Númenórean Blood Runs Black RPG

[Folwren]

“Well. . .” Telumehtar said, “. . .shall I be given a proper tour then?”

Hereric paused a moment to collect himself and then looked the king full in the face. “Yes, sir. Clearly you seem quite able to climb the ropes. Shall we go up first, then? There’s not much light, I’m afraid, and may not be able to see below decks anyway until at least tomorrow.” He led the way to the mainmast and then asked the king to climb first.

“Great stars above, did you see that?” whispered a sailor aft. His companion nodded - soberly, perhaps, but turning very red as he kept back his laughter. “‘Do you think that a king such as myself would stoop so low as to even dream of climbing up your putrescent ship?’” The laughter broke from both of them, but the speaker stifled his. “Hush-sh!”

“But the cap’n turn’d nigh red!”

“Aye, he did,” the first sailor muttered with a chuckle. “An it were not the king, there might’ve been some mighty sharp words given.”

“Silence on deck!” came the bosun’s furious order. The two sailor’s obediently ducked their heads, and silenced their words as they continued their work, but the amusement did not leave their faces, nor the picture of their captain’s look their minds.

Hereric and Telumehtar mounted up farther and farther towards the sails until they came to the top head, a wooden platform about mid mast, where they stopped. Standing much higher now, they could still see the edge of the sun over the horizon, whereas down below, it was quite out of sight. The wind up here blew harder and more refreshingly. Hereric wrapped his arm about the mast and leaned comfortably into it.

“Have you sailed often before, my lord? I understand that this is not your first voyage.”

[Dunwen]

Nimir began shaking his head when Curamir asked him if their fathers might have known each other. “Forgive me, Curamir,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to give you the idea my father was a soldier. He was only a farmer, a smallholder. There wasn’t a garrison near our village, so when the Corsairs attacked, he and the other men in the village did their best to defend it themselves. I never met a soldier until I was recruited.”

Sensing his new friend’s disappointment, Nimir fell to polishing the next sword. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he said quietly, “I’m sorry I can’t help you. Your father must have been very brave.” He hoped he had not offended his companion.

Both young men silently cleaned and polished the last few swords. Despite the awkwardness caused by their conversation, Nimir examined the weapons curiously. He had no sword of his own, for a good one cost more than his family could afford. As a hunter, bow and arrows had always served him well, as had good steel hunting knives. He wished there was someplace on the ship where he could practice shooting, but common sense told him that he was unlikely to have lost his skill as an archer in the short time that he had been assigned to the Ráca.

After putting the last sword away, he and Curamir collected the polishing cloths and oil and put those away also. By this time, it was dark, and both of them were hungry. Nimir cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Let’s see if we can find something to eat,” he said tentatively.

[Anguirel]

Amanaduial the archer's post


After Chakka had left his rooms, barely moments had gone by before Rakin himself had been forced to follow the slave out of the door, but this time up to the deck, accompanied by the sound of the clanging alarm bells. A slave escape – no, a second slave escape, the second within twenty four hours. Finding himself in exactly the same position as he had been a quarter of an hour ago when he had dismissed Chakka from his presence, Rakin ground his teeth and glared once again out at the sea, rather more venomously this time. Of all the sheer bloody inadequacies! Forget the slave who had escaped: after two escapes within two shifts, it was his corsairs who’d be answering for this one…

“Captain, there…” The corsair who had entered thoughtlessly through the open door trailed away uneasily as Rakin failed to turn. Hesitating for a moment, he then rather belatedly shuffled a few steps back out of the door and, almost comically, knocked hesitantly. Rakin squeezed his eyes shut, then rolled them up to the ceiling and sent a vengeful prayer up to whichever god it was who was laughing at him. Give me clowns, give me jesters, but for gods’ sakes, give me strength – and don’t dress them up and pretend they’re able-bodied seamen!

Scowling darkly, Rakin swivelled around wordlessly to face the hapless messenger, a scrawny boy of about sixteen who quailed somewhat in the face of his sullen-faced captain. His adam’s apple bobbed uneasily as he mustered the words which had slipped out so carelessly a few moments previously. “C-Captain Rakin, there…” he swallowed and composed himself. Poor boy, Rakin thought, eyeing him critically: he only joined up to this ship a few weeks ago, and there were fully fledged corsairs aboard the ship who would quake to face Captain Chatazrakin when in such a foul disposition towards his crew. He raised an eyebrow darkly as he waited for the boy to stammer out the line. Am I simply getting old, or are we now to become a child-minding service? Finally, the corsair stammered out the words: Sangalazin was waiting.

“Lord Sangalazin? Well, we wouldn’t want to keep Lord Sangalazin waiting now, would we, hmm?” he replied, viciously. The hapless corsair in front of him, apparently unsure of whether to give a reply or not, bobbed his throat and quaked silently. Trying to contain his anger, Rakin ran his tongue around his teeth and took a deep breath, and strode towards the door. No…he would remain calm for now, he would keep his composure in front of Sangalazin. But after that… Rakin paused and turned elegantly in the doorway, only about a foot from the messenger, and snapping his fingers as if just remembering something, a noise that made the boy jump.

“Tell me, boy- name?” he snapped shortly. Gathering that yes, it was to him that Rakin was speaking and not to the walls, the boy replied, and Rakin continued. “—Menash, then. Tell me, Menash – do you know…who was on duty belowdecks with the slaves at about midnight, and then again at midday today?”

Menash hesitated, then replied slowly, “Well, last night it would have been…why, I’m not sure, one o’ them who—” his eyes lit up as he remembered. “Ah, it was Tachkan, wasn’t it? He’ll be resting at the bottom of the sea now though…”

Rakin treated Menash to the full glory of his cold fish stare, unblinkingly waiting for the boy to elaborate. “Well…I mean, after that slave escaped last night, he was found missing, along with another – the slave did for them, we reckon…”

Why, Chakka, you little- Chakka’s ancestors received a serious mental clouting from Rakin as he poured forth various vengeful thoughts upon everything to do with the slave from his forefathers to his fingers.

“…and then this morning, about midday – well, Cap’n, that would be me.”

“You, Menash? You were on duty at midday today?”

The boy nodded innocently. “Aye, Captain Rakin. Why, I just got off duty now…” he trailed off as Rakin gave a slow, grim smile and shook his head very slowly, his expression wolfish as he leant in towards Menash. “Oh, Menash, you have no idea how much that was the wrong answer.” And with that last threat, the Captain swept out of his chambers.


Anguirel's post

The board had long been perfectly set out when Sangalazin at last heard the knock he had been expecting. He motioned to Captain Andlang to open the door into the opulent, perfume-tinged quarters. The bodyguard silently obeyed, and Sangalazin saw the man he had been waiting for. The Corsair Captain, who he had to admit, now, was something more. A curse from the past risen anew; a powerful new factor, which might destroy him; or might be manipulated in his favour.

"Welcome, welcome, Captain Rakin," Sangalazin exhorted. "Come further in. What do you think of these frescoes? I've been told your taste is remarkably developed, among your many other...accomplishments..."

The tall-tall as Sangalazin-handsome, dark Captain remained impassive. "How gratifying," he answered, non-commitally, as he walked towards his host-or was Sangalazin his guest? It was his ship, after all...

"Oh come now, don't be like that," Sangalazin reproached him. "Andlang-leave us."

The bodyguard goggled, staying rooted to his post. Sangalazin bit his cheek, stared hard at his subordinate, and said once again, "Leave us." This time, he was obeyed.

"Now, before we start our game of chess, I thought you'd be interested in this fresco...the Gifts of the Sea..."

Sangalazin's slender hand moved from Ussun the Terrible, to Vineth the Lovely, to the melancholy figure at the side; and he smiled as he saw Rakin recognise himself.

"The model, I believe, was Lord Sangahyando of Umbar, my father." He left the our father unspoken. Rakin-Chatazrakin-would understand well enough.

***

Sangalazin held a black and a white pawn behind his graceful back.

"Left or right?"

"Left," Rakin said curtly. "Bastard's prerogative," he added with a thin smile.

Sangalazin raised an eyebrow. "You're black," he murmured, passing the pawn to his opponent. "The more challenging colour, though it can be rewarding..."

Without further conversation, they began the game. Sangalazin tried to trick Rakin early on with the celebrated Corsair's Ploy.

"Alas, my lord," Rakin needled, "your King's Mumak has sadly strayed..." He took it with one of his Knights.

The game became drawn out and gruelling. Rakin took one of Sangalazin's Towers, only to lose his Queen. Each player avenged losses speedily.

"It is clear," Sangalazin quipped, "that my father was skilled at chess." Again, our father left to implication...

After an hour King and King were locked in stalemate, little left to either.

"The signs are clear," Sangalazin concluded, his voice softer and more genial than ever. "We should work together." He held out his hand. Chatazrakin hesitated, then took it, his expression betraying curiosity, a little scorn, and much interest.

"How would you like to be sole Lord of Umbar?" Sangalazin asked.

***

And so a conspiracy was forged. A course of action determined. Vile treachery planned. The consequences of Sangahyando's infidelity were to spell death to Angamaite's line...

It was when all was decided that the alarm was sounded above. The Captain rushed up to attend it. He returned with a predator's smile on his rugged face.

"Pelargir is in sight. Call your guards...my lord...and have our Corsairs issued with their livery. As for me," Chatazrakin finished, "I shall...get my armour on..."