ATM II RPG

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli sat in her office with her booted feet propped upon her desk, ignoring all demands to the contrary that her parents had spent her childhood drilling into her. With her arms crossed behind her head and her eyes gently closed, she reflected over the past week.

It had not taken long to reach Minas Anor. She traveled lightly with a small guard. She’d have preferred to ride alone, but knowing that she would be returning with important guests, she knew that she would never manage it. Also, Ms. Martinet would have sent a troop to meet her at the border and accompany her if Alli had tried to escape alone. Her secretary let nothing pass without notice.

She’d reached the seventh level of the city a little tired, but unwilling to let the world notice. Dismounting proudly at the gate, she let her horse be taken away and released her men from duty giving them a veritable holiday in Gondor’s capital with their only orders being “You know the drill.” As long as they didn’t speak of things with any connection to Mordor’s power structure, they could talk to anything with anyone.

She was shown to her room where she deposited her single bag and changed into more formal garb. A grey silk shirt was complimented by a black sleeveless tunic that laced fittedly down to her waist before flaring slightly. Full breeches of soft dark grey cloth rustled lightly as she walked and black shoes made barely more than a whisper on the floor. She pulled her ebony hair back and pinned stray locks away from her face before gathering her papers and tying them into a neat scroll.

She was led to Mardil’s audience chamber and she held in her emotions, denying herself an annoyed sniff. She’d been assigned to Mordor in the first place due to her political convictions. Yes, she had hated the policies of the former king, but she was utterly uncertain as to just how much she preferred Mardil to be in his position. She would have preferred that this meeting take place in private, yet she knew that it was a matter of state and therefore a matter to be presented before council.

Alli had been announced and groaned inwardly at the mispronunciation of her name. Al-uh-min, she thought, not Al-oo-min-ee. She suspected Mardil’s influence, but let it pass. She stepped into the coldly intimidating room, nodding to those she passed. The room was filled with grey-haired men glaring austerely at her. It was perhaps only the fact that she had pinned it up that kept Alli from flipping her straight, smooth black cascade of hair away from her pretty face as she walked. No attitude, she told herself. This is too important to mess with people.

It had taken several hours of straight persuasion, but she had done it. Convinced both Mardil and his council to treat with Roggie and his. She sat now in her office after a grueling trip home. Riding alone, she was used to silence. With four diplomats, none of whom she particularly liked, the stiff lack of conversation grated. She had wanted to sing rude songs learned in Mordorian taverns with her men to break the mood, but this was a diplomatic mission. She had to keep in form. She led the train of riders in silence, arguing with the border patrol over short-term visas, carefully threatening their lives just out of sight of the diplomats if they did not let the group pass in peace.

“Ms. Martinet!” she yelled from her desk. The door opened and her secretary slipped in. “Have the diplomats been shown to their quarters and what can you tell me about each of them?”

Ms. Martinet leaned on the door, a sardonic expression on her face as she concentrated on an imperceptible burr on her fingernail. Yep, she thought with satisfaction. Looks like it's time for another manicure. "They all know where their quarters are, Alli. I've got men following them all if they wander off. Unless you want me to just lock them in and spare us the trouble..." An eyebrow raised as she glanced at her employer for permission, and was awarded with a firm "No."

"As for what I can tell you...I'm going to assume you've read the dossiers? So you really want my impressions." She thought a moment.

"On our side, the usual mix of freaks and maniacs. Odd crew, the lot of them. Nancy MacFarlewyn the most so, of course, and Maikaelwen the least. The other two are just...odd.

"And for the Gondorians, well, my favorite is Malfoidacil. You sure he isn't one of ours? Beauregard's a spoiled twit, Tupsë is dangerous, and the old guy, Hyarmanwë, is probably the one who got us all assigned here in the first place. We'll definitely have our work cut out for us...any fun plans?"
“I wish.” Alli took her feet down and spun slightly so that she was both seated straight and facing Ms. Martinet. “But this whole thing is on the up and up. They’ll have enough trouble without me having fun. Eru above, I’ve got to try to keep them on the straight and narrow and that’s enough work without driving them off of it.

“You’re right though… Malfoidacil used to be one of ours. I worked with him. I know stories about him that would make even you shiver. He’s my special project. If you really feel the need to check in, he went by Tom Felton when he was here. Mardil knew him then too… that’s how they ended up in league. And I fully agree about Hyarmanwë.” Alli didn’t share her thoughts on him, but when she had been arguing, he’d been most vocal against her. Called her a foolish youngster and sneered aristocratically at her gender. Alli could nearly read his mind, simply by the look in his eyes: he didn’t think she should be taken at all seriously and couldn’t believe that Mardil would hold an audience over this “issue.” She’d ignored him and hoped against hope that Mardil wouldn’t choose him to accompany her back. She should have known better.

Alli smacked her hands on the table decisively, if a bit more violently than normal. Ms. Martinet waited for a further response without batting an eyelash.

“Gather the ambassadors. Put them somewhere depressing enough to make them work faster to get out sooner. Let’s get this started so we can get it finished.”

Lola Martinet rolled her eyes, taking in Alli's spare furnishings and dark decor. "Someplace depressing? You mean you want to hold the talks here?" She left the room before the irritable Alli could answer, mentally running through the list of available conference rooms in her head.

~<*>~

The delegates were easy enough to find. They had, of course, all wandered, and they'd all ended up where wanderers in this labyrinthine palace always did--the Cracks. Ms. Martinet noticed with an irritated growl that Hyarmanwë still looked chilly. The Gondorians stood on one side of the hall she found them in, staring at the Mordorians on the other. They, being Mordorians, were doing nothing of the sort. Smilog was scowling at Igor, who was shuffling his feet. Maika was looking depressed, and MacFarlewyn, startled by the appearance of so many people, had frozen stiff in the middle of the hall.

"I'm Ms. Martinet, Miss Umfuil's secretary, and I'll be leading you all to your first meeting," she announced glaring at them all over the top of her glasses. She turned abruptly and strode down the hall, remembering Skittles at the last minute. "Miss MacFarlewyn," she called over her shoulder. "If you don't practice being a tree on your own time I'll go get an axe." Rapid footsteps behind her let her know her threat was effective.

Calmly she led them on a roundabout course through the palace, trying maliciously to make sure they were thoroughly confused before leading them all into a cold room with a large stone table and a number of chairs, closing the door. "If you will all take a seat, Miss Umfuil will be with you in just a moment."

She sat primly in the one chair in the room with a seat cushion, producing a blue ballpoint pen and a notebook, seemingly from nowhere. With a malicious smile, she began humming the same line over and over to herself, drawing it almost to an end but never humming the last note.

Alli waited outside the door with an amused grin, listening to Ms. Martinet irritate the Gondorians. She knocked once, briskly, on the door before coming in, her presence cool and calculated. Hyarmanwë stood and nodded politely, stiffly, until she motioned for him to be seated. The rest of the delegates sat around waiting to hear what they’d been dragged here for.

Alli abused them with silence for a moment, waiting just long enough for it to feel oppressive. She’d ordered that the lights be just lower than usual so that the flickering torchlight would make her long black hair shimmer. She’d developed the ability to have A Presence. When she wanted to cast An Impression, she did it. Aluminè Umfuil stood before the delegates, long black hair shining in the low light, cold features stern. The inexperience that her slender figure and young age exuded was brought to question by her cold grey eyes. In seconds, the room was paying close attention; even the Mordorians that had seen her before. They usually weren’t favored with her official side.

“A rift has come between our lands. Illegal emigration is at an all time high. Our peoples seem unable to unite." Alli glared at the Gondorians trying to ignore the Mordorians. "That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called, I say. though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands. You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so. Believe rather that it is so ordered by Mardil and Roggie and perhaps even a power Higher, that you, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of our countries."

She had practiced this speech and it effectively carried the weight she wanted.

"Your first task," she continued, "is to meet and greet. Yes... an ice-breaker. While I am certain that the Gondorians are unfamiliar with this approach, those in Mordor are surely aware of it. I want, from each diplomat, two truths and a lie. Interact. Discuss. You have one day to get to know each other. After that, negotiations will truly begin, for we know that no work can be completed without bureaucratic nonsense. It is a custom that must be dealt with. Gondorians, know that the terms of your arrival and stay cover this. It will not be considered Anakronistic, but rather diplomatic, for you to take part in this custom of another country. At least in this particular matter."

She glanced around, taking in various faces, enjoying the look of horror on that of Hyarmanwë.

"Ms. Martinet will observe. I will return soon."

[Kath]

A lie! Igör was shocked. Alli knew he couldn’t, yet still she asked him to do it. Just this once, Alli needs you to, just a little exaggeration. The voices clamoured inside his head, trying to persuade him to give in to the temptation and break the oath he made all those years ago, to always be truthful. Why was it that his past caught up with him at the most inopportune moments? Shuddering at the thought Igör shoved the traitorous voices aside, and tried to concentrate on thinking of a way around this problem.

As he did his eyes ran over the diplomats from Gondor. Well, one eye ran over them, the other rolled itself and generally misbehaved, trying to make the foreigners uncomfortable. From the looks on their faces it seemed to be succeeding. The oldest one looked particularly disgusted, but then he hadn’t looked anything but for the past half an hour so this was nothing to be particularly proud of. Igör grinned at him to try and put him at ease, but the stitching around his mouth stretched as he did so, and he remembered too late that this tended to cause fear and nausea rather than the intended effect.

Sighing quietly he went back to his musings. Two truths and a lie, two truths and a lie. No, there was just no way he could do this by the rules and still remain true to himself. Therefore, the rules would just have to be bent a little. Alli called this an ice-breaker, and all that meant was getting the diplomats to actually talk to each other. Well if this little ruse worked then they should be talking alright.

Standing up he flipped his hair back over his shoulder, gaining him puzzled glances from the two male diplomats and spoke.

“I live in Mordor.”
“I never tell lies.”
“Not one part of my body was originally mine.”

He sat down again and waited. Of course they all knew the first statement was true, and it would be hard to believe that the third wasn’t, so . . .

“Well.” Came a confident voice. “Of course the lie is that you never tell lies.”

Igör carefully smiled, making sure the result looked friendly rather than carnivorous this time, and shook his head.

“No, sir. That is a truth.”

“But if you never tell lies then how can you be playing this game?”

“Yes!” Came another voice. “That woman said one statement must be a lie, but if that one is not then – ”

She never did get to finish, as one of the Mordorian ambassadors interrupted.

“That woman happens to be Alli Umfuil! You’ll speak of her with more respect if you know what’ good for you!”

“The, thing, is obviously lying. No one can live without ever telling a lie.”

“Well then how do you explain – ”

And so the argument continued. Mordorians were speaking to Gondorians. Ok so it was via argument, but whoever said they were going to get on? To be fair, in some places around the room opposite sides were arguing the same point, with Gondorians arguing against their fellow diplomats. Perhaps it wasn’t quite how Alli had intended it to go, but it was working!

Sitting back, Igör waited for Ms. Martinet to decide that she’d had enough. There was no point in him trying to stop this now, but a few sharp words from her and everyone would settle back down.

[Diamond18]

Skittles squeezed her eyes shut and stuck her fingers in her eyes. Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! That’s one thing she hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Not having the patience to wait for that crazy Martinet woman to do something, she took matters into her own hands, leaping up onto a table and removing her fingers from her ears only to place them in her mouth. She uttered a whistle so shrill and painful that the entire room fell into a stunned silence. Someone whimpered.

“That’s better,” said Skittles, and sat down on the table, crossing her legs underneath her.

“Thank you, Nancy,” said Martinet, wincing. “Maybe you want to go next?”

Skittles looked around expectantly. No one made a sound, and they were all staring at her, the freaks. “Well fine, if Nancy’s not going to say anything, I’ll go next,” she volunteered, finding the silence boring and the scrutiny annoying. “Knock, knock. Who’s there? Alli. Alli who? Alluminé Umnfuíl! Ha ha ha ha!” She slapped a knee and doubled over with laughter.

Only after a moment did she realize that no one else was laughing.

“Two truths and a lie, MacFarlewyn.” Martinet seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth, now. What a prune.

Skittles shrugged.

“The world is flat.
I’m a bat.
For lunch I ate a cat.”

“How perfectly dreadful,” said the old Gondorian, Heimlichmaneuver or whatever his name was.

“Ain’t it though?” Skittles replied proudly.

“You are obviously not a bat,” said a younger Gondorian man with long black hair. What was his name again...? Barrowgod. “So that must be the lie. The truths, therefore, are that the world is flat and you ate a cat for lunch.”

“Ha ha ha ha! No,” Skittles gloated. “I didn’t eat anything for lunch! Try again, Barrowgod.”

The man visibly twitched. “Bearugard. My name is Bearugard.”

“Meh. Same diff.” She looked at the other diplomats. “Well?”

“But you are not a bat,” insisted a young blonde boy with an angelically evil face. “So that’s two lies.”

“Also, I fail to see what the shape of the world has to do with yourself, and our instructions were to tell two truths and a lie about ourselves,” said Bearugard.

Skittles shrugged. “Bored now.” She hopped down from the table, then crawled underneath it. She then amused herself by pinching the ankles of those seated as they tried to continue on.