Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[Mithadan]

Kalir stood uneasily before the doors of Falasmir's chambers. Members of the Guard had rushed up to the palace even before dawn to report on the fire at the docks. But Kalir had elected to wait before awakening his Lord with the terrible news. Instead he first visited the chambers where the Gondorian Captain and his first mate had been housed. His unease, which had blossomed at the report of the fire, grew as he discovered that none of the guards were at their post and settled into a cold fear in the pit of his stomach when he found that their "guests" were not in their chambers.

He located a captain of the Guard and ordered him to find Mithadan, Airefalas and their guards...any or all of them. Then he received more news from the docks, little of it good. The two great corsairs had been destroyed in the fire and many members of their crew lost. The blaze had turned a portion of the docks into smoking debris and had also damaged or destroyed two warehouses. The northern portion of the harbor was nearly impassable due to ships which had run afoul of one another in their haste to escape. The good news was that the fire had been confined to the docks and had not entered the city itself. However, the worst news of all was that the northerners' ship was gone. Some said that it had fled the blaze, but Kalir noted that it had not returned or anchored in safe waters.

So now Kalir stood outside his master's doors, the bearer of ill-tidings. With a shaking hand, he knocked on the door. There was no response. He knocked again, then slowly opened the door. Falasmir was stretched out upon his bed with one of his wives...the new one... where he was snoring loudly. Kalir approached carefully, then reached out to tap his Lord's shoulder. "My Lord..." he whispered. Then he tapped again.

Falasmir spluttered and rolled over, seizing a curved knife from under his pillow as he stood and turned to face Kalir. Then he straightened slowly with a frown on his face. "What," he shouted. "Is so important that you could not wait for me to arise on my own, fool!" The shout woke Falasmir's young wife, who drew the sheets up about her and rushed off to a dressing room with a fearful glance at her husband.

"I bear ill news my Lord," stammered Kalir. He spoke quickly, telling Falasmir of the fire, the damage done and the departure of the Lonely Star, apparently with its captain and first mate. The Lord of Umbar's face turned white, then darkened until it was red as a beet. "Treason!" he screamed. "Treachery and piracy! Have every corsair capable of getting underway take sail and find the Gondorians! Send our ships west and south as well as north. I want prisoners! I want to slay Mithadan myself!"

Kalir bowed and beat a hasty retreat, relieved in part that Falasmir had not slain him in his fury. Within an hour, five corsairs had set sail with full complements of slaves working their oars...

[Nerindel]

Korpúlfr

A thunderous knock abruptly woke The young Maenwaith Merchant from his sleep and he was dismayed to see that he had yet again fallen asleep at his desk, “Hmm two nights in a row!” he wearily sighed, gently rolling his neck and rubbing at his shoulder muscles in an attempt to work out the stiffness he now felt. Again came the knock, louder and with much more urgency attached to it. “Come” he called, still rubbing at his stiff muscles.

“Ah, Hasrim” he started but seeing the grim seriousness reflected in his cousin‘s eyes he stopped, letting his hand slowly drop from his neck.

“What’s happened?” he asked gesturing for the older man to take a seat, Hasrim refused with shake of his head, “There is not time, you must listen.” Frowning Korpulfr nodded and gestured for him to continue.

“Not knowing what form Tinar would assume to follow our guests, I choose to follow instead the trail of the Gondorians and their escorts, knowing that if I followed them I would eventually find the boy,” Hasrim quickly explained. Korpulfr nodded seeing the logic in his cousin’s choice and continued to listen as his older cousin went on.

“It seems that after leaving here they took a walk to the Bazaar, where they seemingly gave their inebriated guards the slip. Their trail then became lost in the crowd but I managed to picked it up again heading north, I assume thinking they would reach the docks. However, they took the wrong turning and ended up travelling south. This is were I picked up another trail the paw marks of a dog defiantly following those of our guests, “ Hasrim Paused, looking up at him for confirmation that the paw prints would have been those of young Tinar. Korpulfr nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, Tinar does from time to time take the form of a sandy coloured mongrel.”

Confirmation received Hasrim continued, “Here they ran into a little trouble, Bandits most likely, but they seemingly had no problem in dispatching all three, before moving on back the way they had come. It was then that I saw the smoke rising from the direction of the docks.” Again Korpulfr nodded his head, “Yes we too saw the smoke and witnessed the escape of the Gondorian ship, but if what you say is true then the captain and his first mate where not aboard.”

“No they're not!” Hasrim continued darkly, “I continued to follow their trail, back towards the market, to an inn… the Cats Paw, were it seems they acquired some camels and headed out of the city towards the caves just north of here.”

“And Tinar?” Korpulfr prompted.

“I lost his trail, he must have shifted to another form,” his cousin replied shaking his head regretfully. “I search for over an hour but to no avail. With the dawn fast approaching, I decided to return, knowing that with the fire at the docks Falasmir would send his men here and that any sudden absence would be looked upon with suspicion.”

“You did the right thing cousin,” Korpulfr assured. “However I do not believe that Tinar’s foolhardiness will sit well with his mother and as he was our guest some of her irritation will undoubtedly fall on us. Hasrim solemnly nodded his head in silent agreement.

“I do not know what the boy could have been thinking going off into the desert without so much as a by or leave and with no food or water how far does he expect to get!” Hasrim snapped irritably.

“If the Gondorians have any sense they will make for the Harad road and leave these lands as quickly as possible and with any luck Tinar will see this and return immediately.” Korpulfr reasoned, but Hasrim did not agree, “Their tracks indicated that they were searching for something or someone!” he said shaking his head ruefully.

“Damn!” Korpulfr snorted, his patience finally spent; he slammed his hands down heavily upon his desk. “Then I will have to go to the palace and inform Wyrma personally of this recent development, and hope that I catch her in a decidedly better frame of mood than I currently find myself.” he said, looking up from his desk where he was carefully contemplated his next move.

Before his cousin could offer an opinion on the matter the door to his office burst open admitting a large burly dark skinned man wearing the livery of Lord Falasmir‘s personal Guards and behind him were several others, he watched as the decidedly smaller figure of Asrim irritably pushed his way past the larger men.

“I tried to stop them,” he offered apologetically, “But they were most insistent!” he continued looking frostily at the lead guard, who was obviously their captain and who he had just noticed was standing with his sword in hand.

“We are here by orders of Lord Falasmir!” the Captain put in authoritatively.

Korpulfr shook his head as if not understanding and the captain continued, “Lord Falasmir would like to have a word with you concerning your dinner guests of the previous evening.”

“The Gondorians?” Korpulfr asked still seeming confused. But the captain simply nodded offering no more on the matter and stood waiting for him to conceded to his Lords request.

“What is this about?” Korpulfr prompted.

“You mean you have not heard?” the Captain replied his eyes narrowing, watching him suspiciously.

“Know what?” he asked impatiently, looking to Asrim who he knew would play along.

“Again I must apologise cousin I was just coming to tell you about the attack on the docks when these gentlemen arrived,” he replied giving the captain another condescending look.

“Attacked! But by who… oh, wait a minute you don’t think that…. Oh, no they seemed so friendly and forth coming regarding our trading propositions.” Korpulfr finished feigning disappointment.

“We don’t think, we know!” The Captain scowled darkly, obliviously annoyed that he seemed more concerned about losing a profitable business deal than the destruction and loss of life at the docks.

“Oh, this is terrible, I will off course help in anyway that I can!” he offered.

The captain nodded obviously satisfied with this reply, “Then you will not mind if a few of my men remain to question your household !” he said as Korpulfr reached for his jacket, his tone of voice implying that it was not a question but rather a statement of fact. Korpulfr nodded accordingly, eyeing the captain suspiciously, “I do hope you are not implying that any of my people had any thing to do with the Gondorians unprovoked attack on the city, I assure you that when they left they were in the capable hands of several of your own guards!”

“Off course not!” the large man hissed though gritted teeth, “It is purely a procedure as you and your people were the last to see these traitors before their utterly unprovoked attack!” the captain barked utterly incensed by Korpulfr's reminder of his mens failure.

Korpulfr nodded accepting the captains assurances, “Then be my guest, neither myself or any of my household have anything to hide,” he said putting on his jacket and then turning to Hasrim he told him to make sure that everyone gave their full cooperation to the captains men. But his eyes gave a warning that every Maenwaith knew well, one that told the beholder to remain cautious.

Turning Korpulfr confidently left the room allowing Falasmir’s captain to escort him to the palace through the smoky haze that seemed to blanketed the city in the aftermath of the Gondorians attack.

[Mithadan]

It was late morning before Falasmir knocked upon the door of Wyrma's chambers. One of her guards opened the door and nodded as he allowed Falasmir to enter. The burly guard led Falasmir to a sitting room where he gestured to a chair as he turned to summon his mistress. Falasmir waited with ill-concealed impatience for Wyrma to appear. To his annoyance, it seemed that she took her own time before the door to her rooms opened and she entered, followed by two guards. Falasmir shot to his feet and began to speak as she approached him.

"The Gondorians..." he began.

She interrupted him with a wave. "I have heard," she said. "I warned you against this game that you played."

"We must catch them," he continued.

"So?" she replied. "I assume that you have sent out your ships?"

"Yes," he answered. "But we would apprehend the criminals much faster if we knew precisely where they were. Perhaps your people could help? Locate them, I mean?"

Wyrma's eyes narrowed. "My people are my concern," she said in a low voice. "I would not have them reveal themselves now. It is too early. But this is a moot point. There are none here in Umbar who can take the form of a bird great enough to fly so far."

"But you..." Falasmir began.

"Me?" Wyrma retorted with a laugh. "If I would not have any of my people reveal themselves in the shape of a bird, what makes you think that I would reveal myself? Think of how your people would panic! No, you will have to catch them by sea or not at all."

"But they return to Gondor!" he hissed.

"So?" she replied. "It will take them seven days or more to travel that distance. By that time all will have been done! You worry too much, Falasmir, my dear. And you should have more confidence in your mighty corsairs!"

He nodded, but her scorn burned his ears...

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

One corsair went south against the possibility that the Lonely Star would seek to evade them and hide in some quiet cove. The second went west. The third set out to the north-west and the remaining two made for the north, one travelling just off-shore and the second a mile further out to sea. The black sails billowed and the drums beat rapidly marking time for the oarsmen below. Even so, two days past and no sign of the Gondorian vessel was seen.

It was late in the afternoon of the third day when a man in the crowsnest of the Southern Storm caught sight of a distant sail, far to the north. Through a dark night, the Southern Storm and its sister ship, the Black Wind, sped over the waves. In the morning of the fourth day, the sail was closer and my early afternoon the corsairs had closed enough to see that it was indeed the Lonely Star. Still, it was late in the day before the Southrons drew close. The men of the Lonely Star appeared to be working feverishly with something on its stern.

The Black Wind drew within bowshot of the northerners and its men, armed and ready, arrayed themselves upon her deck. The drums beat a rapid tempo as the slaves below strained to bring their ship closer to their quarry. Aboard the Lonely Star, several sailors heaved something overboard from the stern of the vessel. The captain of the Black Wind laughed. Many were the occasions where he had seen his prey dump its cargo in the vain hope that lightening the load might allow it to escape. His laugh was cut short as a jolt shook the ship and it began to veer off to the side.

"What has happened?' he cried as the distance between the Black Wind and the Southern Star began to grow rapidly. His first mate rushed to the side of the ship and then to the stern, before reporting back to the captain. "Sir, the oars and the rudder are fouled," he answered.

"By what?" snarled the captain.

"A drift net," answered the mate nervously. "Its mesh and hooks have tangled the oars on the port side and fouled the rudder."

"Well fix it!" shouted the captain. But that was a task which was easier said than done. It was several hours before the oars and rudder could be cleared.

The Southern Storm passed its sister ship and closed rapidly upon the Star. This time, no net was thrown from the Star into the sea, or if one was, the Storm passed it by safely. It was nearly dusk when she pulled aside the Lonely Star and her men crowded the rail in preparation for boarding. But as the Storm edged closer, men from the Star threw lines with great hooks up into the Storm's rigging. Even as the Storm's rail came alongside that of the Star, the Gondorians began pulling on the lines they had thrown into the raider's rigging and with pulleys drew a second great net off the deck which swung over towards the corsair.

"Veer off!" cried the Sothron captain. But this was exactly what Saelon wanted. The net fell and draped itself over the starboard side of the corsair and fouled the oars of that vessel as well. The captain cursed, then laughed. "We'll be free soon enough and then we'll get them," he cried. But his mate tapped him on the shoulder and pointed as his eyes grew wide. "She's coming about, sir!"

The Star had swung around and was now charging towards the Southern Storm. It passed by on the Storm's port and a volley of arrows flew towards the corsair. But the captain was more alarmed at another sight. As the Star moved close to the Storm, the Gondorians lifted two great kegs from the deck and heaved them over the side. Each leaked a foul smelling liquid which floated upon the surface of the sea and quickly enveloped the side of the corsair. As the Star swept clear, bowmen launched flaming arrows into the slick of liquid. It caught fire, scorching the side of the Storm. Then the flames reached the barrels which erupted in great gouts of fire, sending a shower of burning oil onto the deck of the corsair.

As the Lonely Star again turned north, Saelon loked back at the corsair. It was listing to the port from damage caused by the explosions and its men were frantically fighting the flames which threatened to engulf that ship. The Star sailed on, and did not encounter any other ships of Umbar before it reached the city of Minas Anor nearly five days later.

[piosenniel]

Gondor

A few days later found Pio down at the docks. She passed from ship to ship, greeting the captains, asking for news of what was passing at the ports they had put into on their latest travels. Good tidings for the most part, save for the storms and squalls that bedevil any ship which has to brave them. But at the last ship, The Scuppered Gull, the news she heard from Faragaer disturbed her. There was nothing specific in the detail, just the feeling he had gotten from the small luggers that worked the Southern coast.

The main port in Umbar had a guarded feeling they felt, relations uneasy between the Corsairs and others not of Umbar. Going on these reports, Faragaer told her he had elected to land at a small cove farther south of the main city. A less used place, he told her, near where the mountains come down close to the sea. ‘The old tars used it in the times long before the new King and his Peace.’ He pulled out his book of charts and showed her the position. Something familiar niggled at the back of her mind as she looked at it. The old, captain’s log she’d borrowed from the library. The Sandpiper, that had been the name of the ship. She would have to read more closely what the captain had said about the southern coast in earlier days.

Pio asked after Radagast and his companion, and was told they had gotten off safely at the cove, and were moving north toward the city with a small caravan of merchants who had come out to trade with Faragaer. Faragaer laughed, thinking of Rôg and his unfortunate stomach, and related several amusing stories concerning him to the Elf. Wine was offered round by the First Mate and talk fell to personal topics. Yes, Pio’s children were fine and she was sure they would love the chance to sail down to the bay on one of the shorter trips that Faragaer made along the little trading docks on the river. Faragaer’s own wife was expecting her second baby, and Pio accepted the invitation to pay her a visit while the Captain was away. The focus was then turned on Haladan, the First Mate. The tips of his ears crimsoned with their good-natured ribbing. Had he announced his intentions yet to that girl’s father? Lyssa, wasn’t that her name? And when would they be receiving their invitations to the handfasting? Haladan bore it with good will. Politely telling them his business was his own, if they pleased. He ended his request with a wink, and Pio and the captain fell to laughing at this unspoken comment.

It was late in the afternoon when Pio returned home. The children under the care of cook for the day came running out to greet her as she rode up through the gate. They milled about her, their little voices vying for her attention, their eager fingers slipping into her pack for the promised treats.

‘Any news of Mister Mithadan,’ said cook, shooing the children off to suck on their honey and violet candies. ‘Not yet,’ returned Pio, shaking her head. ‘An old friend once said that no news was good news, and I am hoping that holds true for this.’ Rubbing the back of her neck, she thought of the rumours she’d heard from Faragaer; then, reminded herself that the Star would be home in a short span of days.

‘Something smells good!’ she said, changing the subject. ‘Yes, we’ve been busy,’ cook said, laughing at the mouthed ‘we?’ from Pio. ‘The children picked through the lentils and cleaned them. Isilmir and Gilwen gathered the vegetables from the garden to stew with them. And Cami, with her sweet tooth, helped me roll out the pastry for an apple pie.’ Cook nodded her chin at the littlest girl, who had obviously finished her few pieces of candy, and was looking quite hopefully at her brother, a person of greater restraint than she. Pio laughed and looping her arm loosely about cook’s shoulders led the way into the house . . .

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Thorn

Standing on the warm wet sand, as the first light of dawn touched the sky, Thorn shuddered in its bleak light. Around him lay the smoldering ashes of his leader’s tent, which had been lost as Ayar's watched silently from the blanket Latah had spread out for her a safe distance away. Even now she was still focused, her dark eyes reflecting the flames as she watched Surinen take off his shawl and beat a small blaze that had rekindled in the ruin. Once extinguishing it, the outrider threw mud over the stubborn embers, padding softly through the wreckage, hunting for others that threatened.

Calling her daughter to her side, Ayar spoke to her quietly, before closing her eyes and rolling onto her back. Immediately Narika arose, and crossing over to the blackened sand, she approached Thorn touching his elbow to gain his attention. "What is it?" Thorn asked in a whisper, seeing now Ayar laying with her eyes tightly shut. He wondered if she might be growing worse once more.

"My mother requests that we find our shelter in the tent of your family, Thorn,” she said distractedly, as though something of greater weight was troubling her. “She has sent me to tell you this."

"My own mother would welcome you gladly, but you had said that Yalisha is now in the encampment,” Thorn ventured, searching her face. “Would you truly rest easy with this?"

"It is my mother's wish, and she must be moved before the sun further weakens her," Narika replied. “But that is not all. My mother said that the one Surinen calls Rôg spoke to her in our own language."

Thorn pondered the revelation. How was it that this stranger could know such a thing? “This is most unexpected. But they will be all right for now. I have set Narayad guard over them."

"Some may not see that as a good choice I am afraid, even though these men apparently bear us no ill will,” said under her breath.

"Because he is not born of our clan?” Thorn said with an exasperated laugh. “Do not worry; he has a stout heart and strict disposition. What better way to prove his fidelity, then to keep watch over this doddering man and his companion? He is to be trusted, more than our own, for he is a member of the Eagle clan by his own choosing, not by the random chance of birth."

“Yes I know, but there are many others who would not agree with that view.”

Thorn knew that she was referring to the elders, some of who saw Narayad as a potential liability. But the respected elder, Fador, had surprisingly taken up this maenwaith drifter’s cause and had even given his blessing upon the outrider’s union with his only daughter Latah, further cementing his place in the clan, and the young man enjoyed his protection, to the chagrin of the majority of elders. “Well, after this many years you would think they would recognize good character when they see it,” he spat out.

Walking toward a group of young men, who stood by the water tank lamenting its level, Narika followed him. “We can not discount their opinions either, Thorn,” she said as she hurried along side.

“No we can not,” Thorn conceded. “But how would you have him be useful to the clan? By watching the flocks like a small child? And would Fador agree to that? I do not think so.”

“Then do you think that the elders are wrong to be cautious?” She asked candidly. Thorn stopped, turning to face her in the first warm blush of sunrise.

“No I do not think they are wrong in their wariness, only in their prejudice. Not all in a clan have a single mind and single will. True Narayad rebelled against his leader’s wish, but with good cause and in agreement with the ways of this people! Perhaps the elders fear the strength of his convictions!”

With that Thorn left Narika to join the young men, asking their help to transport Ayar to his family’s tent. And despite his initial reaction to her frank question, he found that he was asking himself, what if he was wrong? Had not the elders more wisdom than he? And so he decided to send Surinen also to the lean-to, for the bread baker’s son understood many tongues, indeed more than he could speak, and he would be an acceptable guard in the eyes of the elders.

[Mithadan]

Baran had enjoyed the reception immensely. The food had been very tasty and the wine very fine. He was also very impressed by Elessar, the King of Gondor. The King was well-spoken and had been familiar with the lands about the Carrock, allowing them to discuss his people from a base of common knowledge. The cheiftains of the Beornings would be pleased at the offers of trade which he had received as well. However, as it seemed that it would be some time before he returned to the north, he had suggested that Gondor dispatch an emissary to the Carrock to discuss these economic matters. Elessar had promised to send a representative to the Beornings when traders next travelled to Dale. "A fine man," thought Baran as he ambled back to the buffet tables. "And a fair ruler."

That had been a few days before. Now, it was late in the evening and he had spent many frustrating and tiring hours in the Library of Minas Anor that day, meandering through dusty trade records and the logs of vessels which had travelled to the south. These last were few in number and, by and large, many years old. It appeared that Gondor had not gotten along with its neighbors to the south for some time. Not surprising, considering the accounts of piracy by the corsairs of Umbar which he had come across.

He stretched and yawned mightily. The dim and close quarters of the library did not appeal to him. It was quite unlike the bright and airy chambers which held the records of Rivendell. As he rose, his stomach grumbled in annoyance. It was time to return to the Inn for a late dinner. Nodding to the librarian, who barely looked up as he passed, Baran made his way to the doors and the fresher air outside.

The library was located in the upper levels of the city, not far from the great hall where the reception had been held. Looking up, he saw a number of windows above him from which the flickering light of lanterns or candles could be seen. Even as he looked, one of the lights was snuffed as someone prepared for sleep. No doubt the quarters of the King and his family were among the rooms up above. He wondered briefly if the King was still awake before he continued on his way.

There were few people out and about in this level of the city. But as he reached the gate which led to the next circle down, two men walked past. They were cloaked and hooded in grey cloth and did not look at him as they walked by, intent upon some errand in the levels above. But as they passed, Baran paused and sniffed at the air. Some scent had reached his nose which, even in mannish form, was more sensitive than most. The odor niggled at him, familiar in some ways, yet at the same time strange and different. He glanced back at the two men. They did not turn and were soon lost to his sight, hidden by shadows. Baran shrugged and continued the long walk back to the Inn...

[piosenniel]

Gondor - Visitors in the night I

‘Hasten, brother!’

Wahid took hold of his companion’s elbow and hurried him to the gate’s entrance. Only one guard stood on either side, and both their attentions seemed drawn to someone passing down to the tiers below. Wasim picked up his pace, speaking low, ‘There lies only one last gate between us and the completion of our journey. One last thing to do, and then we can return home.’

As they emerged from the gate, Wahid’s brow puckered beneath his hood, and he drew his brother closer into the shadows of the wall. A quick glance had revealed the guard’s interest – a giant of a man was preparing to enter the gate to the fifth level. Wahid squeezed his brother’s elbow, both their noses catching the scent of the passing stranger.

‘Who was that?’ hissed Wasim as they made their way toward the final gate. ‘I know not. But he has gone now and does not concern us.’

A tall planetree in the courtyard of the Houses of Healing was their intended destination for the moment. Slipping into the shadows afforded by the leafy branches, they stood leaning against the flaky bark of the trunk to catch their breath, collecting their thoughts for the last leg of their journey. Their vantage point did not allow them a look at the buildings that stood in the upper tier, but then they did not need one. The images on the map they had been given were burned into their memories, as were the previous nights' flyovers they had done. Clear to them, though, were the number of guards that stood at the ready on either side of the entrance to the city’s last gate. And near to it stood the Guard House, many of the small windows in the long row down its side still lit by burning lamps.

The two brothers pushed back their hoods, nodding their twin heads to one another. A flutter of wings . . . a soft rustling among the leaves . . . and there in the top branches, two small crows perched, their dark brown eyes fixed on the King’s residence . . .