Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

It had not been an easy day. Luindal had spoken with Annû as well as others in the ship's company who had lost kinfolk and friends in the recent Corsair attack. A service of remembrance was already planned to take place early the next morning. Luindal had relieved the brother from his normal responsibilities over the coming week, and urged him to take time for rest and reflection, making what peace he could with the sad change that had come into his life. Luindal privately wondered whether Annû would eventually decide to leave the Havens and travel westward in hopes of reuniting with his brother. But until they managed to conclude their mission and sail back to Cirdan, that decision was likely to be postponed.

Overcome with restlessness and having little appetite for dinner, Luindal pushed his trencher aside and wandered out on the open deck, staring fixedly across the Bay. Under his arm were a number of journals and maps that Cirdan had entrusted to him before their departure along with one other ancient chronicle presented by the Elders after his arrival. The latter was sadly incomplete. Although carefuly inscribed on the soft hide of a deer, the account was full of indecipherable letters and gaps where time and the elements had eaten away at the text. Alahseey had translated this document for him some days ago, and then had spent more days trying to guess at the missing parts.

Determined to glean what clues he could as to the likely whereabouts of the Stones, Luindal had spent most of the afternoon reading and rereading the accounts of the shipwreck as well as Alahseey's translation of the comments that had been gleaned from the Lossoth onlookers. The latter had attempted to describe the location of the ship, the configuration of the Bay and the weather conditions that had resulted in the shipwreck. Putting these important hints together with Cirdan's own observations and a set of carefully annotated navigation charts used by navigators from that earlier time, Luindal had reached the surprising conclusion that he actually knew where the Stones had sunk.

At first, he could hardly believe his luck and had assumed that this was all a miscalculation. But reading and plotting again, he had come up with the very same conclusion. About one hundred feet out in the water, on the eastern side of the Bay, there was a lengthy sandbar that most navigators were careful to avoid. Ssince the water in that portion of the Bay was not deep, it usually froze quite early in the year. While the sandbar would not have caused the disaster, which was the result of the ship being smashed against the ice, it would account for the fact that Lossoth commentators claimed to be able to see the top rigging of the wreck for some years afterwards, until the winds and elements had battered the remains into nothingness.

An owl hooted overhead out of the gloomy night shadows that caused Luindal to glance up and break into a grin. Rôg had evidently taken him up on the challenge of suveillance work and was now returning to the ship. Eager to share his news about the location of the Stones, the Elf turned towards the shapechanger to speak. But before he could get a word out, Rôg came flapping down furiously, first landing on the railing and then blurting out a tangled tale concerning a shipment of supplies and some further mischief that was being planned by the Corsair crew.

Luindal scowled and shook his head, "I should have known. But this time, they'll not get away with their pranks. We'll be waiting for them with drawn sword."

"Perhaps we should just refuse the shipment?" suggested Rôg.

Luindal shook his head, "We need those supplies. And if we turn the Corsairs back, they'll come up with another scheme we won't be able to discover. At least this way we are prepared for them, even if we don't know exactly what they plan to do." At this point, Luindal explained to Rôg about the possible location of the Stones. "If we can just hang on till the morning after next, we may have the palantiri in our hands, and can say goodbye to the Corsairs for good."

"Let me think more on this, and I'll address the men tomorrow." With that, the two parted and went their own ways.

***************************

The next morning, once the service of remembrance had concluded, Luindal had shared with the crew Rôg's tale of a possible scheme by the Corsairs. "The shipment is to come on board tonight. We'll be ready and waiting. Some in clear view on the deck, and others crouched in hiding places, but all armed to the teeth. Trust nothing these traders do or say, and keep your eyes open."

The crew muttered its approval and agreement. After the losses of the past two days, many welcomed the chance for another crack at their assailants.

"One more thing," Luindal noted. "I had thought to take the small boats out tomorrow morning hoping to locate the Stones at the bottom of the Bay. Since then, however, I think we may actually have come up with an idea as to where the palantiri lie. So perhaps we may be able to collect them and sail home soon. We won't know for sure till we go down and have a look, but all the signs are good." There were whispers and mutterering to hear this piece of welcome news. Luindal cleared his throat and continued, " If the Stones are where I suspect them to be, we will locate them and immediately crank them onto the deck of the Spirit using the large winch. In this situation, the smaller boats won't do. So we will sail out on the Spirit and, with a bit of luck, be heading home not too long after that...."

"Now back to your cabins, all. Sharpen your weapons and your wits for we will be needing them tonight."

The crew wandered off, excitedly talking about the news, and prepared for the evening to come. By the time the stars shone in the heavens, the Elves and their Lossoth allies were safely hidden on the ships, awaiting the arrival of the shipment of supplies.

[Regin Hardhammer]

As evening drew near and the time came for the men to leave, Marreth cast a suspicious glance toward Jynne but spoke to him calmly, “In light of recent events, I shall have to leave you on the ship during my next mission. I can’t work with untrustworthy shipmates in a venture as important as this. You best run your schemes by me before you go kidnapping Elves and putting poison on your blade lest you find yourself in an unpleasant situation. I’ll have the plank ready if you pull something like that again.”

If there was one thing that annoyed Marreth it was a crewmember going over his head. He had not come by his position by accident, and thought that he at least deserved the courtesy of the men keeping him well informed. A ship without a strong Captain was like an eel with its head cut off.

Marreth was also suspicious of Jynne and his poisons in regards to his friend Jarlyn. In Marreth’s view, no one who snuck poison aboard the ship without informing him could be wholly trusted. Although he had no proof, Marreth suspected that Jynne might be slipping something foul into Jarlyn’s food. He found it very unusual for an officer who looked perfectly healthy to suddenly begin vomiting and turn pallid, taking to his bed. Just that afternoon, he had assigned Thomas, one of his most trusted manservants, to prepare the sick man’s food and tend to him in his illness, making sure that no one else came near Jarlyn until he had fully recovered. Just before he left, Marreth asked the ship’s carpenter to borrow his smallest hole borer. Slipping the instrument into his pocket, Marreth promised to return the craftsman’s instrument shortly but gave no explanation as to what he planned to do with it.

Leading the way out of the ship, Marreth and his men marched forward toward the warehouse under the illumination of the full moon. Constructed out of sturdy wood, the warehouse stood firm in the center of the village despite the thrashing it regularly received from the wind and the snow. Entering the building, he thanked Tarn and Nilak for their hard work, and then instructed his crew to hop into the barrels and wait. The boxes and barrels were to be loaded onto smaller ships and ferried out to the Elven vessel where they would be lifted up onto the deck with the aid of a winch.

The two Lossoth had already lightened the barrels by removing some of their contents so the Elves would not grow suspicious of the weight. The crew were already choosing their barrels and preparing to hide, one man in each. Marreth scanned the various type of containers, which were filled with an assortment of things: rope, sail canvas, salt, weapons, and other goods. By the time he had taken his time to decide, all of the barrels had already been taken except for one filled with flower. Marreth grumbled as he lowered himself into it, fully expecting to look like a ghost when he came out. Marreth hoped that none of the crew had taken a pipe with them, especially since someone was likely to be knee deep in tobacco. He sat back and waited for the shipment to move. It was relatively roomy but his sword kept poking him in the side.

[Lalwendë]

Tarn felt a rush of pride as Marreth thanked him for the work. He had rarely been thanked in his thirty seven years, and most of those times were when he was a boy. Hunting and working with his grandfather, he had always received warm praise when he did a job well, but his adult life as an outsider brought little opportunity for praise; to survive he exploited others and by necessity he had fostered the image of being a thoroughly untrustworthy man. To receive praise now was a rare sensation which he found strangely satisfying and he visibly drew himself up to his full height, and gave an appreciative nod.

Eager to help the Corsairs, Tarn strode towards the barrels where various bodies, small and large alike, were attempting to climb into their chosen hiding places. Thynne was already working; he received a gift of a tasty strip of cured meat from a man he helped into a barrel well packed with canvas. The man could see that he would have a more comfortable journey to the ship than most, although he felt a little envious of his mate, who laughed fruitily as he sat down into a container of tobacco.

“You can leave me here,” he laughed, not seeing the disapproval on the Captain’s face as he climbed into his own barrel of flour. “What a shame there are no barrels of ale.”

“Ah, you’d drown happy,” said the man in the barrel of canvas, his voice now muffled as Thynne began to pack some of the canvas over his head.

“And that is why none of you are going in a vat of ale”, said Tarn, smiling as he worked to help a man with a large belly into a container of apples. There had been enough risk of drowning already, he thought to himself, remembering the cave and the attack on the ice. It was not a fit death for any creature, let alone a fighting man.

“Here, make sure you have your sword,” he said to the man quietly, packing the blade which had been forgotten in the rush to claim the best barrels into the container with him. He clapped him on the shoulder before he replaced the lid, closing the man into dark confinement.

[Kitanna]

Nilak watched Tarn beam with pride as Marreth thanked them both for their hard work. Nilak was proud of the work he and Tarn had accomplished in the short time they had, but it was clear Tarn was far more pleased.

Now both Lossoth men and Tarn's helper boy began loading Corsairs of all shape and sizes into the barrels. Nilak laughed at each comment the Corsairs made about going into the barrels. He had to admire them for willing to do this. Nilak probably would not have agreed to be shoved into a barrel. For any reason.

"Pity I didn't bring my pipe." One extremely tall Corsair said as Nilak tried to put him into a barrel of tobacco. "It would make this much better for me."

Nilak laughed and pulled the canvas over him. "I think the Elves might suspect something if a barrel started to smoke."

The Lossoth headed over Sernir who was attempting to get into a barrel. Nilak felt an urge to nail the barrel shut when he was inside. "If this plan of yours fails Lossoth you'll have to answer to me." Sernir spat as he situated himself in the barrel.

"Barrels don't talk, Sernir." Nilak pulled the canvas top over him to avoid another remark from the Corsair. He really wished he had a hammer and nails handy right about then.

[Imladris]

Jynne buttoned his lips and mimiced to his friend who would never betray him (also known as his mind): In light of recent events...if I hadn't done it then they would have taken Hilde (not that she deserved to be rescued) but all that our beloved captain can say is that I shouldn't have done it. Gratitude is not something that should be viewed lightly...It's time to bring Jarlyn a little of a drink...

Jynne slipped into the filthy kitchen and rummaged about for a goblet, which he filled with red wine. Fishing a slim vial from his belt, he tipped a few drops of clouded liquid and watched with satisfaction as it disappeared like mist into a rose gloom.

Smiling thinly to himself, he swirled the goblet as he slunk towards Jarlyn's quarters. A man, Thomas if Jynee recalled correctly, was slouched against the door, eyeing a flickering rainbow. As Jynne slipped behind the manservant, Thomas eased himself in front of the door handle and stared at Jynne with a puppy dog insolence.

"What are you doing?" asked Jynne impatiently.

"Captain's orders, sir," he drawled.

"And why is that?" asked Jynne.

"He is suspectful of Jarlyn's illness --" he shut his mouth as if to keep the wayward words to fly away. He nodded solemnly.

"I see," said Jynne silkily. "Do tell him that I stopped by to be sure he was getting better."

With a brief nod, Jynne slipped to the decks below, and pushed a creaky door open. The elf-woman was huddled in a corner, her hair a veil over her dirt streaked face.

"Elf," said Jynne. "You wouldn't happen to know anything that would be of interest to us, would you?"

The elf straigtened and buttoned her lips, glaring at him. He was foolish to think that she would have betrayed her people.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal peered out over the bay. In the distance he could see a small flotilla of boats approaching the ship, each loaded down with two or three barrels and boxes. He had considered mooring the ship closer to the shore, at a point where an old wooden jetty jutted far out into the water. It would probably have made the loading easier. But he had rejected that idea. If the Spirit had pulled too near the shore, there was always the possibilty that the Corsairs could hide somewhere nearby and rush the ship en masse at an inopportune moment. This way no one should be able to approach them unawares.

They would need to crank the barrels onto the deck one at a time, using two large winches that stood beside the railing on the open deck. He beckoned to Rôg, Galhardir, and Freyn to climb over the side of the ship and go down the ladder into the first boat that had just drawn even to them. They were to speak with the Lossoth traders, shake hands on the deal, and offer the agreed on price. Then they would help attach the rope to the containers and steady them from below as he and Elwen and some of the others cranked up the rope and set the barrels and boxes out on deck.

Luindal closely observed the men who were accompanying the supplies in the boats. If these were Corsairs, they had done an amazing job of disguising themselves. To the outer eye and ear, they looked and sounded like native Lossoth. Perhaps the Corsairs had decided to rely only on their allies to do this little piece of mischief, and had stayed behind on their own ship. Yet this didn't sound like the approach that Marreth would take. Luindal shook his head and began to wonder what other mischief was afloat just as Rôg and the others began climbing down to the first small boat.

[Orofaniel]

Galhardir, Freyn and Rôg were now fully occupied with the Lossoth traders. Rôg did the talking while Galhardir just followed their conversation in the while standing in the background. He didn’t want to interfere in such business, as he knew nothing about them. Freyn was observing too, but shook hands twice with the Lossoth traders. The deal had already been made, so it didn't take long.

"Do you think there is anything...odd going on...?" Freyn suggested, as he came close up to Galhardir. "No, why would I think that?" Galhardir replied innocently. Shortly after answering Freyn’s question, Galhardir discovered how stupid he had been while answering; he should have known better after the most recent events. "Eh..I mean, what are you referring too?" Galhardir then asked anxiously.

"Seen anything that should make a man like you suspicious?" Galhardir continued then taking a deep breath. "No, not at all," Freyn answered quickly. "I was just thinking, that's all," Freyn then said, smiling. "I don't think you should worry, Freyn," Galhardir said sportingly. "I bet Rôg would have seen right through the Lossoth traders if there were something "odd" about them...." Galhardir then continued.

"Know what I mean?" he then asked, when Freyn didn't answer. "I suppose so," he muttered unwillingly.

Galhardir felt like he had behaved strange and unlike himself. He didn’t know why, and he didn't know how it had come to pass. But all of a sudden, he just felt that nothing mattered anymore. The death of Carandû had made a sudden change in him that no one could have foreseen, and it scared him a bit. He had become unconsiderate and rash, just over night. He pulled himself together, as he saw the barrels.

His forehead was already covered with sweat drops.

[Niluial]

BANG! The noise didn’t scare Elwë, nothing did and nothing could. He had changed, he didn’t care about his life any longer, or even the Palantiri, only about his precious stone, Andtuariel. His eyes were cold and hard like ice, filled with hate and revenge. As the bang had happened Corsairs scramble from the barrels they had been hiding in. They drew their weapons with evil looking smirks on their scarred faces.

Elwë exploded, he charged at the Corsairs shooting his arrows at them, one of which pierced a Corsair's dirty skin. He found pleasure in watching the Corsair fall to the ground. Elwë glanced at Annû who’s eyes were also filled with the same anger and hate. They both smiled at each other, not a loving smile nor a caring smile but a smile that almost said charge, fight and if I die, it was nice knowing you.

Corsairs charged at him, hitting him with their pointed weapons. They smelt dirty and looked it too. Elwë’s hands were stained with a mixture of his blood and the corsairs blood. He had been stabbed in the side with a pocket knife, but it was numb, he couldn’t feel it, but it bled a lot.

[piosenniel]

Rôg jumped back involuntarily as the barrels erupted with fleeing Corsairs. They looked like so many rats as they scurried to get off the ship. Well-armed rats, that is. And here he stood with only a short crowbar in one hand and a hammer in the other – the tools he’d just used to take off a few of the barrel heads.

His first thought was simply to crouch down behind the barrels that had not been knocked over and wait for the wave of Southrons to pass him by. And to be honest his knees, of their own volition, buckled and plunked him down behind two of the still standing barrels. The gap between the two barrels afforded him a limited view of what was happening. Legs and torsos of Corsairs could be seen running and stopping as they encountered the ship’s crew. The shiny blades of both sets of combatants could be seen and heard swishing through the air; glinting metal arcing back and forth; clanging loudly as one met the other.

Rôg dared a peek over the barrel top. There was Annû, near the Captain. He’d thrown down his blade and was swinging at one of the Lossoth who’d come over with the barrels. A murderous rage was in his eyes. Luindal was chasing, now, after one of the other Lossoth, his blade held high.

‘Courage, man,’ Rôg admonished himself with a dry whisper. He stood up completely, his jellied knees firming up at his command. One of the Corsairs ran by his barrels making for the side of the ship the cargo boats were on. Rôg ran out, his tools turned weapons gripped tight in his fists; his arms swinging in mad arcs as he raced after the man. He yelled as his feet propelled him along.

‘Run, you scurvy southron sea dog! Or feel the wrath of one whose clan you’ve oppressed too long!’

The Corsair was mystified as he heard the battle cry and peered behind him. Rôg’s hammer went whizzing past his ear; the little skinchanger had not the eye for hitting a moving target. The Corsair smirked, his mouth twisting into a leering grin.

‘Well, then,’ cried Rôg, his cloak streaming behind him as he ran faster. ‘Feel this!’

A mighty swing of the crowbar connected with the side of the Corsair’s left knee, a satisfying crunch and a howl of pain following it. The Corsair fell, rolling the few feet to the side of the ship and through the gap between the deck and the ship’s railing. He clung to the edge of the ship, trying to save himself from a fall into the icy water. Rôg, by this time, meant to finish him off. He gave a sound thwack! of the heavy crowbar across the man’s knuckles. A splash finished this little skirmish and Rôg turned to see how else he might help.

[Lalwendë]

Lost for words when the tall Elf captain challenged him about the state of the goods, Tarn had simply stood and stared at him as though he had not quite heard what he said. It was one of the worst things he could have done; the captain was instantly suspicious and Tarn noticed his hand move towards the sword at his side. Standing as still as he could, his thoughts were confused by the realisation that he had made an error in not speaking to the captain. A chill ran down his spine as he stood motionless, frantically trying to think about what he ought to do now. The captain had taken the measure of him and had not been fooled.

From somewhere above, came the voice of Marreth and suddenly Corsairs were swarming around and the Elves, alert, were drawing weapons. The ringing of steel as it was drawn by seemingly every hand, was loud and Tarn realised he had only his knife. He lifted his hand, reaching for the inside pocket of his coat. But before he could pull out the blade, the tip of a sword was pointed at his chest, preventing Tarn’s hand from getting anywhere near his pockets.

A feeling of panic quickly gave way to rage and Tarn glared at the Elf who clearly intended to kill him. His look was one of defiance and he ducked quickly sideways, With a thrust of his forearm as he moved, he knocked the blade away and squared himself up, to run or to fight. The sudden movement knocked the scarf from his face, and it hung about his chin limply. The Elf came towards him in a rush, anger boiling in his face. Tarn made ready to fight and drew back his powerful arm, ready to knock the sense from this Elf.

Before he could move any further, he heard a cracking noise as though his skull was splitting open. Burning pain spread through his head and he reeled backwards, blood pouring into the back of his throat. He bent double, retching, and spat it out on the deck. Instinctively, he reached up his hand and he felt the mess on his face and knew his nose had been broken again.

Pain and anger came together and the vision of the elf in front of him seemed red. Whether the vision was coloured with blood or with rage, Tarn could not have said, for he was entirely gripped with the need to hurt this Elf, who seemed to be coming in with another swing at him. Stepping back again, to give himself the room to recover, Tarn saw that the Elf was relentless, moving towards him again, filled with the same anger which he himself was feeling. He knew an opponent filled with the same fury could be dangerous, whatever their size.

Coughing with the suffocating blood which was pouring into his mouth, Tarn suddenly turned and ran up the steps to the foredeck. This only tricked the elf for a moment, but it gave Tarn enough time to draw the scarf back around his face. He needed to stop the blood flow and soak it up as he was now choking badly. With the blood soaking into the cloth, he could now breathe at least. He got to the top of the steps, steadying himself on the hand rail. But instead of carrying on forwards, as the Elf expected, he stopped. Twisting round, he let out a great roar and launched his foot at the pursuing Elf. The kick was fierce, meeting the Elf full in the stomach. He doubled up and fell down backwards with a groan. Tarn’s kick had been so forceful that when his foot met no further resistance, it continued forwards for a moment, and he stumbled onto the deck himself.