincts he'd been dead. Two sounds - a hoarse, ragged breath, the rasp of clothing scraped along rough stone - and he found himself standing, face to face with the corsair he'd tackled. The man was on hands and knees, still laboring for breath; but his sword was quivering in the ground where Calnan had been kneeling. There was no time to think. Calnan took one step and drove his knee up under the man's chin, snapping his head back.

The corsair collapsed, either unconscious or suffocating, but Calnan couldn't tell and didn't care. The fall had driven all emotion out of him, everything but this consuming pain that throbbed and pulsed through his entire body. He was aware, in a distant sort of way, that his legs were trembling and his face was hot despite the coolness of the air. The roaring in his ears had nothing to do with anger.

Almost dreamily he remembered Orda now. Callath was kneeling by him and Sedal, surrounded by corsair bodies. Almost in slow motion Calnan turned to the beach. In disbelief he saw Doran fall to his knees in front of Devon - Devon?! - then Devon turned and Doran struck, stabbing him in the back.

Blindly, furiously, Calnan staggered for him, and found himself on the ground. "Calnan!" he heard someone call. Telson loomed before him, dim and uncertain in the dark haze closing in. I thought the sun was rising? he thought, but didn't have the energy to ask. Telson pushed him gently to the ground and felt his arm carefully.

Dazedly, illogically, Calnan knew he had to do something. The bloodthirsty, murdering, accursed fiend . . . ! With a final rush of strength he jerked upright. But the wrench he gave his arm, held in Telson's hands, was so agonizing that the threatening darkness lowered for good and erased all knowledge.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Durelin's Post

Doran had spared her little more than a glance at her cry, his surity that the battle was over allowing him to forget Adeline's importance. The confusion of the battle could be deadly, but it also helped in keeping her safe, for now. But her thoughts did not dwell on her own safety, rather on the safety of Devon. All her fears were gone except for one, and that was her fear for Devon's life. She felt her knees give way as Doran held up his bloody sword, displaying it for all to see. Whom he had killed did not matter. Devon rose from on his knees as Adeline fell to hers.

He drew his sword, and Adeline felt a scream rise in her throat. She pushed it back down to her stomach, and she then felt as if she needed to empty her stomach. She shut her eyes for a moment, and then heard a shout that made her heart rise and her stomach forget its pangs of fear.

"Gondorians! The Gondorians are here!"

"It is over!" Adeline cried, once again unable to control herself. The battle seemed frozen in time, all stood still and looked as Gondorian ships landed and men started crossing the beach. Adeline turned away from this marvelous sight with a grin of delight and laughter in her soul. She turned to smile at Devon. He smiled back at her, but then a cry of pain tore her heart.

~

Adeline folded her hands to keep them from shaking as she sat in the hard chair, struggling to keep her eyes dry. Doran stood before the full court room, standing tall and proud even though his hands were chained tightly behind his back and armed guards stood on either side of him. The hands in Adeline's lap were squeezed into fists.

"This man, Jythralo Doran, Captain of known corsair ships that plagued the coastlines of Gondor, is now brought before you to be tried for his crimes, in accordance with the terms of justice of this land, the great city of Umbar, a colony of Gondor. Know that he will receive all rights that are given to those that are tried under the law of Gondor, which must be observed in this territory of Gondor. Remember that this man must be considered innocent, until he has been proven guilty through the presentation of evidence to the..."

Adeline could not stand to listen to the absurdity that was spilling out of the judge's mouth. He spoke with no emotion, his words held no ring of life or truth. He acknowledged Doran as a 'Captain of know corsair ships', yet he failed to bring to light how much more than a Captain Doran had become. And still the judge said, in the same drawling voice, that the man was innocent until.

Slowly she rose, her entire body shaking, with her eyes focused on Doran. Soon all eyes were on hers, including the Captain's. She stared into them, loosing her hatred upon them. She made her way out of the row of seats and then toward Doran. Twice she almost stumbled. At first all that were present were simply shocked, then a low murmur ran throughout the court room. The judge's voice rose above the rest, as he amplified his dull voice, almost yelling.

"My Lady, if you have something you wish to say you may say it from your seat. My Lady? I am asking you to sit down." The man sighed. "Miss, go back to your seat. Miss!"

Adeline stood inches from Doran's hideous face, and felt his warm breath upon her face. It waved the flames of her anger to knew heights, and her hand reached for the handle of a sword at one the guard's side. Before the guard knew what she was doing, she had unsheathed it, her anger and loathing giving her strength to pull out the heavy blade with speed. She raised it in front of Doran's unblinking eyes as the court room exploded. A few women even screamed, to Adeline's disgust.

"My Lady!" the judge gasped, his voice finally showing some sort of emotion. Adeline laughed at the thought that this was what it took, and this seemed to alarm the room even more. Even Doran blinked, and looked at her in a very different way than he had before. But then, the laugh through all the tears she now cried was obscurely out of place. A strong grip held her by each arm as the guards saw that Adeline was serious. Adeline felt herself go limp as they held her. She did not struggle, but her hand still gripped the sword till her knuckles were bone white. Her tear-filled eyes still stared into Doran's, and she did not withdraw them from his gaze as the soft touch of a kind hand on her shoulder.

"You cannot kill him, my Lady," Calnan said softly.

"I killed a man once before, I can do it again."

"You cannot kill him, Adeline," he repeated, and the sword fell from her hands.

[Nuranar]

Calnan was keeping a concerned eye on Adeline. The trial was barely underway, but already she looked like she was about to scream or throw things. When the judge finished she stood abruptly, her face dead white and drawn with misery and hatred. When she walked forward, the hush in the room was broken by startled whispers. "Isn't that the girl he kidnapped?" "I think so, but what is she doing?" "Is she all right? She looks like she's going to faint..."

Calnan shot an apprehensive glance at Callath, on the other side of Adeline's chair, but he was only frowning in a puzzled manner. By now Adeline was standing in front of Doran. Her whole form was rigid with intense emotion. Calnan rose, afraid.

Then she moved. Even as her hand reached for the guard's sword hilt, Calnan was in motion. Above the hubbub of a horrified court he heard her laugh - a strange, high laugh, mirthful and full of tears, the heart-wrung humor of one stricken. She did not struggle against the guards, but neither would she move, her eyes burning into Doran's. Unsure and dismayed they seemed. The corsair captain was more shaken than he would ever admit, even to himself.

With one last shove Calnan reached Adeline, laid his hand carefully on her shoulder. "You cannot kill him, my lady." She turned, tears running down her face.

"I killed a man once before. I can do it again," she whispered, eyes full of agony.

Calnan shook his head gently, firmly. "You cannot kill him, Adeline." He watched her set face relax as she dropped the sword. At a glance the guards let go of her. Carefully pulling her left arm through his right - his broken left was in a sling - he led her swiftly from the room.

Outside the building she started to speak, but he shushed her until they were relatively hidden in a landscaped corner of the square. There he sat her on a bench and knelt before her so she wouldn't have to look up. Adeline looked at him sadly, but now it seemed she had no words left. Calnan tried to think how to start.

"Adeline," he said haltingly, "I know you've killed a man before. I'm terribly sorry you've had to do that. I've killed, too. More than once. And I'm sorry to say it gets easier. I never want to forget how terrible it is to take away the life of another human being.

"But I don't want to forget about justice, either. Doran is a man who cares only for himself. To set himself in a place of power and wealth he has taken and wrecked the lives of more people than we'll ever know. Justice demands that he pay for this.

"But not at your hand, not at mine. Gondor, the King himself, is responsible for justice. You see, if I had killed Doran back there, I would be acting for myself, and my motive would be revenge. Not justice. Revenge is an ugly word, Adeline. Its results are ugly and terrible, and even worse is what it does to those who take it.

"Jstice must be the action of the authority, not of individuals. Doran's executioner will be acting for Gondor and for the King, not for himself."

Adeline looked up, startled. Calnan nodded, utterly certain.

"Oh, yes. Doran will die. In order to be just we have to assume he's innocent, but the evidence is overwhelming. At the very least, he committed murder in front of a hundred Gondorians when he killed Devon." Adeline's eyes were filling with tears again, but Calnan had to keep going. "And why did he kill Devon, when he knew he'd lost? It was the last thing he could do. It was because he lost. It was his revenge. Yes, it hurts us terribly. But it's sealed his fate like nothing else would have. Justice will be done.

"Think back to the beginning, Adeline. Why was Devon so determined? Why did we do all we could to help him stop Doran? It wasn't for petty personal reaentment, Adeline; it was for Gondor. We were loyal to Gondor. If you take loyalty - and justice - away from Gondor, there's nothing separating us from the corsairs themselves." He paused, smiled gently. "In the end, Adeline, we were fighting for justice."

She was openly weeping now but still trying to restrain herself.. Sitting beside her, Calnan put his arm around her shoulders and held her to him. Pressing her face into his shoulder, Adeline sobbed out her grief and anger. Calnan felt her sorrow, greater than his; her feelings for Devon hadn't been hard to guess. His eyes filled with tears then, too, as he remembered Devon, and Marx, Luc, Rakein, Avershire - all the faithful comrades who had fought and not returned.