[Regin Hardhammer]

Azarmanô looked approvingly as Inzillomi smashed the head of a guard against the cell bars and poured something down his throat. Perhaps he had underestimated her, for he did not expect her to be so well prepared. Thoronmir disposed of the third one quickly as he thrust his sword into the guard’s stomach, through an exposed point in the plate mail. Azarmanô now loaded his bow a second time and shot the lone remaining guard. The guard leapt in an effort to dodge the arrow, but was struck in the leg and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Azarmanô prepared to finish him off with one well placed shot, but restrained himself. He shunned unnecessary bloodshed and felt that the guard would not harm anyone in his present condition. After taking the guard’s sword, Azarmanô motioned to the rest of the party that it was time to proceed.

As he glanced back at his companions he was alarmed to see that Abarzadan was not among those present. Azarmanô was surprised by this, particularly because he had seen Abarzadan mere moments before the fight began standing by his side. In the turmoil of combat, Azarmanô had not given much attention to the whereabouts of the rest of the party. It did not seem unlikely that Abarzadan could have easily escaped, but the real question was why. Could he, at this moment, be reporting to the enemy, notifying all the temple of their whereabouts? Azarmanô had come to expect suspicious behavior from Abarzadan, and this disappearance seemed to confirm his fears.

“We can not wait to see if our elusive friend will return. We must go forward,” he announced decisively.

He turned to look expecting to see the black sacrificial altar, where he suspected Abârpânarú was being led, but saw that the door had been closed. It must have been shut while we fought from inside, he thought. Quickly, he ran forward, grasped the iron door handle firmly, and pulled hard. Azarmanô cursed in desperation as he realized that the door had been locked. He tried to use his bronze high security key to open the sealed entrance, but the key would not turn.

Consumed with anger, desperation, and urgency, he shouted “Thoronmir crack open this door with your sword. An axe would do the job better but I have none. Make haste for more than one life is in jeopardy within.”

Thoronmir swung his long sword, but the blade merely made several cuts in the wood and the door was very thick. Azarmanô battled the ideas flowing through his mind that the effort was futile and Abârpânarú’s doom imminent. Suddenly, a low rumbling noise began reverberating through the hallway. Subdued at first, the sound grew louder until it reached a tremendous roar. The ground beneath his feet began to quiver and small rocks came crashing down from the ceiling. At first, these things had seemed strange to Azarmanô, but now he understood. The beginning of the demise, the harbinger of destruction, the end that he had dreaded but known one day would come was upon them. The Island of Numenor was drowning, sinking into the vast ocean Azarmanô loved so well.