Legacy of Traitors RPG

[Kransha]

What had been called at first a ‘dinner’ had deteriorated to the point that the word could no longer be used without the elicitation of a skeptic guffaw. Idruil, along with a number of the companions, seemed mostly unaffected when Roryn’s precise arrow found its mark in the skull of murderous Arridan. Of course, Crystal was affected, and Atharen seemed about ready to come to her aid in consolation, but time continued to fly at the speed of the Maeras, whisked by as cyclonic winds would whip through calm air. Maen materialized, having battled and slain a more homicidal Arriten, and bid all of the comradeship evacuate the manor and proceed to the last leg of their journey.

Idruil, like all the others, did not hesitate to rush to his steed outside. Ecthelion seemed to be prancing about and braying in variable anticipation, so Idruil was forced to be more blunt as he leapt into the sadly, groped madly for the reins, and gave his loyal steed more incentive to go speedily than he had ever done before, jabbing the animal sharply in the sunken haunches and leaning back involuntarily as the press of the wind and the ferocious velocity of Ecthelion, raging in two opposite directions, carried the steed forward and the rider back, leaving a trail of dusty plumes behind them in the dirt. The others were soon enough either behind or ahead, their speeds fluctuating wildly as his own was, but, to his discredit, the man of Minas Tirith paid the others no heed, as he and his glorified mound stamped and stomped their way over the oft-trodden paths after Maen Il Galoth.

Idruil, who had prided himself on being able to tail Maen adequately, found the fiery maiden far ahead by much. This did not deter him and he raced onward. He began surpassing most, considering many were preoccupied. Atharen was busy assisting Crystal, not yet fully recovered from the blatant shock of being attacked, Aelimur had taken a lengthy but somehow abrupt moment to saddle Maen’s steed, Hittai, and Roryn, one of the only others who was unoccupied, was not too far behind Idruil’s galloping speed. Idruil could barely see the steed of Lady Il Galoth as its silhouette, plastered against the darkening sky, shriveled into nothing on the forested horizon. Carathir was, in turn, not far behind her, which was to be expected, and Idruil nodded in understanding as he pulled himself miserable forward into the bouncing saddle, trying to keep steady.

But, there was but one thing amiss. As Idruil’s bereft head managed to swivel, he heard a rushing sound that resembled the whistling of an icy wind. As he cocked his cranium to one side, he saw the first unexpected thing. Ferethor! Ferethor and his steed had actually picked up incredible speed and breezed without a care past Idruil and Roryn. The horse’s hooves trampled over the earth, the vessel of the mount and mounted shooting after Maen at an unbelievable rate. This was not like Ferethor, not like him at all. He knew that the same bonds of inner companionship existed within him as they did with all others, but Ferethor’s passing gaze read as if the man was required to reach Maen before any others as he raced, with stunning resolve, after Hittai. This level of genuine concern had not been evident in the man before and Idruil could not calculate the sudden burst of energy. Prodding his steed faster, his own concern for the future beginning to swell within him, he turned the opposite way as Roryn’s horse closed the distance between them.

“Roryn,” he called across the seeming gorge between each steed and man, his voice barely carrying over the incessant drumbeat of horses’ hooves upon earth, “Something is wrong here. We must move faster!”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal blinked away the darkness and found Atharen's face above her. She smiled softly. He helped her to her feet. The next few minutes passed so quickly that she couldn't remember what she had done. Everything around her seemed like a whirlwind of events. Before she knew what was happening she was outside with Atharen, helping him saddle Sacriheart for their hasty escape. Atharen jumped up and then turned to help Crystal up. She did so with ease and settled behind him. He kicked the horse and off they went after Maen who had somehow found her way ahead of the company once more.

They speed off. Before long she thought she heard someone say that something was wrong, that they had to move faster. She tightened her grip on Atharen as he speed up the horse. She had never moved so fast on a horse in her entire life. Yet she knew that they needed to move as fast as their horses could take them. They were in grave danger.

She was mostly concerned about Maen, who had suffered probably the most at the hands of the wild man that had tried to kill her. She could sympathize with Maen at this point. She understood what it meant to be near death. She had been in that position more then a couple of times. She could only imagine the fear that still remained in Maen's heart and mind and the renewed thought of revenge which would be embedded in her mind. She only hoped that Maen would be alright when the time came to carry out the revenge.

If Maen wasn't, she would be. She would destroy anyone at this point. This company had become her companions, her friends. She now knew the feelings of the man that she had loved since the beginning. She had become friends with Maen, something she never figured would happen in her entire life. She had made friends with Ferethor-when all seemed like they would never get along. Things had happened, things had changed her all because of these people. She wasn't about to lose another friend to the man or woman that decided to try to end their lives. She vowed this as they rode to the shanty that Maen had ducked into.

[Everdawn]

Maén dismounted her horse and stormed into the one roomed shanty.

“Guriel” she called. But was surprised when she was met by an old woman sitting in a rocking chair in front of the fire knitting an ugly grey jumper.

“Guriel? He aint here.” Said the old women in a croaky voice.

“Where is he then?” shouted Maén in frenzy.

“He’s over the hill, has been there for a while.” The old woman snarled. Immediately Maén stormed out and started walking as fast as she could.


There over the hill was a cemetery, nothing else, no house, not even a stable. Maén felt the blood pumping through her veins.

“What did she mean he is here?” Maén said shakily the temperature of her blood rising with anticipation “What did she mean!” she screamed looking wildly around.
Until she spotted the grim marker under a large tree.

There at the back an ill kept grave stone read:

“Here lies Guriel Il Galoth, Now of the East, rests: No legacy shall be found for it is in you. No house of Il Galoth will reap benefits”

“No” Maén shook her head. “It is not so, this is some other I-” she looked pleadingly to the others of the company. It was if some madness had overcome her.

“My life has been stolen from me!” she wept into the ground. It was a pitiful sight to see the strong woman reduced to the mere innocence of a small girl. Maén fell to her knees in utter despair, tears fell freely from her eyes and her body shook with new sobs of sorrow. She was not ashamed for the others to see her. She just- let go.

Her whole life had become revenge, and while she did not shudder at taking life, she now found herself in a hole which she could not get out of. There was bitterness within her heart, bitter at the fact that Guriel had gotten away with what he had done. She was now faced with the inevitable, her life would never change. Deep down Maén had truly believed that if she could undo the evil done to her that some how her life would go back to being normal. The thought of her life was unbearable, and the thought that it would stay this same way for the length of her life was excruciating.

It was as if she were doomed to live her life in shadows, the shadows of the Minas Tirith court and of the fading dynasty of the once mighty Il Galoth military clan. Guriel the Traitor represented everything that she believed to be the cause of her grief, and in a way it was. She had not been driven by gold to find him, but by a desire to set things right.

Lysia had too hoped that Guriel could be killed for revenge of taking her husbands life. Maén remembered the words of her aunt, “It could be nothing…” and so it was.

“How can this be?” she cried.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor slid from his steed with relative ease swiftly, and just as Maen sank crying onto the ground reached where the dilapidated tombstone was located. He did not bother to read the brazenly-engraved letters on the time-eaten granite gravestone because the reality suddenly flashed into his mind as vividly as if he had perused it thoughtfully. He felt a sense of incomprehensible relief for himself that there was no bloody end, of course self-centered feeling. He always looked out for himself and no one else.


But… Maen… It would be hard to lose what you have been pursuing for all your life, for did he not know it well? Especially vengeance. It seeps into your very soul, becomes your motivation and life force, and when it breaks into fragile lucent slivers like grass… Nothing remains but despair, and death. She was strong because vengeance supported her through the hard times, Ferethor realized. Maen was never this bloodthirsty and callous, but was made so by this fervent desire for vengeance and just retribution m- to return to her normal life. He wasn’t surprised to see her crying, and yet did not scorn her for it. If it was his circumstance – what would he have done? Probably cast himself down the next fire-filled yawning chasm he came across, like Maedhros did in the fulfillment of his vain oath and despair.


“Maen, hearken to me.” Ferethor sank down beside her yet didn’t dare to touch her or comfort her in any way, for not all tears were evil. It had the power to soothe and heal which was something that speech could not accomplish. He sought vainly for comforting words, but he was naturally a soldier who wasn’t good at words anyway, and kept relapsing into silence. “Guriel’s… dead. That doesn’t mean that you have failed in settling the score with the renegade, and its now time to forget and free yourself from the chain of the past that shackled you from enjoying the life. Look at the night heaven of Arda. The Menelcamar is sparkling, and the sickle of the Valar – Valarcirca – is luminously bespangling the sky in the sign of justice and hope and…”


Ferethor decided that words were just no use, and stayed beside her who stirred not immersed in her own grief silently, hoping others could excruciate him from this uncomfortable situation. But he felt the need to shatter the silence of the tomb. “Maen, I don’t pity you and I know you do not want to be pitied or comforted. Instead let me say this. I honor you because of all that you’ve gone through and the fact that you’re still living and strong and proud. If you let go of everything at this moment, Guriel would be the eventual winner after all because it was his desire to destroy your house and your kindred. But I trust you to make your way through your own despair.”


“But then, what right do I have to talk of hope and life, when I myself have no trust in either?” Ferethor impulsively rose with wry and bitter smile. “Others of the company would be here soon, who’d be more qualified to talk of such things to you then I.”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal could see as they rode up Maen on the ground in front of a headstone. Sacriheart came to a stop, but she made no move to get down. The grief, the pure sadness that radiated from the strongest woman that she had ever know shocked her. She had no idea who it was that lay in the grave, but it had to be someone important. She squinted her eyes and saw the letters form into the name that Maen had been searching for to get revenge. He had already died or had been killed. Things clicked in her mind and she realized why Maen was distressed. Her life had been consumed by this quest and now it was over before she had been able to get revenge for her aunt. Her purpose in life had been revenge and she hadn't been allowed it.

Crystal could not relate to the pain because the one person she wanted revenge on she couldn't take out. Her father was just too powerful with too many follwers. But now was not the place or the time to think of his evil.

She just didn't know what to do for Maen, but she knew she had to do something. She got down from the horse and walked over to Maen. She didn't try to touch her. She just stood in silence.

"Life moves on from your want and thirst of vengeance, Maen. It may not feel that way now, but it will later," Crystal whispered. She didn't have anything else to say. She turned around and walked back to the horse where Atharen still sat. She got back up and put her head on his back, not knowing what else to do.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor looked a bit hopeful as Crystal Heart approached, trusting she’d know how to comfort Maen in her dismay and distress since he himself had no idea how to soothe and reassure anyone. Not surprising, as he had never any urge to do so in the first place. But Crystal read the tombstone, murmured few words of encouragement to Maen and then went back to Atharen. Sighing in half-melancholic despair, he sank back by Maen and said nothing. Just stayed by her, because he couldn’t bear to see her and he understood her grief and sorrow. Emptiness she must be feeling.

[Everdawn]

“Do you know what I have to return to? Nothing, nothing but a cold home and the atramentous walls of the Gondorian court. My life is a box, to live in silence, only to be seen and not heard. The thought of it alone is enough to wound you.” Maén looked gravely around her now and raised herself off the ground. “We are different you and I, You may do as you please and roam freely. But I- I had to run away in the middle of the night in order to escape. I had to go to the one person in the world who understands me, and who know by now I may have been disowned. I envy all of you. I envy your freedom.” She was bitter now, “But most of all I envy him” she pointed to the ground where Guriel’s body lay.

“Is it not enough that he torments me in life but also now in death, I still want him dead. I still want him to suffer as I have suffered. I envy that he defied our whole kindred. I hate the way Elessar pushed us aside, such a King as he that he saw it not fit to even inform Lysia that her husband had been killed by his own kin. There is nothing for me now, I might as well die.” She shrugged and wiped away tears.

“I imagine we have found what we came for. Now we will return to Lysia’s where you will get your money.”