Island of Sorrow RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

With a great effort of will, Lindir pushed back the cloak that had been laid over his body. He struggled to sit up, but could not seem to move his arms or legs. The door to the gatehouse had been pushed open an inch or two, and a thin band of light had spilled over onto the floor. Outside, Lindir could hear voices engaged in earnest conversation.

At least he was awake and just barely conscious of what was going on around him. But a sharp pain still clawed at his side. More ominously, Lindir could not organze his thoughts and was still profoundly weak. He slowly turned his head to the side to see what was going on. The room was bathed in shadow despite the rising of the sun. No one else seemed to be up yet. For a long time, it was quiet but then came a scuffling noise from the other side of the room. Someone was up, Lindir reasoned, but he could not see who it was.

Struggling to form coherent words, Lindir whispered in a cracked voice, "Water? Does someone have water? Is that you, Endamir or Lomwe? What is this place and where are we going?"

[Firefoot]

Lómwë had aroused slightly when Tasa had come to get Malris, but not so much that he was willing to get up. Instead he lay in place, savoring his for-once pleasant dream. In this pleasant illusioned state, he was not laying in the gatehouse with the remnants of Maedhros’ host, but in bed with his wife lying near. The soft golden light of dawn was beginning to filter in through the window, playing across Ellothiel’s beautiful face. One of those perfect, timeless moments, lost in the river of time. He could feel himself slipping towards the consciousness of waking, and the harder he tried to fight it, the faster the image slipped away. Slowly, regretfully, his eyes blinked open, and he was brought back to the harsh reality that was now. The hard ground had stiffened his back and shoulders, and the dim room was a poor comparison to his dream-morning.

With a sigh, he rolled up into a sitting position, rolling his shoulders around and stretching his arms. He was preparing to pack up his bedroll when a nearby voice rasped out, “Water? Does someone have water? Is that you, Endamir or Lómwë? What is this place and where are we going?” Lómwë knew without looking that the voice belonged to Lindir and took his water skin from where it was lying on the floor near his pack.

“This is Lómwë,” he identified himself. “Here, have some of my water.” And he helped Lindir to sit up and drink from it. Likely because of the restful night, Lómwë somehow felt more kindly towards his companions than he had the previous night. Not, perhaps, more connected, but more kindly. “We are currently in the old gatehouse off the courtyard – perhaps you remember it? – which was offered to us to spend the night.” Realizing he could be treading on dangerous territory considering Lindir’s state, he did not elaborate further on the strange visitation of the spirits last night. “Once everyone is awake, we will be heading up the hill to get you some help. What Malris has in mind after that, I have not yet figured out.”

[piosenniel]

Giledhel

Two figures stood in the distant courtyard. The nearer one she recognized by his familiar bearing, the darkness of his hair, the cut of his tunic, the planes and angles of his face. Malris stood there, looking eastward as the day’s light climbed into the sky. The sight of him made her smile and she took in a quick, gasp of a breath as she felt the pulse that beat in her long fair neck quicken.

‘My belovéd!’ she murmured, seeing his lips crease into a smile as the fair light washed over his face. Even now his distant presence made her tremble. And she was glad at heart that both he and she stood there in the rising day. The distance between them, she from her chamber and he in the courtyard was as nothing to her. She held him in her heart - were he by her side or off on some campaign for his Lord.

He had returned in time for her party! A frisson of joy crept up her spine, making her nearly giddy. She smiled again, thinking how he must have hastened from whatever place he had gone to . . . to be with her again.

And he’s brought a friend back! She must remind the servants to put another place at the table for this new arrival. Giledhel leaned further over the rough edges of her quarter’s wall, straining to catch a glimpse of Malris’ companion. ‘I wonder who . . .’ she began, her question left hanging in the dawn air.

Malris had stepped back a pace, urging his companion forward a little by the hand. His face was turned toward the sight of the person’s face, the tension of his body focused as much on this other figure as on the dawn’s layered beauty.

Giledhel’s already fair complexion, turned pale as death. What color she had drained from her cheeks, as did the joy from her spirit. She scarce noted the hardness of her grip as she clasped Gorgu’s hand.

‘Tasarënì!’ she hissed. It was her tall, slender form that Malris’ own had hidden from Giledhel’s sight. It was her foul hand had insinuated itself into Malris’ grip. The witch! What deviltry was she using to ensnare him? And here . . . of all places, here . . . within the walls where she and Malris made their home!

Giledhel turned away from the betrayal. No, not betrayal . . . Malris would not do this to her. He was her all. He loved her. It was that serpent spawned woman who had beguiled and ensnared him.

She stamped her foot hard on the ground. Eyes wild with grief and anger she raised her now clenched fists and shook them at the Sun itself. Her plaintive cry screamed forth; a vow, almost . . . fused into the remnants of the fortress by the witnessing wind.

‘Oh, I will not have it! Not at all! She will be dead before another day has come!’

One of her little boon companions had reached out a hand to steady her . . . to give her comfort in her distress, too, she thought. ‘Help me down the stairs, won’t you, dear?’ she asked him, leaning against his offered strength. Silence cushioned their footfalls and she dared not speak until they had come safely to her own bedroom, too close was she to tears.

Giledhel sat on the edge of her bed, tears now rolling down the pallid planes of her cheeks. Her friends sat at her feet, looking up at her, quiet against the immensity of her distress. She wiped at her eyes with a sleeve and took a few ragged breaths before some shadow of control took hold.

‘You’ll help me, won’t you dears?’ she asked in a shaky voice. ‘With what I have to do . . .’

[Envinyatar]

‘Endamir!’ Orëmir called softly to his brother. ‘Are you awake?’ There was a muffled response, and soon the blankets his brother had wrapped himself in for the night were thrown off. Bleary eyed in the pale morning light, Endamir regarded his twin.

‘Sorry! No tea. No hot water as yet.’ Orëmir handed his skin of water to Endamir, along with an offering of dried fruit and a piece of waybread. He watched as his brother took a long pull at the skin’s spout and took it from him when he had finished.

‘No, I don’t know where they’ve gone,’ he to his brother’s unspoken question. Endamir’s eyes had slid about the gatehouse, his count of the companions come up short.

Orëmir glanced over to where Lómwë was helping Lindir to drink. He could see him speak low to the injured Elf and see Lindir’s effort to follow what Lómwë said. ‘He’s in such a fragile state,’ Orëmir whispered to his brother. ‘The bleeding has stopped. But the damage done when that other fëa tried to command his body is still not fixed. Lindir’s hold on this life seems tenuous at times, as if his own fëa longs to be gone and quickly.’ He looked quickly toward the injured Elf and then back to his brother. ‘He will bear watching, until the Diviner, if there indeed is one still here, can see to him.’

With Endamir’s help, Orëmir got a small fire going and set a pot of water to boil. ‘Something hot to drink, soon,’ he said, drawing near where Lindir and Lómwë sat. He busied himself with finding mugs for each of them and stirring a handful of dried leaves into the now hot water. ‘I think,’ he said, handling a mug to Lindir with a caution to be careful, ‘that perhaps I should stay with you while the others go out to find the healer . . . the Diviner, that is. Just in case your wound needs redressing. The others can go out in teams of two.’ He looked over at Endamir and Lómwë. ‘You two, can search together; watch each others’ backs, so to speak. Malris and Tasa seem to have already gone. How does that sound to you?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir opened his mouth to protest while trying to push himself foward on his knees, struggling to stand erect. Surely, he could be more than a useless piece of baggage! The Elf put a hand on the stone ledge and leaned against the wall in an effort to steady himself and then slowly sought to clamber upward. For one reckless instant, he seemed to be successful. Then a wave of dizzying nausea descended, exploding inside his head, as the ground tilted precariously back and forth. Orëmir quickly reached out to grab onto Lindir's arm and steady his companion.

With a sigh of disappointment, the injured elf sank back to the ground. "Orëmir is right," Lindir gasped. "I am useless like this. Lómwë, go now with Endamir to search for this Diviner, whoever or whatever he is. And my sympathies go with you both. Would that I could also come to help! But do not take undue risks for my account. This place is filled with strange spirits and noises. And the sooner we leave here, the better."

Lindir shuddered slightly as he turned back to speak with Orëmir and whispered in a low voice, "In truth, I do not like talk of this Diviner. What kind of madness is this? To try to see the future? For what else can a Diviner do? I do not see how he can help me. I have no wish to die on this rocky isle. Indeed, I no longer have a wish even to sail off to the West. But perhaps, it would be best if you simply took me back to the shore, and I will take my chances with the healing breezes that sometimes blow in from the Sea. Then we may push off again. Or is Malris still so intent to find out the mystery of that broken down keep that he can not tear himself away? No good will come of it, I fear."

[Envinyatar]

‘No good has come of it already,’ Orëmir replied, helping Lindir to move so that his back was supported against a wall. ‘And I would take you, as well as my brother, back to the ship which brought us to this accursed place, save for the fact that you are far to weak to do so. And he,’ he said, shaking his head as he looked toward Endamir, ‘he still holds to that tenuous contract he’s made with himself to help out his old captain.’ Orëmir returned his gaze to Lindir. ‘Truth be told, I would not leave him behind. Not here at least; not now.’

He put a loose rolled blanket at the small of Lindir’s back to ease the strain of sitting. ‘And besides . . . at least here, within the confines of the old fortress, the restless spirits seem commanded by ones who will try to keep them in check. Beyond these walls, between us and the ship, are those Orcs . . . and their will seems bent on destroying us if they can.’ He chuckled a bit, at Lindir’s expense. ‘You’re in no state to run from them, my friend. And to be honest, you’ve put on a few pounds through the years and my joints have grown older . . . I simply cannot carry you!’

[piosenniel]

‘Well, Lómwë, I suppose we’d better be off as soon as we can. Don’t you think?’ Endamir knelt by his sleeping place and rolled up his blankets, securing them with leather thongs to his pack. ‘Orëmir and Lindir can keep an eye on our equipment,’ he continued, settling his belongings against the wall where Lindir rested.

‘I recall somewhat hazily the layout of the fortress. How about you?’ he said, buckling on his sword. He snorted as his hands drew out the blade for inspection. ‘And why I think this piece of metal will give me any sort of protection, I cannot say. And it won’t, I suppose. But the weight of it against my leg gives me some sense of comfort.’

Endamir picked up his near empty mug of tea and swallowed the last few drops. ‘I suppose we should be off then.’ He looked toward his three companions. ‘Do any of you have some remembrance of this Elf we are to look for? The Diviner. I've never met him . . . that is, that I can recall. Any thoughts on where such a one would be like to spend his time?’