[littlemanpoet]

littlemanpoet's post

When they halted for a brief time, Mabalar and Inzillomí went straight to their daughter. She had been grievously wounded; her face was pale, and she fought for consciousness.

"We must dress the wound!" Inzi said. She tore strips from her own dress, shortening it from anke length to knee, and wrapped the bands around the knife wound in Kâthaanî's side.

"Lord," cried Tíru, "let me remove your chains!"

"There is no time now. My friends!" he called to all of them. "The island and tongue of the Adûnaic are now cursed because of the evil of the king and his men in following Sauron. From now on, all of my house must be called by their Sindarin names. I am Mabalar Mellothroch. My wife is Lothlómë. My life work is the care of the mearas. Speak to me and mine in Sindarin only, or you will not be answered." He looked from one to the next of them as his words laid hold upon them.

Just then, Thoronmir gave warning: they were being followed.

"Mabalar, part of the dagger must be embedded in the wound," said Lothlómë.

"There is no time now, though my heart misgives me if we do not remove it soon. Ride and outrun them!"

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

Himaran's post


As he rushed out out onto the winding stairwell, Abarzadan heard the main door to the estate crash open. Crouching, he peered over the railing and watched as heavily armed guards poured into the atrium. The reason for Abadana's disappearance instantly became clear. But what to do? An armour-plated captain shouted orders to his men and they started up the staircase. There was no way to go but up. Keeping his head low, Abarzadan ascended on his belly, scrambling as quickly as his four limbs would carry him. The pounding footsteps behind him grew close, than faded into the study. Not much time. Forgetting any preconcieved notions of stealth, the man threw caution to the wind, stood, and bounded up to the next level.

Betrayed. The whole affair had been a farce, starting with his "unexpected" meeting with Ellinel. She recognized the name, ensnared him with her charm and appearance, and brought him to her father for the slaughter. As the man continued his unconventional escape, he vowed to cheat them again, just as his father had so many years before. Bursting through a nearby door, Abarzadan found himself in a loud, steamy and bustling kitchen. Cooks and porters yelled with surprise as he leaped over a counter and tore threw an array of stoves, kicking and tipping over various barrels and cauldrons in his mad flight. A lone, enraged worker brandishing a knife blocked his exit, but slowing down was no longer an option for the man. He waited until the last possible second before snatching an empty kettle, knocking the implement aside and fleeing from the scene. Slamming the door behind him, Abarzadan jammed it with a nearby stool before turning and finding himself at a dead end.

The window.

Snatching a broom from its customary place on the wall, he smashed the expensive but delicate glass and glanced out. He was two stories above the ground, too far up to jump. Unlike the stories he had often read as a child, there was no tall haywagon conveniently sitting just below him. Shouting behind him, someone shoving on the door.

Then he saw the pipe.

Naturally, any wealthy man's house would have a functional sewer system, and this one was no exception. The waste must run down, so... Careful of the remaining glass, Abarzadan clasped both arms around the thick clay cylinder and pulled his body out with them. Then he started sliding. The stool was knocked aside. Guards swarmed in, found an empty room with a broken window, and looked out. There was no one in sight.

Documents in hand, Abarzadan sprinted down the street. Locals eyed him briefly before sighing, turning and continuing with their business. A tremble sent him tumbling to the earth, but he pulled himself up and hurried unward. Where was he going? Up ahead, the man saw the crown of the temple. Perhaps even now as he hurried towards it, his past companions were being bled or burned to death on one of its pagan alters. There was absolutely no logical reason to head towards it, especially now that he had escaped two deathtraps in the same day. Yet something, a force not dark or sinister, seemed to be drawing him to it. Maybe the Valar wish for me to make a stand. Maybe it is my time.

But Kali, waiting alone in the shadow of the temple, knew better.