[Ransom]

To Sir Thagon Kestner and Leena Midthun:

Greetings and may the blessings of Namo and Nienna be upon you. A matter of some importance has come up concerning an enclave in the Swan Wood in Dor-En-Ernil. A band of raiders have been slaughtering the inhabitants, and word of their plight has reached the ears of King Elessar. The matriarch of the enclave has requested aid from Gondor.

You will proceed to the assembly point in the central square of the abandoned town of Calembel. So far, we have not been able to determine the identity of these raiders. Aid the group in their quest with the normal restrictions. Only make formal contact with the Hosts in case of a dire emergency. Travel as a knight of the Order and show the King’s subjects his fist.

Valar bless,
Lord Ecthal, Chapter Master of the Order of the Red Rose
Minas Anor

***
Leena Midthun cursed long and loudly as she ran her favorite ivory comb through tangled black hair. She was a city girl, and a week of tramping around the countryside did not agree with her. If that wasn’t bad enough, the bedroll she had used in her teenage years no longer fit her six foot two inch frame. Her normally pretty face was marred by a deep scowl, and her steel gray eyes blazed as if she had received some mortal insult. Finally satisfied with her appearances, the Gondorian woman took a few deep breaths. On a whole, the priestesses of Nienna were fairly calm and soft spoken, and an ill-timed curse would not help her public image.

She idly smoothed a few wrinkles out of the simple gray dress she wore. It had an annoying tendency to get caught underfoot in a fight, but more than one man had earned a sound beating after mistaking her for easy pickings. The suit of chain mail she had hidden under her cloathing clinked softly as she attached the sheath of her Schlaeger to her belt. Leena had received the weapon from her godmother after her first mission for the Order, and she had valued it every since. She gripped the hilt, the embrace of the heavy iron basket on the pommel somewhat comforting. It made a slight rasping sound as it slid out of its sheath. Outwardly, the weapon resembled the fencing foils so popular with young nobles. In truth, the steel blade was just as deadly as the bastard sword her friend used.

After taking a few experimental swings with the weapon, Leena gracefully returned it to her sheath before glancing around the campsite. Their cooking gear and tent were safely packed on the back of their pack horse, and the fire pit had been filled in. Cheery rays of light began to peel back the last vestiges of night as the sun began to rise. In an action that seemed completely out of character, Leena turned toward the still dark western horizon and began to sing in a soft voice. The ancient hymn had no words, but the sad melody reminded those who listened about the Weeping Goddess.

Sir Thagon Kestner bowed his head and muttered a silent prayer before turning his attention back to his equipment. One of the first lessons members of the Order of the Black Rose learned was to reserve a special time during the day for devotions. While he performed devotions first thing after waking up, Leena had always been partial to the sunrise. The knight’s six foot four inch body, built somewhat like a small bear, began to cast a long shadow in the new sunlight. Turgon idly pulled his black hair into a rough ponytail before placing his helm on his head. This helm, while made of fine black steel, was crafted in the same design as the mirthil helms of the Citadel Watch, had saved his life more than once.

The knights of the Order of the Black Rose had long ago dismissed plate armor as too clumsy and too heavy for extended field use. Instead, the servants of Gondor wore a collection of chain mail and steel plates often referred to as partial plate armor. Thagon’s chain mail hauberk hung halfway down to his knees, allowing him enough freedom of movement to quickly mount a horse. A pair of black steel greaves were strapped over his boots, reaching from his ankle to his knees. His large hands were enclosed in black steel gauntlets, and a pair of black bracers extending from his wrist to his elbows protected his forearms. The breastplate, like every other piece of steel on his body, was black. While mostly unadorned, the insignia of the White Tower on a white shield that marked him as a member of the elite Citadel Watch was clearly engraved in the middle of the black steel plate.

While Thagon was a firm believer that practicality was beauty, he had allowed himself a small indulgence today. A dark red cape with a large black rose embroidered in the center fell from a pair of silver clasps on his shoulder, silently moving in the morning breeze. The back scabbard that normally housed his bastard sword was protruded from behind the cape at the hip and the right shoulder, though it was empty at the moment. The blade of the knight’s bastard sword was four feet six inches of razor sharp steel. While the hilt and crosspiece was rather simple, his proud parents had paid a local silversmith to guild their son’s sword, a gesture of kindness that their son would not soon forget. After critically examining the edges of the sword once more, he strapped a shield with the crest of the Order to his left hand. With a grace born of years of practice, he pulled himself onto Garion, his brown warhorse’s back.

Leena, having just completed her morning meditation, quickly mounted her white palfrey and cast a mocking look at her friend. “Well, my dear knight and protector, lead the way. You smell like a rusty iron kettle, so don’t look too surprised if I try to stay upwind of you.

***

Thagon gently patted the nose of white palfrey that Leena rode. Unlike its mistress, it was a gentle beast and not given to the prancing and dancing of its younger relatives. Despite her dress, the task of searching for a possible ambush had fallen on Leena, and Thagon would have to find some way to pass the time until she returned. The knight double-checked the knots securing the three hourses to a nearby tree before wandering into the ruins of a stone house on the outskirts of town. His right hand scrapped against a wall, its metal covering tearing out a good-sized piece of moss. Despite the years of ruin, some black soot (or was it soil?) remained on the stones. Frowning, Thagon pondered on how the village had been abandoned. Had the village been raided by orcs during the War of the Ring? Did a band of bandits fall on the town before being captured by the Hosts? Or had commerce simply died out?

Dropping the clump of moss with a sudden revulsion, the knight turned and briskly walked back to Garion. The warhorse barely paid any heed to his master as Thagon dug through one of the saddlebags on the campaign saddle. His fingers drew the broad-bladed spear point into the light. Eschewing the effective but clumsy lances of Dol Amroth, the Order’s combat doctrine borrowed heavily from the cavalry of Rohan. The shaft of the spear had been snapped in the last large engagement that Thagon had participated in, and the Gondorian had yet to remount the head. A unit of twenty knights of the Order, traveling from Dol Amroth to Gondor, stumbled on a group of bandits indulging the darker impulses of human nature on a village. The knights had charged through the village, reformed, and charged back, killing all thirty foes in less than five minutes. He could still remember the bodies of children lying in the streets, their small bodies illuminated by the fires that consumed many of the houses. Why does there always have to be fire?

Dismissing his moment of silent melancholy, the knight put the spear point back into the saddlebag. He would have to find a suitable shaft when they reached the Swan Woods, and that would be the end of it. Chain mail clinked against steel as Thagon spun, his hand automatically reaching for the hilt of his sword.

Leena’s face bore a look of almost girlish innocence as she stepped out from the ruins of the house Thagon had been examining. Her eyes, however, danced with a mocking mirth not unlike a wolf who had just cornered its prey. “Would you strike a priestess of your order?”

Thagon’s hands quickly untied their animals before he turned to face his friend. “Leena, you’re a priestess for the duration of this mission. Please remember that Elenna had trouble keeping a straight face during the ceremony, and all twenty knights currently in the chapter house were laughing their heads off outside the chapel.”

“Be nice of I’ll bore you to death with one of my sermons,” retorted the girl, her lips creasing into a pout.

Thagon grunted and strapped his shield to his left arm. While the protection offered by a shield was comforting, its weight was an annoyance. “Fine. I take it the ruins are clear?”

Leena nodded as she mounted her horse. “The only souls here are gathered in the town square. A whole bunch of men, a girl, and a spattering of elves.”
***

The sound of a horse galloping through the ruined streets of the dead town caused the hodgepodge of adventurers to look up from the various tasks. A few undoubtedly had dozed off, storing away sleep for days and weeks ahead. Others exchanged banter and stories as they waited for the messenger from the Swan Woods. Still others cared for their equipment, sharpening weapons and oiling armor. Thagon critically examined the blade of his main gauche before returning it and a sharpening stone to the respective compartments on his belt. With a grunt of exertion, the knight pulled himself to his feet. It was no small matter to stand when wearing metal armor.

Leena’s busy fingers pulled the needle in and out of Thagon’s black traveling cloak, deftly closing a rip caused by passing a tree at full gallop. Finally satisfied with her work, she returned her working materials to the packhorse. The revelation that his fiery partner sewed had come as a great shock to Thagon. He had spent weeks attempting to reconcile this sedate hobby with its unusual owner, finally coming to the conclusion that it was simply an act. Leena smiled to herself as she watched him draw his bastard sword for the third time in ten minutes. In truth, she did like to sew. It gave her something to do when not working. She idly tucked a few strands of stray hair behind an ear before joining the others in their vigil

The conversation and activity slowly came to a stop as man and elf waited with baited breath. They were not disappointed this time. Thagon’s eyes immediately began to observe her, probing for weaknesses or habits that could be exploited. It wasn’t that he disliked her, but he taught long ago that a little fore planning never hurt anyone. He noted that both the horse and mistress looked exhausted from their journey. Either she was seriously overestimating the danger, or the threat had increased since the Order had heard of their plight. Her choice of vocabulary was unexpected, but not unusual. He made a mental note to inquire about that later.

Leena watched as Jesslyn and Cartil greeted each other, her gray eyes brimming with some interest. In her option, the girls and ladies of Minas Anor had grown a trifle soft. Jess was brimming with zeal and not afraid of adventure, two traits Leena appreciated. Cartil, on the other hand, might prove an interesting challenge. The Order hadn’t been informed that the king would be sending a representative. But such thoughts could wait. Leena breathed deeply waited for Laurel to inquire about their identities again.

“Who art thou?”

“Greeting, Lady of Alphirion. My name is Leena Midthun, priestess of the Weeping Goddess. Rumors of your plight have reached the ear of one of Nienna’s servants. Her heart was greatly troubled, and she ordered her followers to assist you in any way you need. I will be the first to admit that I am not militant by nature, but I will aid you in any way possible.”

Thagon suppressed a boyish grin as he listened to Leena speak. She could normally speak circles around the head of any mortal, but her performance today was dazzling. Never the one to allow an opportunity to pass, Thagon immediately followed up on her speech.

“And I, Lady Laurel, am Sir Thagon Kestner of the Order of the Black Rose. The priestess has ordered me to aid you in your quest along with Lady Midthun. By the will of Namo, my blade will aid you in the protection of your home.”

[ March 02, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]