Holiday in the Sun RPG

[Rochelle]

Her journey was near its end as Dol Amaroth came into view. The corners of her mouth creased as she noticed plumes of black cloud hovering above the city. She heeled Quellë into a swift canter before rounding a bend. There she halted quickly as the city came into better view.

The harbor burns... She closed her eyes bringing her thumb to her forehead. She did not know what evil had been beheld, but she now intended to ride towards it. Quellë was hesitent, he knew there was no safety to be found there...but he was loyal and obeyed her will. Together they rode on.

The gates of the city were open, thrust aside as if by force. She frowned and entered. Guards lay slain, some in the middle of the road, and Quellë was forced to step over them. Her grip tightened about her sword. Chaos was all around, yet she could not grasp what had happened.

She tried to halt many a townsfolk, but none would stay to explain. Finally she called to the air "Does no one know?" The stallion snorted, the whites of his eyes still showed and he was still agitated. Dartho Quellë mellon nin.

[ February 23, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[Envinyatar]

Khaz left the palace at a run. It would take some time to put the ships and captains he wanted together, and he still had some obligations he needed to square away. A great many of the citizens had already been slain or detained at the warehouse prison on the docks. And there were some among them who were not completely averse to a new leadership taking over, seeing it as a chance to advance themselves and their fortunes. He smiled to himself, thinking on this. There was a little Corsair in every man’s heart, or so it seemed to him. It only needed the right temptation to bring it out.

These thoughts played through his mind as he and a band of ten Corsairs under his direction swept the western perimeter of the city, in the area of the main gates. The smoke was thick in the air from the still burning military ships in the harbor. Though luckily, the wind had changed and most of it was now blown out to sea.

They had reached the area of the gates, moving quietly through the shadows of the buildings. Khaz watched as small bands of citizens wandered aimlessly in the streets, dazed. None of them looked to be of any danger to the new regime, none were armed. He held his fist up, the signal to stop, and the band flattened itself against the shadowed wall.

An Elf, on horseback, had foolishly entered the city. He admired her for her unthinking bravery, and thanked the winds that she was so foolish as not to have drawn her arms. But then, he smiled, it would not have mattered anyway. He signaled to the men in the shadows across from him, then stepped out before her as she asked her question.

‘Does no one know?’ he heard her cry to the air. ‘What is it you wish to know, m’Lady?’ came his soft reply.

Before the words fell from her mouth, the two behind her had thrown their net, and pulled her from her horse, drawing the strong web close around her.

‘Secure her!’ he ordered, as his other men drove her horse with cudgels and swords from the area. ‘Take her to Yr Saldan. Perhaps he has use for an Elf.’

[Rochelle]

The dark form of the man made his appearance and spoke. She gripped the hilt of her sword before Quellë reared. He had sensed the men coming behind but he had not acted quick enough. The net had been cast, and Rochelle had been caught. The stallion pawed out with his hooves, slicing the air with a frantic scream, but to no avail. The men waved their swords in his face and he ran off, back down the main path.

The lady still had her hand 'round her sword and it had been drawn in the commotion. As the men surrounded her, she heard the command 'Take her to Yr Saldan. Perhaps he has use for an elf.' With that she sliced through the net and stood on her own free will.

"I am no elf," she said. "And I shall not be used for any business save my own."

Her eyes were wild, and her hood had been thrown back, revealing her long golden hair. She was clearly outnumbered, but that would not stop her from taking as many as the Valar allowed. She would be no prisoner.

A piercing whinny ripped through the air as the white stallion came charging through the crowd. All eyes were averted to the sight and Rochelle swung back aboard. Quellë spun on his haunches and galloped back out the main gates as if the dark lord were on his tail.

When the pair was out of sight of the city, only then did they slow. She clutched her arm to her stomach, she could feel the warmth of blood under her Gauntlet. Her eyes looked up and she saw a familiar sight, but Quellë was too wound up to stand.

Hannon Le Quellë...Mae Caernen.

[Envinyatar]

He could not spare the men to chase after the wounded woman. And what was one weak woman to do that would harm them now?

He turned to one of his men, Hafez, directing him to continue the sweep through the area for resisters to the takeover. ‘Come see me,’ he spoke quietly to him, ‘when you are done here. I will have need of a first mate I can rely on.’

Hafez raised his eyebrows at this request. ‘We are sailing, then?’ Khaz motioned him a short distance away from the others. ‘Soon I hope.’ came the reply. ‘I go to find us ships. We’ll be patrolling the south and eastern borders of the land, and possibly controlling access to the mouths of the Anduin. I’ll need men I can trust on my own ship. Will you look to finding them for me?’

Hafez smiled, a crooked grin that did not bespeak a humorous bent of mind, but rather something more ghastly. ‘Aye, aye! Cap’n.’

Khazdifir turned and went down toward the harbor. He knew which captains he wanted and he meant to have them for his little fleet.

[Maegaladiel]

Beneath the castle at Minias Tirith lay a web of tunnels and passageways. The secret entrance to the labyrinth had been long forgotten by all of the residents of Gondor...all, that is, except Lhingril. He had stumbled across the catacombs several years ago, and had made them his temporary headquarters. Only he and his cohort, Barahil, knew of its existance. Or so he hoped.

His dark eyes scanned the dimly-lit hall around him. Now where was that blasted door again? Ah, yes. Making sure he was alone, Lhingril approached a stone in the wall engraved with a spider. His personal signature.

Placing his palm over the stone, the cracked outline of a door appeared. As it creaked open, several baby giant spiders scurried deeper into the tunnels in surprise. Lhingril could hear the click-click-click of arachnid legs tapping against stone as ‘his children’ hurried out to find a new hiding spot, and perhaps something to eat. They were his most faithful and loyal subjects, and had strict orders to guard these caverns from intrusion.

Inside the secret hall was dark and cool, and the ceiling and walls were covered in resting
spiders, giant and regular sized. An unfortunate rat hung in a spider web in one corner, dead. Lhingril smiled to himself. Something about spiders and torturing prisoners always seemed to cheer him up. He pushed open a door at the end of the hall. In the near-darkness, a figure was slumped in a chair, bound with spider-rope. Lhingril gave a mock bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said in a singsong voice, “Welcome back to the land of the living. For
now, at any rate. I do hope you slept well.” Lhingril threw back his head and laughed.

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Maegaladiel ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan crept carefuly along the path in a ditch towards the shadows of the City wall. His eyes were drawn towards a familier sight, a great white horse with a single rider on its back came charging up the path from Dol Amroth, giving no heed to its path. As it neared the man, it seemed to calm slightly or simply pause briefly to catch its breath, however Awrygan wagered that it would take much more than the run from the City to wind such a horse.

Stepping out from his cover he approached the pair with a grin, "You return with the same speed you left." His smiled faded as he drew closer, he could see the darkening red stains. He moved to the side, but Quellë reared and he was force to dodge the flailing hooves. Stepping swiftly under the great neck he placed his hand on the stallion's side, whispering words of peace softly. Working his hand into the mane he was rewarded with a swift kick. Grimicing, he led the horse off the path and down a small hill away from the view of the walls of Dol Amroth. He reached up to assist the rider off of the horse but she waved him off and dismounted with apparent ease, then let herself rest against the edge of the hill. Keeping an eye on the wary stallion standing nearby Awyrgan knelt beside her. A coughing fit took him and he cursed himself silently for not keeping quiet, apologizing aloud as he did so.

"What happened?" He asked, green eyes flashing. "Oh, and how are you?" The last comment was lighthearted, but deadly serious at the same time. The smell of blood stirred memories within him and he bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for her response, though he did not wait eagerly.

[ February 25, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

She leaned forwards aboard Quellë, the withers of the steed supporting her when her hand could not. She startled slightly when the man appeared before her, though almost instantly she recognized friend from foe. She sat still, smirk alighting on her features as the man lead the fidgety stallion from the road.

"He does not take to being led as I'm sure you're now aware." He turned to offer his service, but she held up a hand "Nay, I am still able." She dismounted and after an affectionate pat to Quellë she settled to the ground.

Here she was able to access her wound. The gash was deep, right below her elbow. She winced as she removed her gauntlet and rolled up her sleeve. "I'm alright..." she answered his first question for it was easiest. Mentally she was cursing herself for it was her own sword that had caused this damage. She tightly wound her arm with a sash, slowing the blood before she administered anything.

After she had caught her breath and pulled her thoughts together, she could better answer the preceding question. "Dol Amroth has been taken...I had a foul run-in with a leader of corsairs. Their men captured me and shun my horse, yet I was able to cut through and free myself..." She held up her arm slightly, "hence my wound..." She looked to the stallion "His bravery matches any man in battle...I would have no other."

She let most detail fall where it may and reached her free hand up to sweep stray tendrils of her hair from her eyes. "The harbor has been set ablaze and the guard of Dol Amroth has been besieged..."

She frowned before closing her eyes and remembering the sights of the city. She had a photographic memory, and things that had been seen before could now be recalled. "There was a great number of them...how many I can not count, but their ships patrol the harbor." Her eyes opened once more, looking past the man before alighting upon him. "I dare not to return save for the voice I heard..."

Before the corsair had surprised her, a frantic villager had cried out that the children had been taken...they were crying out to anyone who would pay them heed. "The children...I know not whose...but the children were taken. I can not leave them to torment. Perhaps this is what I was pulled south for."

She sighed, her free hand moving to rest against the wound. It would heal and she would ride soon, though this time she would approach with greater caution.

[Orual]

Jemennan wrapped the deep slash on his right arm tightly with a bandage. He impatiently wiped the perspiration off of his forehead, and winced at the effort. Curse his carelessness! He should have seen that young guard coming for him. There was no telling how long his arm would be out of commission--and worse, he was right-handed. Scowling and swearing, he tore off the excess from his bandage and tied it in place.

"Nice move, Jem," Airan snapped, her curly hair matted with blood. She wiped off her curved blade as she spoke, cutting her finger through inattention and swearing viciously. "The Valar only know how long it'll take you to get over that. I applaud your good sense and excellent reflexes. It took a master of bungling to let that little boy bite you."

Jem bowed sarcastically. "My thanks for your vote of approval, Lady Airan," he said icily. "I can see that you took care of yourself as well."

Airan looked down at the wound on her left leg, then back at Jem with contempt. "It's not very bad, it won't put me out," she replied. "I can walk...and fight, which is more than I can say for some others in the crew."

Jem drew his sword with his left hand, hesitating a little as he situated himself. He was not ambidextrous by any means, but he had learned somewhat to use his left hand in battle to leave his right for when it counted. Unfortunately, in the heat of the battle, he had forgotten this custom. "I can still fight, and better than you can," he said arrogantly and incorrectly.

Airan laughed and slapped his arm in a gesture of mock-friendship. He winced, but bit his tongue so as not to cry out. "Whole and uninjured you could never fight like me, dear." She patted him on the shoulder; he was not very much taller than she was. "I'm going to clean off and see if Yr Saladan needs me. He'd have no use for a broken toy soldier, of course, so you might as well stay here." She turned and left, leaving Jem alone.

After she was out of earshot, Jem kicked the nearest rock and shouted curses at the sky. Curse Airan and her arrogance! Who did she think she was? Just some sulky little girl running away from her father, wishing that she had what it took to be a corsair of Umbar. She had nothing. Nothing.

He would show her what Yr Saldan wanted. Jem had come gone into Saldan's service when he was a young lad, no older than nine, orphaned and starving, as a cabin boy. He'd done odd jobs until he came of age to earn his keep by fighting. That was loyalty; ten years in the service of the corsairs was loyalty. He would do anything for Yr Saldan, the man who saved his life, who saw a boy who would become a man where everyone else saw just another starving urchin.

Then why had he been so reluctant to fight during this raid?

Because that wound wasn't really from lack of attentiveness. He always knew when someone was coming after him, and the fact that he had fewer scars than most proved it. (Not to say that he had none; he had one running down the length of his forearm from his second fight. He remembered that fight with fondness; it was then that he had become a true blood brother of the corsairs.) Most people who came after Jemennan son of Tarmennan from the back paid for it dearly, as dearly as Jem could provide. His boyish appearance, with his chestnut brown hair and surprisingly innocent grey eyes, belied his viciousness in battle.

And yet he'd let his guard down.

Was it because he was in Gondor, the land of his birth? No, he had no ties to these people, who had shunned him when he was in need, refused to give him food or shelter. They were nothing to him, as he had been nothing to them. Was it because he was recovering from an illness? No, it had been a mere head cold, and he had left battles unscathed after stepping off death's doormat. There was no reason for his behavior. Except maybe those screams he had heard, the same screams that haunted his dreams at night ever since his days on the streets: the screams of a child's terror.

He shook his head to clear it of these thoughts, and went up to Yr Saldan. "My arm is all right, sir. What can I do?"

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Envinyatar]

‘Jemennan son of Tarmennan, is it not?’ Yr Saldan wiped his blade on his breeches before he slipped back through his belt. ‘I saw you today. You should take better care in battle. I would not have one of my seasoned men lost for inattentiveness.’

He took the young man’s arm and unwrapped the makeshift bandage. ‘A nasty cut. I fear you will not be of much use now in the sweeps of the city.’ He wrapped the arm back up and pointed to the ship which held the healer. ‘Go see old Jalal. He will clean and wrap that for you. Then come see me this evening at the Prince’s palace. I have something I wish you to do for me.’ He clapped the young man on the back and waved him off.

Saldan and his men made their way back to the palace grounds. It had been a long tiring day, and he wished only to enjoy the fragrant breezes in the Prince’s garden and a bottle of his wine. He made it into the front hall, and had just removed his blade, when he heard the quick steps of someone coming up through the veranda. ‘Jemennan,’ he said, not turning, ‘I said to come this evening.’

‘Not Jemmenan, Saldan. It is Khaz.’

Yr Saldan turned. ‘What news do you bring, Kestrel?’ He poured them both a glass of wine and motioned the man into the garden, to a pair of chairs set facing the bay. Khazdifir told him of their encounter with the woman warrior and her escape from their nets. Saldan was not pleased at the news, yet, he like Khazdifir did not feel one lone warrior would do them harm. ‘Other than that, Saldan, we had a successful day. Many men were rounded up and are now housed in the warehouse on the dock. And many of them would rather work in our service than face the rope or blade. The others are of course no use to us.’

‘I understand there a number of children housed also in the warehouse, Kestrel. What of them? We could kill them, of course, but has anyone seen if there are those we can use as bargaining chips when the time comes.’

Khazdifir looked westward, his face a mask of indifference. 'We haven’t had time to sort through them. No extra men to do so either. If it were up to me, I would say we eliminate them. They would be a bother to care for, and the older ones who will remember their parents will always hate us. Best not to keep a viper close. Kill it before it strikes has always been my motto.’

Yr Saldan laughed. ‘A man of swift action. Yet I think we have to look more long term now, not at just what will serve the day.’ He leaned in close to Khaz, an intense look on his face. ‘Those who hired me intended only that I strike a blow and draw some power if I might away from Minas Anor. Hit and burn and pillage and run.’ His dark eyes caught the westering sun and burned with an intense desire. ‘But I intend to make this city my own. To carve out a piece of these northern lands and rule it as I see fit.’ He leaned back in his chair, looking closely at Khazdifir. ‘What say you to that, Kestrel. Are you with me?’

Khaz looked also westward, toward the waters of the small bay. ‘Make me your southern fist upon the water, Saldan, as you intend to do with Narwen to the north. Let me serve you on the waves, and I will serve you long and well.’

They said no more to one another, the silence between them the assurance of their agreement. Khaz drank his wine and left Saldan to his plans and plots in the garden. He had lined up his captains and his ships. Tomorrow they would provision themselves and then set sail southward and near to the opening of the inlet to Linhir. From there they would command the River Anduin. And once Saldan had secured his power they could think of increasing the size of their armada. Perhaps then they would sail up it and grab the prize – Minas Anor.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan sat quietly as the ranger told her story, fitting the details in with what his own eyes and other senses had told him. One this was for sure; this did not have the feeling of a common corsair raid, it was well-planned and deliberate or he was a fool. Well, an inexperienced fool. He was about to rise from where he sat when she briefly fixed her eyes on his.

"I dare not to return save for the voice I heard..."

She continued, describing the cries of one of the villagers. She looked to him as if seeking a response but the man seemed not to listen. He was staring off into the West, his eyes glazed over, knuckles whitening. His frame shook slightly and he rose; walking over to a nearby tree where he stood motionless for a time with his head bowed. When he returned he seemed calmer, almost indifferent to the situation at hand, but his eyes blazed.

He spoke slowly. "There are many children in Dol Amroth. There are many in the world, many who's lives are cut short regardless of the actions of others." She glared and he bit his tounge, attempting to explain. "I know the meaning of futility more deeply than you will ever comprehend," was what he finally managed to spit out. His voice now held a bitter tone. "Perhaps I should have introduced myself; I am Awrygan in the tounge of the Rangers." She opened her mouth as if to confirm what he had said and he nodded. "My parent's were not so cruel as to name me as such; I took the name upon myself." He looked towards the city. "If what you say is true any thread of hope or purpose you hold to is slim. To those who fall captive to the men of the far South an ill fate is common."

She stood up as if to leave. He gestured towards the ground. "I did not say I would not go." She relaxed, but remained standing. "If those you seek are not already dead they will survive another day or two, corsairs may be cruel but they are not stupid - if they have a purpose for a captive they will be kept alive. I have been in this land before and in its service and know the lay of the City. I will go when I deem it right and you may go with me or by yourself - yet I would deem it more fitting to enter as a thief and not a princess this time."

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

“We’ve won!”
Eäris heard the shout without registering it’s meaning. He was doubled over, panting with exertion.
More voices joined the clamour: “Victory!”
Eäris straightened with a groan at his bruises, looking around. All the Corsairs lay on the ground, most dead, one or two groaning. There were less now than there had originally been Some left to tell their masters about us he realised. We must leave quickly. For now, though, he was content to savour the feeling of victory. He had almost forgotten its sweetness.

“What shall we do now?” asked the coachman, bringing Eäris out of his daze.
“We must leave”, he answered slowly, “but Gilian and Rolan are still missing. First I must find out what has happened to them. Get up those of the pirates that still live, tell them they have a choice of a swift death or capture. If I remember these Corsairs aright, they will choose death. By the way, thank you for your help, you saved my life.”
Eäris smiled at the man and patted his shoulder, glad that he had servants he could rely on. His mind was a jumble of what had happened and what he had to do. He was becoming more and more concerned about his two youngest children. Suddenly his blood ran cold. Asta and Linde! he thought. If anything has happened to them…He refused to finish the thought, not wanting to think of any such event.

Thinking hard of what course would be best, he began to walk to the coach to consult his wife. On the way he accidentally tripped over the body of a Corsair. Thinking the man dead, he began to move him out of the way, but a hacking cough told him otherwise. An idea came into Eäris’ mind.
“Do you know anything of a young lad and girl?” he asked the man sharply.
“Lad and a girl?” asked the Corsair mockingly “Would that be the little brown haired lass and her brother we picked up earlier? The ones who looked a lot like you? They’ll be very useful to us, have no fear- we’ll take good care of them.”

Kidnapped! Earis’ head span. How? Why? What should he do now?
The injured Corsair laughed softly to see his confusion and despair. With studied calmness Eäris asked: “Would you like to be put out of you misery? Or shall I bind you and take you to the King Elessar?”
“King Elessar?” The man laughed again, more weakly than before. “Neither” he said, and drawing a small knife, plunged it into his neck.

Eäris began to walk slowly towards the carriage again. Gil and Rolan kidnapped? He thought quickly I must tell Astarielle at once.

[Rochelle]

She had finished her tale, and the man had left to ponder. She rolled her head back and closed her eyes. They opened only when he spoke to cast a glare in his direction. How could he be so cold? Yet she kept her tounge and listened to the words he had to say.

"Futility, Awrygan, is a word many unfortunately can comprehend..." She trailed off, not bothering to go into her past at this time. "I will not let my fate, be the fate of others. Wether dead or alive, I will return and search them out." She stood to return to Quellë but paused as he spoke again. Her back to him, she relaxed slightly at his words. It would be death to enter alone...it almost had been.

Turning back around she allowed a smile to be seen. "You are a hard one to interpret dear ranger, but your help I will accept, if you will accept mine. 'Tis folly to enter the city alone." She smirked, "and I shall be more guarded in my entrance this time..."

With that she sat back down, and undid the sash that bound her wound. The bleeding had ceased and she could now apply her medicine. She crushed a leaf of athelas and applied the bruised piece to her arm. The smell of orchards in bloom fancied her nose, and soon the wound was closing.

She watched him with furrowed brow, "You do not look to be in good health...how have your wounds treated you?"

[Envinyatar]

Khaz left Yr Saldan sitting in the garden, and made his way down to the harbor. There, docked at the west end, was the Windrunner. Her captain had been killed in the first sweeps of the city, and Khaz had claimed the ship for his own. Hafez stood on deck, grinning broadly down at him as he approached.

‘Come aboard, Captain!” he pushed down the boarding plank for Khaz, who hurried up it. ‘Are they here?’ he asked, motioning Hafez to talk to him as he strode toward the helm deck. ‘Yes, all five of them.’ Hafez tilted his chin toward the captain’s cabin near the helm.

The crew of the Windrunner had gathered on the deck, wanting to see the new captain. Low murmurs ran through the crowd. ‘And what about them?’ his eyes sliding to where they stood. ‘Good men, good sailors every one of them. I know most of them, and the others are all vouched for by the men I do know. They’ll serve you well.’ Or feel my fist and whip if they don’t! Hafez thought to himself.

He handed Hafez a small bag of coins he had gotten from Yr Saldan. ‘See that they get a silver coin each, to bind them to my service, if you will. And tell them there will be plenty more where that comes from.’

Khaz entered the cabin, looking round at the faces of the men seated there at the table. Tariq, Suleiman, Korak, Temenes, and Sahout. He had served under all of them, and knew them to be able captains and quick thinkers.

‘Captains,’ he began, rolling out one of his navigational charts on the table’s surface, ‘we’ve got a directive from Yr Saldan to secure this area. Let’s discuss how we might best do this.’ They looked at him in mild surprise, and with some dawning admiration. He was seeking their advice, asking them to help formulate the plan – not just telling them what they would be doing!

They stood and leaned eagerly over the chart, taking in all the information. Then, one by one, they gave their opinion of what must be done to be most effective.

[astarielle]

Astarielle was slightly pale as she came round from the side of the coach, the attack had surprised her. She jumped lightly over a dead body still moaning in pain without a second glance. She never knew her husband could fight so well. A fleeting glance behind her showed yet another group of corsairs charging towards them. In the shadows she swore she saw a figure jeering at them.

"Earis, Elvira, I fear we have tarried to long, come, we must leave this place!" she said urgently. Another swift glance as she stepped hurridly into the coach made her tremble, they were nearly upon them!

"Hurry!" She blurted out. The coachdriver being to roll the coach forward as Earis and Elvira lept in. They set of as fast as the horses could take them towards the nearest gate.

[Carrûn]

Do I look that bad? The man's face was a bit of a bemused puzzle in reponse to the lady's previous question. "I've felt better," he commented, "but it's more a result of my own stubborness" he noted with wry grin and a cough. "My shin feels split in two however," he added with a glance towards the stallion who snorted as if with some hidden mirth. Resting against the hillside he sat idly drawing in the dirt with a knife. A few random sketches formed, until a rough outline of Dol Amroth and the surrounding terrain took place. He worked silently, drawing a path of entrance only to erase it and begin from a different direction. Pausing, he looked down at the knife. It was getting dull. Drawing a whetstone from a pouch on his belt he worked on the blade, forming a razor sharp edge with deliberate strokes. Finished, he stopped to inspect his work, running a calloused finger across the blade he was rewarded with a thin stream of red which appeared on the tip. He licked the blood away and pressed his finger against his cloak as he placed the knife back into its sheath on his boot.

He turned back to where she sat cleaning out the wound she had recieved. He laught softly. "You are the most polite to me of many I have met in a year. Hopefuly your opinion will not change when what you have planned is over. Indeed there are some who would call me cruel." A shadow crossed his face. One cannot live for a time in Mordor if they appear otherwise. "I am not accustomed to accepting help from those I do not know, be they kin from afar or not." He smirked. "But I will tolerate yours if you will mine. Beforwarned I am loath to take instruction unless I deem them of greater experience."

He drew out a small bag. "Some would agree it to be folly to enter a hostile position alone. Many would agree when doing so it it best to change appearences frequently." He went to work and within a few minutes his normally black hair was a golden brown. "Unless my ears decieve me that is running water, excuse me." He arose and walked down into a small valley through which ran a small stream that gathered into several deep pools. Lowering himself into one he attempted to work some of the kinks in his back out, but this was ice water, not hot and he soon gave up; settling instead for a quick bath and simlutaneous washing of clothes. When he returned he was clean shaven, looking very much more like his actual age. "By the way, might I enquire who it is I will be travelling with?"

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

A laugh escaped her as he spoke of Quellë’s handiwork. “I suppose it would have been honorable of me to warn you before he struck.” She grinned then heaved a sigh. “Though with what he just went through, I hardly blame him…” She trailed off as her eyes averted to the idle drawing in the sand. She sat silently as she watched, resting her hand against the rebandaged wound.

Quellë had ceased his grazing and now wandered over to where the pair sat. He let out a huff of warm air into her shoulder before slowing making his way to the man. His nose quivered as it lowered to inspect the rangers boot, then slowly moved up his leg until he paused at the pockets. Rochelle laughed, “He knows you supplied the sugar…” Quellë snorted and tossed up his head warily as the mans arm moved, but he stood in place, lowering his head once more. She decided she’d let the horse do as he willed, and she watched on in amusement. When the stallion had been satisfied, he moved off to doze.

"You are the most polite to me of many I have met in a year. Hopefully your opinion will not change when what you have planned is over. Indeed there are some who would call me cruel."

She looked up, “You have not given me a reason yet to be impolite…though your first words of the situation on hand would have had me in foul temper had you not reconciled and agreed to help.” She nodded as he continued. “I shall tolerate it, though my experience is much less than yours I am sure.”

The woman watched the rangers antics as he brought around a small bag. Her mouth opened slightly at the sight beheld. He excused himself and left for the stream. Meanwhile, she rose and walked over to Quellë to inspect him. Ai, my friend…indeed I have no understanding of what is to come, but you are a brave soul for daring it with me. She smiled and gave him a hearty pat before offering up the last of the cubes.

She turned as Awrygan returned. “A master of disguise I deem you…I know of few who can change their appearance so quickly.” She smiled then paused as he asked his question. “Indeed you may. I am Rochelle of the house of Moonstone in Mirkwood…though by my appearance you can see I am no elf.” She paused to settle herself back down against the hill. “My origin is in Rohan….” She nodded towards Quellë “…as is his.”

[Carrûn]

Awrygan nodded his head slightly as she introduced herself and her background; not bothering to ask how one of Rohan came to live in the forest of Mirkwood. His ammusement at the words "master of disguise" was hidden only by his grim smile. "I had excellent instructors," he remarked with a slightly raised eyebrow. Strict did not begin to describe the manner of his father and those who had left the main camp with him. Many nights alone in the woods playing the game of hunter and hunted, finally turning the tables on them after several years and gaining their acceptence; a normal rite of passage for the guardians of the North.

He walked to where a bag lay on the ground that he had aqquired. From it he produced a dark black cloak with a hood, and a weather stained tunic. As he shook them out a breeze caught them and the billowed in the sudden guest. He held them out to Rochelle. "You might want to work these into your wardrobe in some form or another." She hesistated and he gave her a wry look. "Worry not, their former owner will have no more use of them. He beckoned towards a small pile of stones on a distant hilltop. "These will not fit me and they are about as clean as you could find at the nearest establishment."

Walking over towards his drawings in the sandy dirt near the base of a tree the man paused by the dozing horse. Drawing out a sugar cube he held it out to the stallion. Quellë looked briefly at it, and proceeded to bit down gently but firmly on the entire outstretched hand containing the cube. Both eyed eachother for a few moments until, giving a genuine smile, the man relaxed his hand and the horse allowed the man's hand (cube removed) to slide out. Quellë gave a semi-friendly snort and proceeded to return to his rest. Awrygan squatted next to the outline in the ground and picked up a sharpened stick. Gesturing towards his companion he began to discuss entry points and city details.

"Obviously it would be less than wise to enter through the main gate as we are not akin to those now in power. Several smaller gates are spread out around the city but they are bound to be watched, and regardless the number the less confrontations the better. Here and here are several drainage outlets. One of them, if I remember correctly, enters a closet in a local Inn." He grinned. "That was useful for a quick exit after a card game turned hide and seek. Drunkerds are swift to feel cheated even if it is by their own stupidity. If the keeper is not dead he is a friend of mine as they come and go and may be able to give us a better idea for our next step. Or I can convince him to do so if need be. If, on the other hand, he is dead it will give us a relatively safe place to move out from."

He moved the stick some ways over. "As far as the query..." He noticed a slight, involuntary twitch of Rochelle's hand. "The children," he continued carefuly, "could be in a wide variety of places, Dol Amroth is no small village. However, if all of the captives are grouped together they will most likely be in one of the large warehouses; they are the most appealing for this purpose, being both large and easy to guard. If those you speak of are being singled out for some especially delightful and tactful purpose they could be anywhere and we may end up going door to door like a baker throughout the whole city."

He frowned as if remembering a detail he had not considered before. "I have forgotten your sharp-hoofed compatriot over there. Doubtless he is loyal but he will not fit in a pipe or a closet. Yet he would be a great asset in the event things go to...go poorly or we are forced to make a swift exit." He allowed the issue to pass to a back corner of his mind, hoping something would come up that would prevent the need for futher consideration of it. He turned to Rochelle. "Have you knowledge of boats? Or experience before with those who will undoubtedly try to make our search somewhat difficult? It would be easier if we could talk our way out of some corners instead of fighting."

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Orual]

Jem's face burned with shame as he left Yr Saldan. How could he have been so foolish? At least Saldan didn't seem too upset with him. He didn't know if he could've handled that.

He jogged to where Jalal was, cleaning up the cuts and scrapes of the other corsairs. The healer was an older man, his face weatherbeaten and tanned from many years of work on the seas, but it was a kind face, one that was easily trusted. Jem would trust Jelal to perform surgery on him on a rickety table, at sea, in the middle of a hurricane, and not make a mistake. The old healer's hands were as steady as his wit was sharp, and that was considerable.

"Well, Jemmy my lad, what've you done to yourself this time?" the old man asked, looking up from one of his patients, a middle-aged man with a small nick on his cheek. Jem knew him only vaguely. He went up to Jelal.

"Pretty deep gash on my arm," Jem muttered, pulling off the bandage and wincing. "My attention wavered and a guard came up behind me and gave me this to remember him by."

Jelal inspected it gravely, and shook his head, making clicking noises with his tongue. Jem breathed in relief; if Jelal made that sort of scolding sound, all was well. His arm would recover. "Quite a lapse for a full-fledged corsair," Jelal intoned, pulling out his cleansing equipment and began the slightly painful processes of cleaning the wound.

"Well, I was just preoccupied."

"Indeed. Preoccupation can lead to deaths, Jemmy. You know that."

"I know, I know, but I was basically alone, not watching anybody's back." Jem felt crushed by Jelal's comment, softened as it was by the use of Jem's nickname. "It was an accident."

"It's all accidents," Jelal muttered through the swabs held between his teeth. Jem looked anxiously at the old man, worried that he was indeed upset with him. But the old corsair's eyes were sparkling.

"Oh, fix it up quick, Jelal. I need to get back to Yr Saldan this evening." Jem frowned, then gritted his teeth as the Jelal re-wrapped his arm.

Jelal finally finished and Jem started his walk back to Yr Saldan, half-fearing what he would say. What would he be asked to do?

There was nothing to do but ask Yr Saldan to find out.

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Envinyatar]

Yr Saldan walked in the palace garden. It was cool there and fragrant, reminding him of the lush gardens that grew along the river he had grown up by in Umbar. Two things occupied his mind as he passed among the flowers. One was the number of ships and men he had now committed to patrol both the northern and southern borders of the Prince’s land, and the other was that he would soon need to move away from purely military tactics to secure his position, and into the realm of tactical negotiations.

The first problem weighed on his mind heavily. He did not want to spread his naval advantage too thin. Perhaps after a swift skirmish at Edhellond, he should pull Captain Narwen’s ships back to reinforce the ships of Khazdifir along the southern borders where a fleet moving upon them from the Anduin could prove fatal. For a brief moment, he entertained the thought of sending a small fleet all the way to Minas Anor. But viewed in the harsh light of reality, it was an idea quickly discarded. Unless of course, he should receive a message otherwise from his eyes and ears in the White City.

The second problem, that of lining up advantages for negotiations, seemed an easier one to solve. Very few adults had been taken prisoner who were of any worth as hostages. Most of those who were prominent in the government either here or in Elessar’s court had resisted and been killed. The children, however, were a different matter. They carried a lot of emotional weight, and would prove very useful as bargaining chips.

A problem with them though, was that they needed to be separated from the adult prisoner population, and be well taken care of. The better they appeared to be treated the more sympathetic the opposing sides’ negotiators would feel to the demands of the Corsair government.

Jem would be an excellent choice for that position. Young himself, and amiable. The children would like him and grow to trust him. It would do well if they could find out which children belonged to which prominent families. Saldan had already decided the large tower at the northeast corner of the palace would serve this purpose well. It was large and tall, and had limited access. Only a few guards would be needed to secure it. Attached to its base on the west side was a walled in garden with a high fence. There was no access to it along any of its walls, the only entry into being from the small door at the base of the tower.

One of the guards came and spoke to him softly as he passed the doorway into the palace. Saldan smiled. ‘Show him in here! He’s just the man I wish to see.’

It was Jem, his arm freshly bandaged and tender from its wound. Saldan motioned him into the garden and over to a small table where he had laid out a map. Without preamble, he launched into his ideas about the detention of the children, showing Jem on the map where he intended they be kept.

Saldan called for a server to bring them a bottle of wine. He poured a goblet for Jem and one for himself. ‘I need a man who is capable of doing this for me. One who is loyal.’ He raised his glass to Jem, in salute. ‘I think you fit the bill on both counts. Will you do this for me?’

[ March 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Rochelle]

Her eyes moved to where the bag lie. She raised a brow as he brought the clothes out and then offered them out to her. Slowly she held out her hand and took them from him. She looked upon them with hesitation “…you acquired these from a dead man?” Her mouth set in a grim line but then she smirked and shook her head, folding them in her arms.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She brushed by him and walked around the hill to the stream where he had recently emerged. She removed her cloak and cast it upon the ground, belt soon followed. She knelt down and peered into the coolness of the water. Her face was streaked with dirt and she reached cupped palms into the stream to splash her face. The reflection came back cleaner this time, and her eyes looked once more upon the clothes she had to change into. She frowned and looked at her current ensemble. She did not willingly trade in the threads of Mirkwood for those of a dead man, but she knew her peril if she did not. She promptly removed the tunic and slid the darker one on in it’s place. Next she stood and reapplied her belt before clasping the new cloak and hood around her neck.

She looked once more into the stream, her golden hair stood out among the new darkness. She reached back and tied the hair loosely with a string, hiding it as best she could beneath the hood. She sighed and picked up her tunic and cloak, walking back to the makeshift camp. After setting down the clothes, she walked over to where Awrygan was discussing the layout of Dol Amroth.

She listened intently to his guidance, he seemed knowledgeable of the city. She smirked as he recalled his gambling experience, then wondered at how he expected to convince the keeper if he wouldn’t cooperate. Her attention soon averted however, as soon as he mentioned the children. “I think you’re correct in your assumptions about the warehouses. They are close to the sea, the territory the corsairs are most comfortable with.”

At the mention of her horse, Rochelle nodded. “He is loyal, and desires action as I do, but he will understand that his time is to come later.” She smiled at the horse who know was enjoying a dust bath, then shook her head. “No, I have no knowledge of ships nor their commanders. I had not seen the sea until earlier this day.” She laughed lightly, “Yet I will follow your cue…”

She stood after a moment and walked over to Quellë, speaking softly in the tongue of her father. The stallion stood, then his head dropped slightly as if in a solemn gesture. The woman ran her hand along his withers, then down his shoulder before giving a gentle pat. The horse had raised his head, then tossed it up. His white mane flew back and he whickered. She smiled and looked to Awrygan. “He understands, he will stay on the outskirts and come at my call.”

[Carrûn]

Awrygan gave a satisfied inner sigh of relief now that the issue of the horse was taken care of with such ease. If only all matters could be solved as quickly life would be so easy. Wishful thinking. He wished his companion had some previous experience with those they would most likely be encountering but there was a first time for everything and she seemed to know how to carry herself. The Sun was beginning its dance into the West; soon it would be evening. "We will seek for the entrance into the Inn when the Sun goes down, whether we will attempt anything beyound that immediately is yet to be determined."

"So this your first encounter with the Sea? It is quite something is it not?" He smiled a fond, sad smile remembering his first encounter with the seemling endless body of water. First in the cold, razor-lined beaches of the North as a young Ranger attempting to impress his peers and later in the Far South as a wiser, more sober traveller seeking piece in the midst of hostilities.

Having said all he had to say he walked over to where a large stone stood in the ground. Sitting down, he proceeded to inventory and inspect his gear. Three knives, all different in their appearence were layed out, cleaned, sharpened and placed back in their sheaths on the man's right boot, belt, and upper tunic. He spend a bit longer on his sword since it had not been used in a while. Finally, making sure it was loostened in its sheath he hooked it back onto his belt. Standing, he clasped his cloak around him with a determined snap. Anything he decided not to take was placed in a bag which was soon hidden under a mixture of brush and earth. Sitting back down he sat silently looking towards the West, watching the Sun as it lowered itself to meet the Sea. The rays glinted off his bright eyes as orange met green. Drawing his pipe out he lit it, allowing the curls to spirl upwards towards the darkening sky.

[ March 03, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Rochelle]

She gave Quellë another affectionate pat, before walking back over to settle against the hillside. “Good, then I will be able to rest longer.” Her arm was still sore, yet it was healing even as she spoke. She wrapped the black cloak about her tucked up knees, arms resting crossed about them.

"So this your first encounter with the Sea? It is quite something is it not?"

She nodded. “It is…ada spoke of its wonder, but my journeys had not brought me near enough to it.” Even as she spoke, her eyes darted to the horizon. The smell of salt was in the air, and the gulls could be heard clamoring above. She had taken note of his expression, as if he remembered something of his past. She sighed, and gently closed her eyes. She could hear the gentle ring of steel as the man emptied his stash. Soon all was much quieter and she slowly opened her eyes. He was sitting, enjoying a smoke and she smiled.

“You spoke fondly of the sea before…have you ever sailed upon it?”

[Orual]

Jem's dark brown eyes widened in surprise and pride. It was clear that these children were important, and for Yr Saldan to trust Jem with their care...he began to breathe quickly, and a huge smile broke over his face. Saldan waited out the expected burst of enthusiasm, and finally Jem caught himself, shook his head a little.

"Yes, sir! Of course!" Capable and loyal! "Of course I'll do that for you." He was still a trusted corsair. "Yes, sir. When should I start?" All his dreams... "Where should I start? Should I see someone to lead me to the children?" ...had come true. "Is it a protected location? Will I know where it is? Or will I be led to it and from it? What will be exactly my relation to the children? Will I be their caretaker, or just their guard, and should I be their friend? I can do any of it, sir. Or all of it at once, if you wish."

[Everdawn]

Bebberyn was transported to the houses of healing. "What of Bebberyn then Mariel?" the guard who had found him at the gate said. "he has lost a lot of blood, he drifts in and out, but i think now he is stable."

Bebberyn heard the two voices talking. "has anyone told the prince yet?" the woman's voice asked. "no although that is because we have problems of our own-" Bebberyn opened up his eyes. It was now dark, he lay in a room, his bed was veiled in a lemon lace as the moonlight shone thorugh the balcony which lay to his right.


The two people on the other hand were on the other side of a screen that acted as a wall to further devide the room. He could see their shaddows moving on the wall behind them as their candles flickered with the steady breeze that came off the balcony.


Bebberyn tried to sit up but there was a sharp pain which ran through his chest. Loudly he gasped out in pain. The voices stopped and the sound of quick footsteps was heard. The first to appear around the screen was a strikingly exotically looking young woman.

She had long, wavy ebony hair, olive skin and dull green eyes. The next was a man, of equal height to the woman, he had a square jaw, light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was dressed in the Black and Silver garb of The Minas Tirith Guards.

"youre awake" the woman remarked putting a wet cloth on Bebberyns head. "Am i in the houses?" He asked. "The very same" she said. "and very lucky to be alive, with a gash like that and riding all the way from Dol Amroth in such a short time!" The man stood still by the end of the bed.

Dol Amroth.. She had said it. "the city" Bebberyn moaned. The man stepped foward. "I am Darius, son of Darion sir, and this is Mariel daughter of Marhad and Vieana, she is the finest medicine woman this city has to offer." Mariel smiled as she started to change Bebberyn's bandages.

"You better tell us the whole story before I notify your Prince sir." Darius looked uneasy "you see, we have our own problem... our king is missing." Bebberyn was surprised. "how can you loose a king! and the king Aragorn?" Darius looked offended. "I dont know the full details, should you please tell us what happened?"

" As i said, I am Bebberyn, son of Bryadin, high guard of Dol Amroth" Bebberyn begun. "The city has been invaded by corsairs. we put up a fight, but they slew all my remaining men. They hold the city captive, women and children inculded among the hostages." Bebberyn winced in pain again "please! i need to talk to the prince!" Darius frowned.

"I will get your prince, and i will tell him that Bebberyn son of Bryadin, high guard of Dol Amroth has ill news." Darius lay a hand on Mariel's shoulder and left in search of the prince.

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Envinyatar]

Previous events to the arrival of Bebberyn:

In the Seventh Tier of the City of Gondor
Previous post: doug*platypus

Minas Tirith was, almost literally, a hive of activity. Preparations for this celebration had started weeks ago, though you wouldn't know it by the way that merchants were running around making last minute arrangements. Even up in the Citadel, usually a place of calm repose, the atmosphere was frantic. The Citadel Guard were, by and large, the only ones immune to this holiday fever.

"See how they all buzz about!" remarked the captain to a guard standing next to him on the wall.

"The noise from the first circle is incredible!" remarked the other. "The last time there was this much excitement was when the King first returned. You would have been wearing diapers then, Beleg!"

"Not quite," the younger knight replied, "but you would have had more of your teeth still, you old badger! What a time for Captain Forweg to be on holiday in Pinnath Gelin. Some folk have all the luck."
Beleg had been left in command of the Citadel Guard at the worst possible time. All this activity made him anxious. It was much too easy for a dissident to cause mischief with so many people around. Although Gondor was not at open war at that very moment, it was still surrounded by some fairly powerful enemies.

Beleg turned away from the hustle and bustle, and gazed out from the walls. From where they stood on the parapet, the two guards could clearly see the docks at the Harlond. Not long before, the great ships bearing the blue banners of the Prince of Dol Amroth had sailed into port. The banner of the prince was a welcome sight to Beleg. Imrahil of Dol Amroth was accounted one of the most valiant men of the age, and Beleg was also looking forward to seeing his heir, Elphir.

Before receiving a commission to the Guard, Beleg had served as a soldier. To see the banner of the Silver Swan from across the battlefield, leading the charge of the cavalry of Dol Amroth, was a glorious experience. Beleg and the foot soldiers he had fought with had been saved several times by Imrahil and his Swan Knights.

Just then, Beleg's attention was called away from the sight. A messenger was running at great pace across the courtyard, and calling for him to come down.

"What is it?" Beleg asked when the messenger had halted before him, panting.

"A message from the Royal Bodyguard. His Majesty the King is missing!"

"Missing?!" Beleg could not believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that - he cannot be found anywhere. The Captain of the Royal Bodyguard wants the entire city on alert, but none of the people are to know."

"Oh, this is just great!" Beleg complained to the other guard, who had come down to see what was going on. "Those clowns in the Bodyguard have really done it this time! What about the Lady Arwen? Do they at least know where she is?!"

"She is in her chambers," answered the messenger, "under heavy guard. I must go to the stables and send messages out. You will tell the Prince for me? My thanks!"

The messenger sprinted off in the direction of the stables. Beleg looked back over his shoulder, to where Prince Imrahil and his entourage had now entered the Seventh Circle. Beleg cursed the cowardly messenger, then steeled himself and walked over towards Imrahil. But he found it more than pride would let him do. To tell the Prince of Dol Amroth that they had somehow misplaced the most important man in Gondor! Beleg spotted one of King Elessar's delegates and drew him aside. The man's face grew pale, and he gasped as Beleg told him the shocking news.
Imrahil and his men came over, and Beleg was forced to relay the bad news himself. The King's delegate seemed almost stricken with grief - very helpful indeed! Beleg stepped forward and bowed his head to Imrahil, awaiting permission to speak.

"What is it, Captain?" the Prince asked, "Tell me."

"It is the King, Lord Imrahil. He is missing, and I fear that something foul may have happened to him!"

Prince Imrahil received the news from Beleg with a grave expression on his face. He called Elphir to his side, requesting that he, with a contingent of fifty men, accompany Beleg on a sweep of the grounds to look for Aragorn. ‘And you, my Lord,’ said Elphir to his father, ‘will you be accompanying us also.’ Imrahil shook his head ‘no’, and Elphir called for twenty men to accompany his Father wherever he decided he needed to go.

‘I hardly think that necessary. I am going in to see Lady Arwen. She can help us find the King.’ Elphir, as Captain of his country’s troops stood firm. ‘Nonetheless, my Lord, until the King is found, these men will be your guard.’ He motioned forth twenty from the elite Prince's Guard and gave them their instructions. ‘I would prefer not to have to return to Dol Amroth as King, my Lord.’ he said, as he strode off with his men to begin the search with Beleg.

Imrahil and his guard approached the White Tower, accompanied by one of Beleg’s men, Deorhelm. A hurried conversation with the guards posted there revealed that Lady Arwen was not there, but in her chambers in The King’s House, just west of the tower. They strode quickly to the House and were admitted to the front hall by the guards, but could go no further.

One Linghril, advisor to the King had ordered that she not be disturbed. ‘And where is this Lhingril?’ asked Imrahil, in an icy tone. ‘The Prince of Dol Amroth insists on seeing the Queen, and will not be put off.’ Lord Imrahil’s men drew up close behind him, their hands round the grips of their blades. Twenty pair of cold grey eyes held the eyes of the few guards there, adding their weight to the request of their Prince.

Deorhelm stepped forth and spoke quickly with the guards. It would not do for blood to be shed in the royal house. Imrahil was a close friend to both the King and Queen, and Captain Beleg was even now with Lord Imrahil’s son, searching for the King. The guards relented and allowed the Prince and his men to pass up the stairs to Arwen’s chamber.

It was Lord Imrahil, himself, who knocked at the Queen’s door. ‘Lady Arwen, it is Imrahil. I have come to ask you if you know where Elessar has gone.’ He spoke loudly through the closed door. And it was but a few short moments until the door was flung open, and the pale, strained face of Arwen appeared.

‘Imrahil!’ she cried, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. Her voice was low and filled with grief as she took his hands in hers.

‘I have sought him, Imrahil. But he does not, cannot answer me. His mind is clouded, and he walks in strange dreams.’

She threw the letter, now crumpled in her hand down hard on the floor. Imrahil picked it up and read it quickly. ‘Who gave you this, my Lady?’

Her eyes blazed as she spat the name. ‘Linghril! The viper in the King’s household. His ‘advisor.’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Imrahil. ‘I did not think to test him when he maneuvered himself into a position close to the King. I thought he was one who loved Elessar and would do his bidding.’

My Lady?’ urged the Prince, willing her finish her thoughts.

But I have sought him out. His mind is hidden in shadow, and I know now he does the bidding of others.’

Imrahil turned to his men and sent two of them to seek out his son and Beleg, and to have them return quickly to the King’s House. He and the rest of his men would stay with Arwen, in her chambers, until they arrived. He positioned two men at the base of the stairs and two at the top. Two stood guard outside Arwen’s door, and four went in with them. Two to guard the inner door and two to guard the open balcony. The rest of his men were to pair up and secure the doors to the King’s House along with the King’s Royal guards. No one was to come into or leave the House without clearance from the Prince and Arwen.

His last order was given with a steely voice. ‘If Linghil is seen, he is to be subdued in any manner needed and brought to me.’

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Envinyatar]

Imrahil sat in his quarters, reviewing the news of the day. There had been no sightings of Linghil, and no further news of the King. Arwen's mind could not pierce the thick shrouds of mist which hid Elessar's thoughts and he seemed hidden in darkness with no clue to his surroundings. 'Someone other than this new "advisor", Linghil, has had a hand in this.' Imrahil turned to his son, Elphir. 'See if you and a captain of the guard can untangle who might have been plotting with Linghil to take the King. And more important, for what purpose.'

Elphir nodded his head, and ran his finger down a list of names of those "close" to the King. 'Yes, we can start here . . .'

His sentence was interrupted by loud voices from the corridor. The door was flung open and a man rushed in, dressed in the livery of the guard. Imrahil and his son stood, swords drawn to face the intruder.

'My Lord,' said the man, showing his empty hands to the Prince, 'I come from the Houses of Healing, bearing word from one who lies wounded there. One Bebberyn, of the High Guard of Dol Amroth.'

Imrahil lowered the point of his sword. 'By your face and tone I see it is ill news. Speak, man!'

[Everdawn]

Darius bowed to the Prince. "yes M'lord" he put his hands down. " Captain Bebberyn, lord. Has ridden all the way from Dol Amroth with a nasty gash on his chest this night, He said to both myself and the medicine woman, sir, Dol Amroth, It has been invaded by corsairs!"

Darius tried to break the news as best he could. "Captain Bebberyn said that all his remaining men were killed, women and children are held hostage. He requests conference with you sir."

[Carrûn]

“You spoke fondly of the sea before…have you ever sailed upon it?”

The man removed the pipe from his mouth. "Once," he said shortly. Rising slowly, he replaced his pipe in his jacket. The embers of the Sun were dying out. He turned to Rochelle. "Now is the best time, the shadows of dusk." Walking around the hilltop that had provided the small camp with cover he glanced briefly over his shoulder. "Stay low, duck & weave." Slowly, ever so slowly the two approached the city from the rear.

Upon reaching the wall the man turned so that his shoulder pressed against the wall, then began walking. Rochelle could have sword he was mumbling until she realized he was counting softly to himself. Upon reaching whatever number was accurate, he halted. Squatting down he quietly pushed aside a row of bushes. Finding the small, stream-like entrance he drew a knife and cut away the foliage. Ducking inside, he beckoned over his shoulder for Rochelle to follow.

The tunnel was dark, damp, and possessed a thick air that made movement almost dreamlike. Soon the wet ground began to give way to wet boards and then dry boards. Suddenly the man stopped. Groping forward in the darkness his hand touched the outer "wall" of the closet he had almost run into. He pushed the handle to the side softly and the wall opened. Walking into the closet the man turned and whispered - "Wait here for a minute, then follow." He then entered the Inn.

The sight that greeted his eyes was not one that a traveller would usually associate with an Inn. The fire was long dead, the tables not cleared; half-eaten food sat idly on the bar while a cat scurried across the floor into an adjacent room. All sense of life was gone. The man's face brightened somewhat when he saw the small, fat form of the Innkeeper slumped in a chair with his face away from Awrygan. He appeared to be reading or sleeping. Walking up behind him Awrygan tapped him on the shoulder. "Innkeeper..." There was no response. Quickly loosing patience the dark-tempered man grasped the other's shoulder and spun him around to face him. When he did so he stopped short. The man was dead. Moreover, his face was horribly mutilated and his wrists bore the markings of cruel bonds. Awrygan did not bother to investigate the dark stains that covered the man's shirt. Finding a spare cloak hanging in the corner of the room he covered the small figure with as much dignity as possible.

A bitter taste was in his mouth. Walking around to the back of the bar Awrygan found a rather large bottle and a glass. Sitting down at a table he was in the process of pouring himself a drink as Rochelle cautiously rounded the corner. She looked at him quizzically and he shrugged and nodded towards the still form in the corner. “I don’t think we’ll be staying here as long as planned. They appeared to be wonderfully slow with him.” A dull flame was flickering in his eyes and tension resonated from his dark frame.

[Orual]

Jem had to control himself from fairly skipping to the room where he had been told the children were being kept. He could barely believe his luck. "What a fine day it is!" he cried, and was met with a few glares and one shout of "shut your trap." He ignored them, but forced himself to calm down.

The only door to the tower was through the palace, and the palace was difficult enough in and of itself to navigate. Jem had never been in a place so big. He had to ask several people before he finally found the door to the tower, at the west end of the palace.

A door worthy of the palace it was, a huge impressive thing easily half again as tall as Jem, made of good, solid oak, and with two huge iron handles. Jem wondered for a moment if he could even open it, but in the end, though he had to put all of his weight into it, he pulled it open and slipped through it, afraid the whole time that it would shut while he was halfway through and crush him.

The tower itself was fairly well-lit at the bottom level, but it was empty as far as Jem could tell. His boots made huge noises that echoed through the tower when he walked, and he winced every time his foot hit the ground. He climbed the winding staircase for a long while, counting the floors, until he hit the desired story--the fifth.

"One, two, three...four, five," Jem counted under his breath, ticking off the cells. "Six, seven, eight...nine!" He stopped in front of the ninth cell. His eyes were finally adjusted to the dark--the tower had gotten steadily darker as he had gotten higher up--and he saw the two children. His heart sank and he bit his lip. How much they reminded him of himself, and of his friends when he was growing up on the streets of Gondor. He made up his mind that, even if it didn't entirely please Yr Saldan, he would be kind to them. He leaned up to the bars, and saw the children look up at him. He did his best to smile comfortingly. "It's all right, I'm here to take care of you. My name's Jemennan, but you can call me Jem. We're probably going to be stuck together for a while, so why don't you tell me your names?"

[Rochelle]

She watched him stand and slowly moved over to where Quellë was grazing. mellon, lasto beth nîn. Andelu I ven, le ad tolthathon. Le beriathar aen ned emyn. She gave him a gentle pat and the stallion moved away, down to the stream where she had recently changed. She had never met opposition without her beloved companion, and at the temporary farewell she let out a sigh. In the same instant she set her shoulders back and looked to Awrygan.

Together they set off in silence towards Dol Amroth. The silence was broken only by the slight muttering of a masculine voice, counting paces until they reached a dank tunnel. She reached to cover her nose at the smell, not exactly pleased when she was summoned to follow. Breath was hard to come by in the dark space and she struggled not to wretch. She would not dare be seen as weak.

“Wait here for a minute, then follow."

She nodded then looked around cautiously. It was too dark to see anything, but she still wasn’t akin to the thought of being left behind in this dreadful place. The minute passed by ever so slowly, and she made her way into the inn. As she rounded the corner she noticed the man pouring himself a drink. Her brow raised at his timing then cast her eyes to the man now covered by a tattered cloak.

“Somehow their technique does not surprise me. I have had a run in with them already…they were not hospitable in the least.” She walked over to him and slid her own glass across the bar towards him. Smirking despite the recent discoveries she allowed herself to speak again. “I dare say you shall indulge and I shall not.”

When he had obliged and she had downed her portion she set the glass down. “I follow your lead, and since your plans have been altered slightly…what do you suppose we are to do now?”

[ March 08, 2003: Message edited by: Rochelle ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan finished his first glass and poured another. He looked up when Rochelle mentioined the corsairs and their "techniques." He nodded in assent. "They are effective." He looked towards the now dead Innkeeper. "He wasn't the best of men anyway." His tone was cool and calloused but it was obvious that the finding of the small man's body had bothered him.

He paused before he answered her next question. Somehow he had expected what he found and was not surprised at the need for some modifications in their planning. Prepare, Observed, Adapt. The words of his father swam through his mind briefly as he considered possiblities.

"I doubt many things will change, this was almost expected. We will proceed to the warehouses as planned, but we must proceed with additional caution." He held the bottle out to her but she declined. He grinned, pouring his third and final glass. Facing the dead man he raised his drink - "My compliments, the wine was fine as always." Turning back to Rochelle he spoke slowly. "I am going to stay here until it is as dark as possible, then I will take a brief walk to obvserve the area. Tomorrow we will decide the best way to get to the warehouses."

[Rochelle]

She took the time to cautiously explore the inn. The shades were drawn, but outside she could tell that it was dark. She risked a slight glance through a slit and saw that the road was bare. "The city appears to be sleeping..." She sighed and her thoughts drifted momentarily to Quellë, hoping he was keeping himself out of trouble.

She moved from the window and sat down at one of the many tables. Her fingers drummed idly on the rough wood as the recent events rolled through her mind. Her arm was aching and she undid the bandage, thankful to find it healing well. She rewrapped it before pulling the black cloak about her.

She had stayed away from the dead form but her nose now could not stray from the stench. "I think we should put him in another room...he's starting to stink."

[Hirilaelin]

Narwen was escorted up to the quarters of Yr Saldin by several armed guards. They stepped forward, and knocked on the door. After a moments pause, a voice called from within. "Yes? What do you want?" The lead guard answered swiftly. "The captain Narwen is here to see you." Another pause, then the door was opened. Yr Saldin stood in the doorway.

He nodded to the guards, who went swiftly away, and welcomed Narwen inside. He took a bottle of rich red wine down from a high shelf and poured two glasses. Giving one to her, he addressed her. "What brings you to see me captain? Have you made a descision on my offer?"

"Yes, I have," Narwen replied. "Well?" Yr Saldin prompted. Narwen fingered her glass, watching it rotate, the liquid within glowing in the sun, the crystal sparkling. "I have spent much thought on the matter, and I have decided that such a position would we one that I am glad to accept. Will you have me?"

[ March 10, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

After being thrown in a cell together, Rolan and Gil's restraints were removed, and the people who had brought them there left. Walking to the door of the jail-like chamber, Rolan pressed his face against and between the two bars closest to the left side of the children's cell.

"Can you see anything?" Gil asked, with not a hint of fear or surprise in her voice.

"Nothing. Well...except that we're in cell number-nine...I think that's the number. I can't quite see it totally," Rolan kicked the bars and retreated back to the far wall of the cell to sit next to his sister.

"I'll bet anything your toes hurt really bad now..." Gil taunted, and muffled a giggle. It was true...his toes did throb a bit after having given the metal a hard kick.

"They do not!" Rolan replied like a five-year old. He lied like a five-year old too, very unconvincingly. "Anyways...look on the bright side-"

"What bright side? You can hardly see in this place!" Gil interrupted Rolan. She smiled, and Rolan's angry stare turned to one of forgiveness.

"Anyway, at least we're in cell number nine. That's a lucky number," Rolan continued matter-of-factly. Yet, other than that, Rolan could find nothing good about the place or being there.

"Nine is not a lucky number. Three and seven are lucky numbers. Since when is nine a lucky number? Aren't you a little old for lucky numbers anyway?" Rolan hushed Gil's chatter, as he heard footsteps coming down the stone hall. A man came...skipping up to Gil and Rolan's cell, and looked at the two, then smiled.

"It's all right, I'm here to take care of you. My name's Jemennan, but you can call me Jem. We're probably going to be stuck together for a while, so why don't you tell me your names?"

Turning to Gil, Rolan raised a skeptical eyebrow. Gil nodded, and smiled a mischievious smile. Turning back to this Jem, Rolan said nothing, and only lifted his chin.

[Carrûn]

Awrygan nodded for his companion's benefit, although a dead corpse was not the highest on his mental list of priorities. Sighing, he walked over to the small form wrapped in the tattered cloak. He picked it up with little effort as the man seemed to weigh less in death than life, as if the freeing of his spirit had removed all physical restraints except for the skin.

Passing Rochelle he muttered "I have to do this too often." The memory of the guard on the hilltop was still fresh in his mind. He carried the corpse to a nearby table, cleared it, and set the man down. Taking a shade from one of the windows he wrapped the Innkeeper in some form of a funeral shroud as best he could. Tossing the man over his shoulder he picked up a container of pitch and some kindling from the now cold fireplace. He re-entered the tunnel and left the Inn.

It was quite some time when he returned. He found Rochelle where she had been, standing by a window idly drumming her fingertips. She turned as he took his seat by the bar. "He is blazing merrily in the woods, bless him. I had thought of using the fireplace but it would draw attention and the smell of burning flesh is rather unpleasant." He was talking in his half-serious, half-joking method.

He rose, and walked to the window where she stood. Drawing a corner of the blinds aside he glanced out. All was black in the streets of Dol Amroth. A dog could be heard in the distance but that was all. He turned to Rochelle and grinned. "I for one, am going to have a look around. Would you care to entertain me with your company?" A ranger, be they experienced or not is preferable at my back to a corsair. His face smiled but his eyes hid dark thoughts and a dark, troubled past. He had little love for the far South and less for its inhabitants.

[Sadbh]

Gil raised her eyebrows at the man who had appeared before there door. She shrugged and turned her head away, glancing at Rolan. She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling at her brother's defiant glare. Why indeed whould they wish to tell any of their captor's their names? She grinned devilishly and replied to the man's question with an air of sarcasm.

"I'm myself, that's him, and the reason we're stuck together for a while is because you and your lot have stuck us here. And if you call throwing us in a dark little room taking care of us, you're doing an excellent job." She scowled and turned to face her brother again. He rolled his eyes at her.

"Is there anything else you need, or may we talk?" Gil returned her gray, quizzical gaze to the young man's confused face. "Well?"

[Orual]

Jem frowned at the children's hostility. He had been nice, hadn't he? But they were children, after all, and imprisoned in a strange place. Their reactions told him at least that they were strong-willed young people; for many, a kind voice in a frightening situation would be enough to send a child into tears. Then he smiled. He probably would have said the same thing to an adult when he was a child.

"All right, Myself," he said, following the girl's introductions just to irritate her. "I welcome you and Him to our humble abode." He gave an exaggerated bow. "And please believe me when I say that you've better surroundings than many of us have most of the time, and though from your finery I can tell that you're likely used to a comfortable bed, warm blankets and a soft pillow, right now you've got a roof over your head if nothing else. You can go on talking if you'd like. But I'm such a villain, as you can tell from my vicious face, so you'd better be careful what you say--don't give away too much, right? I don't need anything else now that can't wait, and I'm not going anywhere, whether you'd like me to or not. I can sit here for a long time. This is my only assignment." Jem took a seat on the floor and looked evenly at the children. "Choose for yourselves what you want to do. I could care less."

[Maegaladiel]

Lhingril prowled restlessly through the dark halls of his underground maze. In one of his nastier moods, the dark wizard spoke angry words to the surrounding darkness.

"They know. They KNOW!" he spat. Everyone in Gondor knew of his betrayal to the King. As far as he could tell, his faithful assistant Barahil's role in the kidnapping remained undiscovered, but he himself had been found out. Now, for the moment, anyways, he was trapped here in his own web of tunnels. He could not leave these caverns until it was time for the final assault on Gondor, when he could steal the throne for himself. If he left too early, he ran the risk of being captured by some idiot guard.

A rat scurried across Lhingril's path. Baring his teeth, the wizard kicked the unfortunate creature, sending it flying down the hallways into the darkness ahead of him. It landed somewhere to his left with a disgruntled squeal.

He had kept King Aragorn drugged ever since his kidnapping to prevent Lady Arwen from locating him mentally, but he still feared that the resourceful Queen would discover another way to find her husband.

Soon, however, no one--not even the Queen and Prince Imharil combined--would be able to stop him from becoming King of Minias Tirith. In the matter of a few days, a week at most, Lhingril's spider army would be old and strong enough to destroy any opposition Gondor tried to place against him. He would be invincible!

A dark smile crossed his face as the thought entered his mind. King Lhingril. It did have a nice ring to it.

The rat squealed once more as a spider pounced on it. Its last cry was abrubtly silenced as Lhingril's 'children' began to feed.

[Envinyatar]

"I have spent much thought on the matter, and I have decided that such a position would we one that I am glad to accept. Will you have me?" Narwen spoke firmly to Yr Saldan, less of a question than a deferential acceptance of the leader’s offer.

‘I am very pleased that you have said this! But my plans for you have changed just a little.’ He pulled the map of Gondor and the Bay of Belfalas from its tube and spread it flat on the table. ‘We cannot afford to have you and your ships move up the Ringló River.’ He traced a route from the dock at Dol Amroth to Tolfalas, the isle just at the entrance to the Anduin River. ‘This is where Khazdifir and his ships are bound. I want you to take a letter to him and join your small fleet to his.’

He pointed upriver to Minas Anor. ‘Trusted sources here have sent me messages that those who hired us for this diversion will soon be moving to secure their seat of power in the White City. Aragorn has been kidnapped, and perhaps even killed by now, and the city is in disarray, leaving only the Queen and Prince Imrahil to deal with the chaos.’

There was a certain gleam in his eyes as he tapped his thick finger on the port just south of Minas Anor. ‘There is no reason we should not partake in the spoils due us for our assistance in this matter. The riches of Gondor are many. And Minas Anor is a fat goose ready for our plucking. The Prince and his troops and the troops of the King will be engaged in the battle for the city. If we sail swiftly up the river we can reach it in a fortnight. Disguise the ships as we did when we sailed into port here, as merchant vessels. Do not stop along the way to take on supplies, or let yourselves be seen closely by the peoples in the settlements along the way.’

He tapped his finger once again on Minas Anor, his thick yellowed nail seeming to pierce the heart of it. ‘Take what you can, in any way that you must and bring the treasures of the White City back to me.’

[Rochelle]

Her eyes followed him as he set on removing the innkeeper. She would have offered to help if she felt he would have accepted it. So instead she sat and watched, and then was left in solitude. She sighed and stood, walking towards the staircase that lead to the rooms above. Slowly she climbed, pausing at the top to look out the tiny window. It was too dark to make anything out.

She continued on and entered one of the rooms. The windows faced north, and she stood looking out for quite some time, until she noticed a red flame lick the sky behind the hill. Her brow furrowed before she realized it must be Awrygan's burial methods. She exited the room and walked across the hall, looking out the window that faced south this time.

She squinted in an attempt to see better, and she noticed movement towards the harbor. Perhaps it was a stray, or a wandering townsperson looking for any other living being. She pursed her lips and exited, returning downstairs.

She looked up from her window perch as the man made his entrance once more. She smirked with a slight nod as he mentioned the innkeeper's cremation. He soon joined her and in turn looked outside.

Would you care to entertain me with your company?

She nodded, "I was wondering when you would deem in necessary to venture out. I'm afraid I've grown a bit restless in the short hour." She smiled then drew her hood to cover the brightness of her hair. "Shall we exit where we entered or do you have yet another interesting pathway to follow?"