Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Arry]

He no longer noticed the pain that flamed in his side; it had become such a constant companion. Still, it was an increasing effort to move. Lessons, though, learned long ago in training and years spent in the service of his Lord sustained him as he fought against the Corsairs and the Lossoth who had allied with them. Legs and arms moved in familiar patterns as he struck and cut and felled those who came against him . . .

---

The press of battle was slackening as the Elves pushed hard against the Southrons. Weariness returned as Annû paused, leaning heavily on his club, breath coming in ragged gasps. One hand strayed to his side, pushing on his wound. It was open again, oozing down to soak the waistband of his breeches. And without the distraction of the fight, the pain had begun to return. Dizzy, he shook his head trying to shake off the feeling.

No!

He heard Elwe’s silent cry. Annû looked round the deck, seeking where his friend had gone. He could see him a ways off where he stood against one of the Lossoth. Tarn, it was. The one who had knifed him. Pulling himself erect he moved toward where Elwë stood. His friend was unharmed as far as he could see, though waves of great pain radiated from him. Quickening his stride, Annû approached the two combatants.

Not so! Not so! It cannot be!

Elwë's words rang in Annû's mind as he saw his companion fall. But it was not for himself that Elwë cried out. She is gone . . . were his last thoughts, cut off as his head hit hard against the stairs. Elwë’s hard fall had not killed him, but Annû could already feel the Elf slipping away, his spirit following after Andtuariel . . .

---

‘Shadow’s pawn!’ Annû said quietly to the Lossoth, his voice filled with regret. ‘You have killed what is fair; pushed back the light with your darkness.’ With a sigh, he brought up his club, preparing to engage the Lossoth. ‘Second born,’ he murmured to himself, his gaze far away ‘tell me, where is the light my brother saw in you . . .’

Annû threw down his club. It clattered on the deck and rolled to one side. ‘Come, little brother,’ he said in a flat voice, his face slick with sweat, grey eyes fixed on Tarn’s face. Let us fight evenly.’ The Elf and man circled each other. Tarn was as sly as ever, his movements defensive as he watched Annû. The Elf lunged toward him several times, feinting, looking for a way to get within the man’s defenses. Tarn could see his opponent’s movements were slower than before, that he grimaced slightly as his torso twisted. The man smiled to himself. This will be easy, he thought. And just as well, he followed up, feeling the soreness in his own ribs.

For his part, Annû fought against two opponents . . . his own failing strength and the persistent foe who sapped it further. He did get in several cuts along the man’s forearms, but could push in no further. Tarn’s knife sliced against his flesh as well, leaving trails of fire. Nearly done in, he made one last desperate attempt, rushing forward. His feet lost the thread of command Annû intended for them. The Elf stumbled, barely regaining his balance.

Tarn grinned, slipping beneath the outreached knife with which the Elf had hoped to finish him. His eyes lit with a feral pleasure as they spied Annû’s club lying near. In a single move, he snatched it up, bringing it round against the Elf’s side with a hard Crack!. Annû fell hard, crumpling down to the ship's deck, his head hitting solidly against it.

The club fell from Tarn’s hands. He was gasping now as the quick movements for his blow had made his own cracked ribs protest loudly. Looking down, he saw the Elf sprawled on the deck, unmoving. With a groan of pain, the man picked up his own knife which had fallen from his hands and stumbled toward his opponent, intending to finish him off . . .

[Orofaniel]

"Noooo!" Galhardir yelled.

He had been watching the whole scene between Tarn and Annû. He now realised that Annû was in great danger as he was crawling away from the enemy on deck. Tarn had found his knife and was now running towards Annû in full speed, ready to finish him. It became clear to Galhardir that the only chance Annû had of surviving was if someone would come to his rescue. The images went slowly in Galhardir's head, as if he wasn't able to understand what was happening around him. He watched carefully, before he let out another yell. It seemed like minutes passed, even hours....

Grabbing one of the oars, Galhardir ran towards Tarn. Tarn was now standing over Annû. With a hit in the skull Tarn fell, surprised that a Lossoth had hit him. Tarn cried out in pain, but he wasn't too preoccupied with Galhardir, as he'd probably decided that killing Annû was his first priority. Tarn got up immediately, and he didn’t even seem weakened by the oar that had hit him.

"Argh..." he growled towards Galhardir. Tarn’s eyes were full of hatred and anger; the flames that passed his eyes were terrifying.

Galhardir's legs weakened, he couldn't stand up. Then he noticed Annû; who was slowly getting to his feet just behind Tarn. Galhardir thought that he might keep Tarn occupied while Annû got to his feet, fully recovered and ready to fight. Feeling encouraged, he followed Tarn's movements carefully with the oar. Then suddenly, quite unexpectedly, Tarn did a quick movement, turning back to Annû, dragging the elf in front of him with the knife on the elf's throat.

"Annû!" Galhardir let out, seeing his friend in a most unpleasant and dangerous situation.

Thoughts roared around in Galhardir’s head; Was Annû going to die? Would Tarn cut his throat while Galhardir was watching? “Oh please, let this be a dream,” he sighed just so he, himself, could hear it. "Galhardir, friend," Annû whispered underneath Tarn's heavy arm which was resting on Annû’s shoulder.

"Quiet, or I'll cut your throat right now!" Tarn yelled.

"No!" Galhardir screamed, full of anger and frustration.

"Then, put your oar down, and keep quiet....both of you," Tarn said with a vicious and evil smile. "No, don't do what he says, Galhardir, don't do it," Annû encouraged full of courage and bravery, feeling the pressure of the knife getting closer to his blood veins in his throat. By this Galhardir felt confused.

What would the consequences be? Tarn was in the lead. He was decided as he was the one holding a hostage. Should Galhardir just do what he said, or should he listen to Annû? By holding his oar still, he could attack Tarn right now; hopefully he could hit him pretty hard and perhaps knock him out for a second or two so that Annû could get free. Then together they could finish Tarn. But what happened, if he attacked and Tarn was too quick for him and cut Annû’s throat before he had a chance to rescue him? Then, he could always do what Tarn had told him to do; drop the oar. But how could he then protect himself? For surely, if Tarn killed Annû now, he would go straight after Galhardir.

Having such a heavy debate with himself in this position didn't make it easy for Galhardir. He wanted to act on intuition, but he had already involved his feelings and his thoughts…..

“Let him go!” Galhardir then said sternly, not quite understanding his own words; he didn't realise right away that he was in no command, as it was in fact Tarn who was holding the hostage. Perhaps this, however, would buy Galhardir some more time to think. Tarn didn’t seem too pleased by being commanded by Galhardir and it looked as if he was holding his knife even closer to Annû’s throat. “You’re in no position to demand anything,” Tarn replied angrily. Annû gasped for breath. “Now, I’ll give you two seconds; drop your oar or the Elf dies,” Tarn said, and Galhardir knew he was telling him the truth; Tarn was ready to kill Annû.

Letting the oar slip his hands it fell to the deck with a low sound.

“Don’t…” Annû whispered, but it was too late.