Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal stared somberly at the table in front of him, carefully masking his feelings and averting his eyes from Rôg's. His head reeled with pain as he heard his friend recount the tale of disaster that had befallen the escort sent out with Hilde. Luindal found his thoughts racing desperately in two different directions: deep sadness and horror on hearing about the death of innocent folk who had done nothing more than follow his orders, and a growing sense that he was into something for which he had no experience or stomach, and that his own shortsightedness had caused innocent folk to lose their lives. Just as soberly, what was he doing sitting on the ship while his men were battling and losing their lives? He should never have put Andtuariel in this dangerous situation: he should have led the raid himself.

For a moment, he thought of going off on his own to contact Cirdan, begging the old Elf to relieve him from command of this mission for which he was obviously so ill suited. Yet he knew the answer he would receive even before he raised the question: I am sorry Luindal, but there are too few of us left. And we do bear some responsibility for this situation, since the Stones were our inventions. You are the best we have. If you can not do it, then the Stones will ultimately fall into evil hands and the old, bad days return. Only this time there will be no Gandalf or Galadriel to tip the scale against the forces of evil, and the dominion of Man will begin not with the even hand of Gondor but with Harad, an empire bent on dominion and might. He could not sit here and mope or reflect. Something had to be done, and fast.

Luindal reached out and placed his hands on his friend's shoulder, "Rôg, your words bring sadness. To hear of the death of innocent folk is no joy, and Cârrandu worst of all! Let us pray his brother survives. But if we stop here, we will do no honor to their memory and sacrifice."

Luindal began to speak again, but was interrupted by a sudden noise and commotion coming from the hallway. Someone was pushing hurriedly through the crowd of onlookers who were gathering in greater numbers outside the open door. Instantly, one of the Lossoth thrust the door fully open, raced inside and approached the table where Luindal sat, blurting out the latest news. "The small boat has returned. Annû and his companion live, but the boat holds no more than these. Marreth has taken the Elf and threatens not to return her till he has the Stones in his grasp. If we discover the palantari and sail home with them, he says she will die in the manner of the pirates: by being forced out onto the plank."

"Was Marreth the one who did this thing?" Luindal growled.

One of the Elves in the hallway shook his head, "Yes and no. Marreth was willing to take advantage of the situation, but it was not he who put the blade to Andtuariel's throat. It was another..... the oily looking Corsair with the evil face who calls himself Jynne."

The Lossoth who shared the original news quickly added, "Marreth was not so pleased with Jynne's actions, I think. For he had harsh words with him as we stood there and waited, in front of the whole company of Corsairs. Jynne would have had the two of us killed, and seemed to be pushing the Corsair captain to do that. In fact, I think he would have slit Andtuariel's throat without a second glance. But Marreth put him in his place. He berated him for carrying a poisoned blade when he himself had not been told of Jynne's intentions. I do not know what is happening, but there is bad blood between those two."

Luindal nodded in understanding. It sounded as if Marreth had his hands full on more than one front. He turned to address his companions who now stood clustered in the hallway, spilling over into his cabin, "We will rest and mourn our dead for one day. Then we will do what should have been done in the beginning. The Lossoth are a good people, but they are largely tied to the shore without large ships of their own. They do not think in terms of the water. We will take this thing to sea. The Stones were lost at sea and they will be found there. We may have a trick for Master Marreth up our sleeve." He glanced over at Rôg and gave him a knowing look.

"But what of Andtuariel?" a voice from the crowd cried out.

"Leave that to me. I have something in mind....something that is best left unsaid for the time being. I have not forgotten her. But for the moment, let us honor our dead and bind our wounds, for the morning after next we will go in the smaller boats and locate the Stones on the bottom of the Bay. I can promise you that."

With that, he said goodbye to the men, but beckoned Rôg privately forward. "I must speak with you for a moment in private. We can not leave Andtuariel with no protection. Yet for the moment I think she is safe. This Marreth has tipped his hand by telling us that he will have her walk the plank. No one walks the plank while his ship is moored to the dock, yet this is exactly where he is."

"But can we trust him at his word? He is a pirate." queried Rôg.

"A pirate, yes. But also a man who has to keep Jynne in his place. He has said this thing publicly in front of all the assembled Corsairs about keeping the Elf alive till he gets the Stones. He is using her as a bargaining chip. As long as she has value, he will not harm her. Plus, Marreth can not give in to Jynne's demand and immediately skewer her, or he will look foolish, having said something otherwise to his men. No, he will do exactly what he said. "

Luindal added as an afterthought, "Unlike this Jynne, Marreth has at least that much honor. But still, I do not trust the Corsairs."

Luindal glanced over at Rôg and then plunged in. "I have a proposition for you. We need to keep an eye on the situation over there. It seems to me that as a Hobbit friend of mine once said: what's good for the goose is good for the gander. I could have a Lossoth sent over and find some pretext for him or her to serve on shipboard. But I have a better idea. You can get in and out of places very quickly and get back to me with great speed. I do need you here, especially now that we will be diving down into the Bay. But might you be able to do a surveillance flight or two just to keep an eye on things, and get some word through to Andtuariel to let her know that we have not forgotten her?"

..................

The candle had burned low, with only a small stub still remaining, by the time that Luindal and Rôg had finished their conversation. In the course of the evening, they had touched upon many different matters and had come up with a plan to search for the Stones in the Bay. "We are agreed then," Luindal nodded at his friend. "We will begin our search the morning after next. You will dive into the deep waters, using whatever guise you choose, while I will help you in the water as best I can after taking up the air bladders and putting on a protective suit smeared over with a thick layer of whale grease. We will take a small armed guard with us, but leave a goodly contingent of men on the Spirit to stand guard, for we would be foolish to trust the Corsairs any further." With a shake of the hand the two parted for the night. Luindal vowed privately that he would speak with Annû concerning his brother sometime the next day.

[Orofaniel]

Galhardir who had remained on the ship didn't believe his own ears. The first thing that came to him was the ill news about Carandû's death. He didn't want to believe it, although he knew it was what had happened when he looked at Annû. Annû was obviously devastated, without really accepting the fact that his brother was dead.

Galhardir felt much anger, but most of all sorrow. The two elven brothers had helped him twice since he'd first met them. Carandû was now dead, and he was dead without him, Galhardir, being able to even try giving something in return. The reason he had stayed at the ship was to be sure he was fully recovered. The horrible news that the Corsairs had been waiting for them and attacked had come as a horrible shock that no one had prepared for, nor had they thought something as drastic as this would come as they left the ship with Hilde. Galhardir held on tight to Rodhal, because of the sudden feeling that his knees would fail and he would fall. How had this happened? He didn't understand it. He looked at Rodhal, who had tears in his eyes. Galhardir wasn't sure if the boy shared the same feelings or if he'd even understood what had been said.

"Uncle?" he said. His voice was tearing Galhardir apart as it was full of sorrow and grief.

[Lalwendë]

Tarn stood impatiently stamping his feet to keep them warm as Nilak fumbled with the keys to the warehouse. Igal had supplied him with a bunch of large brass keys, and had informed him that there were several locks. None of these keys were marked in any way and it took Nilak some time to find the correct one for each lock. The snow was still falling and now that night had fallen, the temperature had plummeted.

When Nilak finally managed to open the door, Tarn bundled him in quickly.

“Let’s light a brazier before we start on this work”, he said, shaking out the fur he wore over his coat. The snow which had frozen to it flew out in a flurry as he beat the fur on the side of some crates. Thynne was still full of excitement about throwing the snowballs filled with stones and he could not keep still. It was beginning to irritate the two older men who had several hours work ahead of them and were cold and tired after the long walk from the market place.

“Thynne, go out and find some more coals for this brazier,” snapped Tarn, as he stooped, rubbing his hands in front of the meagre flame he had just sparked into life. “Trust Igal not to leave enough coals to warm an ice hut”, spat Nilak. Thynne asked for some money to buy coals with, but Tarn raised an eyebrow at the suggestion and the lad clearly got the message that he was to steal some.

Once they had warmed up, the men began to inspect the goods they were supposed to be packing for transportation to the Elven ship. Some produce was already packed, as Tarn found when he opened a cork on a large flask of wine. He dipped his finger in and tasted it, but did not drink any. His experiences with the drunken uncle who had taken over as elder of his clan had been enough to warn him off drink from a young age. “Here,” he said, handing the flask to Nilak with a knowing wink. “If this is any good you might like some. Drink it or sell it.”

The warehouse was quite a large structure by Lossoth standards and the light from the fire was not strong. Tarn saw large shadows looming up in the dim red gleam against the walls and looking in their direction, spotted the immense barrels which were to be loaded with goods for the Elves. Hefting one onto its side, he inspected it and found that the wood was strong but light; together with the great size of the barrel, a man could comfortably be concealed within.

The goods that the men were supposed to be packing lay along the opposite wall, clearly labelled. Tarn smirked as he saw them. Coils of rope, packages of canvas, an assortment of tools, spare blades for knives, nails and lengths of wood. Some of these things could easily be smuggled out of the warehouse and hidden, just enough to create space in the barrels to hide the Corsairs. The canvas, he could see, would make useful padding to muffle any suspicious noises from inside the containers, as they were sure to get a bumpy ride when loading the ship. As he saw Thynne come back in through the door, Tarn suggested to Nilak that the lad’s task should be to carry the goods out of there while they prepared the barrels.

[Arry]

Hands reached down to bring the two Elves quickly up from the rope ladder. Once on deck, Annû withdrew from the ring of questions that hammered against them, letting his companion answer them as he might. Others of the Elves made way for him as he walked to his room, their heads nodding slightly at his passing. No words or thoughts of comfort reached him. He had wrapped his grief about him, tightly . . . steely proof against unwanted access.

The door to their room was slightly ajar. For a moment he leaned against the frame, eyes closed, willing the familiar laughter at some puerile jest to come tumbling through the entryway. But there was only silence, broken softly by the thump . . . thump of a moth’s wings beating against the parchment shade that covered the low lit lamp near his bed.

‘You’ve left the lantern by your bed burning,’ he chided himself, stepping into the room. ‘Carandû will have your hide, little brother. You know how he hates . . .’

With a great wrenching pain, grief’s armor broke. Against the witness of the empty room it could not hold. Annû’s legs buckled and he slumped to the floor, his back against the now shut door. Head in hands he sobbed . . . waves of sorrow crashing over him . . .

Outside, the snow whirled softly against the ship; flakes disappearing as they met the icy waters.

[Kitanna]

Nilak had fumbled with the keys when they first arrived at the warehouse. Then he had to resist the urge to drink the wine he had put off to the side for himself. Every now and then he'd look up from his work and eye the bottle.

The hut was large and the coals were not enough to keep it heated. "Boy," Nilak snapped, "Get us some more coals. We don't want to freeze to death." Nilak went back to work as Thynne went out for more coals.

The two older Lossoths moved the supplies out of their way and worked some more on the preparing the barrels. When Thynne returned Nilak threw a coil of rope at his feet. The boy picked it up and moved it out like he had with most of the other supplies. Nilak and Tarn continued their work. Everything had to be ready for when Marreth and the Corsairs arrived.

[Imladris]

So that was how Marreth wanted to be, was it? Never mind that he just saved the entire expedition, nevermind that if it wasn't for him Hilde would not have been rescued. He supposed that Marreth didn't understand that sometimes things happened without forethought.

As for his daggers being poisoned...when were they not? A grim smile creased his face. It wouldn't be wise to let Marreth know that now, would it...

He threw a daggerous look at Marreth's back as they scrambled into the boats.

[piosenniel]

By the Great Winged One! Rôg muttered silently, flapping his wings against the falling snow. It must have been some great . . . no, strike that . . . make it cruel joke of the Elder King to make birds for this most inhospitable of lands. “May his fair winds keep us aloft!” he quickly whispered under his breath, casting a quick nod westward, to allay the harshness of his thoughts.

The same winds that aided his own flight, swirled the snow as it fell. From perch to perch his powerful wings beat steadily moving him silently toward his objective. ‘And what might that objective be?’ he wondered to himself and his great head swept from side to side, yellow eyes taking in the details of the frozen land below and the Lossoth community huddled upon it. ‘See what you can see,’ Luindal had told him. ‘Something to give us an inkling of what the Corsairs are doing.’

Leave it to an Elf to be vague . . . the snowy owl thought, snapping his beak in irritation.

He’d flown near the Corsair ship, noting only that it seemed busy much in the same way the Elven ship was busy. Too many crewmen were on board, even at this time of night . . . not safe to go snooping there now . . . passing over the top mast that held the identifying pennant, the owl answered a call of nature, leaving a large white splotch against the Southron flag’s dark background that wouldn’t be appreciated until the sun rose.

The Lossoth settlement seemed more promising. Most were in their homes, snug against the darkness and the weather for the time being. 'Now there is something promising,' he thought, noting a large building on the bayward perimeter of the settlement, not too far from the empty marketplace. What few small windows there were along its sides were all shuttered tightly, but here and there some soft light from within flickered. Curious, the owl glided down silently to the roof’s eaves, sidling along the beam they rested on until he found a small hole giving access to the high rafters. He peeked his head through the opening, then squeezed his shoulders and wings through, mashing his feathers close to his body. As his tail cleared the entryway, he sidestepped across the rafter until he had a good view of the room. Other birds had used the hole and beam previously he noted, their droppings frozen to the rough wood.

Rog hunkered down in the shadows of the high ceiling; the light from the brazier did not reach up here . . . nor did any heat, the bird noted sadly, fluffing his layers of feathers about him. Now to wait and see if anything of interest might unfold . . .

~*~

Later that night:

Odd goings on in the warehouse . . .

Curious, he thought, that two of the Lossoth should be here in a warehouse when others of their kind had closeted themselves snugly in their homes to wait out the snowy night. Rôg swiveled his head about taking the good neatly sorted along the warehouse walls. Coils of rope, he noted, length of wood, canvas . . . now wasn’t that interesting. These were the items he recalled Luindal had ordered stashed in the ship’s hold when they’d first left. One of his crew, the Quarter Master, he thought, had raised his brows at the meager quantity, but the Captain had assured him that additional supplies could be gotten from the people living round the bay. Now it made sense, the Lossoth would be seeing to the delivery of the goods sometime soon, and were going over the inventory. Yes, that would be it . . . there along the far wall were the large barrels in which much of the delivery would be crated.

One of the men pulled the cork from a small cask. He dipped his finger through the hole, tasting the liquid within. Rôg wondered if the two were going to warm themselves with the spirits, but the man replaced the cork and said something odd to his companion. ‘Here,” he said, handing the flask to Nilak with a knowing wink. “If this is any good you might like some. Drink it or sell it.’ Why would these men want to steal from themselves, Rôg thought. They looked as if they already had a proprietary interest in the goods.

Curiouser still, a young man came in. One of the men, laughing, suggested to the other that the lad should start taking the goods out, while the barrels were prepared. Prepared for what? They must intend to deliver the barrels as planned, but what was going into them? The young man listened carefully to the older and shook his head in understanding. One of the men pointed to a small cart parked just inside the warehouse front door. With a nod, the lad fetched it and began loading the wine and onto it, exiting through the back door when the cart was full. The rope came next, then the boxes of tools and knife blades.One of the Lossoth men, Rôg noted, had stayed the young man’s hand when he’d gotten to the canvas. A few words passed between the two, which Rôg could not catch. But the other man had chuckled as the boy went out with another load saying something about ‘ . . . wouldn’t want to lose our packing material, would we? Make a bumpy ride for ‘em!’

The back door to the warehouse opened once again; Rôg looked down to see what now the boy would choose to take out. But it was someone else who entered. A man – lean and lanky, with a long dark beard. Hints of dark red pants flashed out from his brown cloak as he strode purposefully into the warehouse and toward the two men. The newcomer’s gaze flashed back and forth at the contents of the warehouse. And in one of his passes, Rôg caught a brief glance of his face. The Corsair Captain! What was he doing here? Despite his acute sense of hearing, Rôg could not catch in full what the three men discussed. ‘Barrels’ he caught; gestures toward the canvas; soft laughter at some shared jest. ‘Elven ship’.

Rôg shook his feathers softly at these suspicious goings on, then sidled back toward the hole. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness outside the warehouse, the owl recovered his bearings as to where the Elven ship lay at anchor. On silent wings he sped back toward it. There was treachery afoot of some sort, of that he was now certain. Luindal would want to know of the odd meeting in the warehouse. What he would make of it, Rôg was not sure . . .