Prisoner of Númenor RPG

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Kâthaanî had been perched behind her mother in the battle. Her own Izri had not been close enough and they had needed any advantage over the numerous ground troops. When she felt a sharp tug from behind, she reached for her mother, twisting in place. She had hit the ground out of breath and rolled to her feet, crouching angrily to meet the fighter. With only her dull blade in hand, she blocked two cuts before hesitating. The blade had cut so easily through her. She screamed and fell, clutching her side. The soldier left her for dead... it had been such a wound.

She felt the hot stickiness of her own blood soaking through her clothes. Her breathing came harshly... it hurt to extend her ribs. Each breath tore at the wound and she cringed, gasping at the hurt. Within short moments, she lay still on the ground.

She could feel herself moving further away from the battle. The sounds were growing dimmer as she concentrating on trying to make the pain stop. She lay still, hoping that it would help. Suddenly she cringed, turning, gasping at the hurt, and opened her eyes. Izri nudged her worriedly. Kâthaanî's eyes seemed cloudy and she was growing weaker each moment. Soft leather touched her hand and she clenched her fingers around it.

It hurt... she could feel her clothing sticking to the blood that was beneath her. She was tugged out of the road. Izri pulled her closer to Abârpânarú and in the exquisite calm that comes from pain, Kâthaanî could feel herself hoisted to Izri's back.

She heard her father's voice urging her to hang on. She took him literally... her fingers tightened on Izri's main and she wrapped herself around her karibor.

What seemed like seconds later, the group stopped for a moment. She could hear her mother's voice, though she could not understand the words. She cried out as she felt bandaging tighten over her, blacking out once more. Next she knew, she was astride Izri, pounding down the road as hail fell from the sky. She closed her eyes and trusted to her mount to keep her safe as she concentrated on breathing alone.

[littlemanpoet]

It was raining hard. The six splashing mearas hurtled forward. Mabalar was glad of Inzi's arms around him, her supple hands clasped at his breast bone. He feared for their daughter. She had seemed so pale from loss of blood. They had to get to Rómenna as quickly as they could. Hope was beginning to leave him and his heart felt as heavy as the weighing green clouds above.

There was something, a burden Inzi must be bearing under her clothes, that drove into his spine at the small of his back.

"What is that you have, poking me in the spine?" he called over his shoulder amid the din of thundering hooves.

"'Tis a gift from Tar Míriel, she meant to give to you, but you slept!"

"Valar be praised!" he replied, and smiled back to her.

Looking ahead again, Mabalar saw a line of horses stretching across the road and into the fields on either side. Yet another obstacle! Who this time? He cried for a halt. The line closed in on either side even as the clouds came lower, darkening. Now Mabalar could hear the pursuing horses that they had outrun, closing in from behind.

"Who hinders our passage?" he yelled in barely controlled fury.

One rider moved his horse ahead of the rest. "I, Herugor, on orders of Lord Sauron, hinder your passage, for you are a traitor and fugitive from the King's Law."

How had Herugor gotten ahead of them again? It had to be sorcery he had learned from his heinous master.

They were surrounded. Lightening rent the sky, followed by a deafening roar of thunder. Rain fell harder. The last vestiges of daylight slipped away as the hidden sun fell into the Sea in the West. Hail mixed with the rain. The ground shook beneath them.

"Surrender, miscreant!" Herugor cried.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Feanor of the Peredhil's post


As Mabalar pulled their mount to a tense stop, Inzi felt an inexplicable warmth spread across her midriff. She ignored the palantir for only a moment before it became uncomfortable. Untwining her arms from around her husband's waist, she slid one hand beneath her robes, palming the artifact. In the din, her actions went unnoticed. She lowered her eyes seemingly modestly, glancing into the swirling depths in wonder:

a face... a face familiar as the feeling of a horse beneath her... Elendil, and he spoke; another face... two... Isildur with Anarion... a nod; hailstones gathering in fountains... crying children; horses, tack...

The palantir warmed her hands as rain poured from the sky. Lightening lit the scene as Inzillomì stared transfixed. Herugor's men surrounded the small group. The kariborim, courageous though they were, pranced in discomfort, eager either for battle or for calm. Inzi, nearly invisible of the darkness of the storm, knew nothing of the blowing wind that had pulled her hair from its sturdy braid. Her black locks danced in the wind, soaked through, and the men shouted to be heard. She saw more:

a road, pitted and broken; a great wave; she gasped unheard now: long lines of Faithful, riding hard, her brothers leading, faces terrifying in their purpose; fire now, burning, cleansing... her vision went dark.

Inzillomì swiftly hid the palantir once more, taking in what was now happening. It had been mere seconds that she had viewed it, but she knew what she had seen: an army, led by the sons of Elendil, and coming swift upon this very road. She had recognized the land so quickly shown... they were a mere mile off.

"Inzillomì," spoke Mabalar over the wind, barely loud enough for her to hear. "have you faith?" She could feel him tense... wavering in his confidence of escape, still weak from imprisonment. They had come so far to be stopped now... she spoke carefully in his ear. He registered her words more from the feel of her warm breath than from sound... thunder rumbled and cracked above them. A tree was hit by lightening upon a nearby hill... it began to burn.

"I have faith, my love..." she murmered. "What is more... I have hope."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Himaran's post


It was terrifying.

The island was tearing itself apart. The earth shifted and bucked underneath Kali's legs as the steed gallaped away from Armenelos with Abarzadan clinging to his mane. Trees were hurled from the ground as their very roots were disloged from the rocky turf. Newly formed gysers burst open and streams of water shot upward into the air. The wind had increased to a violent speed, throwing leaves, branches and small stones all about. And everywhere, water was rising. The earth itself had become almost sponge-like, completely saturated. Streams had become ponds, and ponds had turned into lakes. There was no longer a path; Kali was running on pure instinct, and the man could do nothing but hold on and hope. A tree crashed to the ground ten paces from them, but the horse was ready and leaped over it, never breaking stride. A branch broke of a nearby tree and slammed into Abarzadan's head, but through sheer force of will he kept his balance. Heavy rain added to his misery, pelting the sizable wound. Blood mixed with water trickled down his forhead, imparing his vision. The man was utterly helpless, at the mercy of his mount and the elements.

Then an arrow whistled by his head, thudding into a nearby tree. Wipping his face, Abarzadan strained his neck around and could make out the shapes of several riders trailing him. They must have been following him since he and Kali hurtled through the city's east gate, although at the time it had appeared that their escape had been complete. The man grimaced. He had no weapons, was wounded, and had no idea how far away the shore was, or if the Faithful were even still there. He would have to use the only tool available to him: his horse. Taking a firmer grip, he directly Kali to he the right, dodging trees, boulders and other unexpected obstacles. He waited until they were over the next rise, took a backward glance, wispered an elvish phrase into the steed's ear, and dove off of his mount. On all fours, he crawled behinds a bush and waited. Kali's hoofbeats disappeared in the distance. By the sounds, their were four riders, and three of them continued onward. One, however, slowed, stopped, and turned around.

Abarzadan waited, holding his breath.

The rider's horse sniffed and whinnied, and its master said something to it in reply. Heavy steps came closer, stopping in front of the large bush. A string tightened. The man winced in dreaded anticipation. The string twanged, and an arrow burried itself in the ground and inch from his leg. Apparently satisfied, the soldier turned his horse away and trotted in the opposite direction. This, however, was not an opportunity Abarzadan was going to miss. He rolled out from behind the bush, dashed toward his unexpecting opponent, and dove towards him. The two collided and collapsed off of the horse. Brandishing the arrow he had plucked from the turf, the last remaining member of the House of Batanzaira plunged it into the neck of the stunned Numenorean. Snatching his bow and quiver, Abarzadan climbed onto the obediant horse. The pair raced away from the scene, heading in the direction Kali and the others had taken.

~*~

It was not long before they were located. Abarzadan slowed his mount and hopped off, readying his bow. Ahead, three men and four horses were gathered, one of which was being admired by its new masters. Kali stopped! The realization struck him with horror. What if he missed, and hit Kali instead? He need a diverstion. Turning to his waiting horse, he gave it a little shove in their direction and barked an order. Snorting, it trotted away from him and towards the others. Abarzadan circled around to a better angle, moving from tree to tree. The ground squished and his boots filled with water, but he kept moving. In the clearing, the three men turned away from Kali and looked the other horse over. Time was running out.

The man took careful aim, exhaled, and sent a shaft whistling towards his targets, and it hit one in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Now Abarzadan was running, notching another arrow. He released it in full stride, watching with satisfaction as it came to rest in the head of the second enemy. Now too close for ranged combat, he dropped the bow and pulled the quiver off of his back, swinging it by the strap. The final soldier backed away, sword at ready. The pair circled one another, with Abarzadan keeping the quiver spinning at full speed. "So it has come to this, my friend," shouted Abarzadan over the rushing wind. "Numenoreans killing each other over a senseless disagreement."

The other merely grimaced. "You are a heretic, like all the others. You should have died at the temple with the rest." Kali punctuated his statement, drilling the unsuspecting man to the ground with a swift kick from his front hooves. Abarzadan chuckled. "A pity you couldn't be back at Armenelos. I am certain that the sight of your great temple crumbling to the ground would be an unforgettable one." Leaving the stunned soldier to decide his own fate, the man tossed the quiver away and climbed onto Kali's waiting back. As they got further from the center of the island, the storm gradually melted away, but the man knew it would not be long before the entire landmass would share the same fate. Suddenly, the pair burst from the forest. They were on a grassy hill looking down on the coast. The man whooped with joy, for the ships of the Faithful were still anchored in the bay.

[littlemanpoet]

"I have faith, my love... What is more... I have hope."

He smiled. This is why I married you, dearest Inzi. When he wavered she was strong, and when she did, he was strong; together they were truly strong.

Mabalar met Herugor's eyes, not letting go. The sorcerer scowled.

Lightening forked and snaked across the sky, dancing across the heights like a whirling Umbarian. Herugor's men looked at the purpling sky fearfully.

Herugor yelled a command that could not be heard, but Mabalar had read his lips: Take them! The thunder grew louder, lasting far longer than usual for lightening. Then Mabalar realized that it was not coming from the sky, low as the clouds were. An army approached from the east, ten score horsemen riding hard and fast. Herugor's fifty men began to turn to see. Their horses pranced nervously. Finally, Herugor, until now so intent upon Mabalar's group, became aware of the threat from the east. His words were lost in the howling wind and the thunder and the rush of rain and hail, but all knew what he had commanded: Hold fast! But Herugor's men were at a huge disadvantage, and it seemed that they were convinced that if they stayed where they were they would be cut down. It started with one, then another, then a few more, and in the space of a few seconds, fifty horsemen were careering back west towad Armenelos, leaving Herugor sitting astride his horse, at a loss for words amid his fury. He looked at Mabalar once more with a knife's glance, then cast his cloak about him. Before their eyes, he seemed to melt beneath his cloak to nothing in the saddle, and was gone. The horse, left to its own devices, looking to right and to left, trotted nervously up the hill, skirted the burning tree, and fled back westward after its comrades.

The army halted around them, its flanks to right and left washing up like waves on a beach until they were almost surrounded ... by friends. Elendil, Anarion, and Isildur, astride their stallions, came up to Mabalar and the others.

"I greet thee, Mabalar Mellothroch and Lothlómë!" said Elendil.

Mabalar bowed in his saddle. "'Tis an honor to meet you again, lord."

Inzillomì embraced her brother Anarion swiftly before speaking to her father. She straightened behind Mabalar as she talked to him, calling over the elements: "Father, Kâthaanî is injured, perhaps to the death. We mustn't delay lest your grandchild be beyond aid."

Elendil became grave and ordered several guards to take the unconscious Kathâaní to Rómenna with all haste. They placed her on a makeshift hammock between four horses, roofed against the elements, no less, and cantered off.

"We received word through the palantirí," said Elendil, "from Tar Míriel, that you and yours were in danger. We came as soon as we could."

"You have saved our lives, lord. I and mine will do no less should the honor present itself."

Elendil smiled. "You and your house are worth the saving, Mabalar." The raging storm had not calmed as they talked. "Come!" Elendil called. "Let us escape this plague filled island before it sinks beneath our feet!"

They turned and began to canter back toward Rómenna when they heard the hard galloping of a single horse.

"Who could that be, I wonder," Mabalar said, looking back into the murk of rain and hail behind them. "Herugor to try one last time to capture us?"