The King's Players RPG

[Boromir88]

When Branor heard the familiar, and welcoming, ringing of the Minas Anor bell-strokes he jumped out of the cart. This was the fifth year he would visit Minas Anor, and he has yet to get tired of the place. This was the premier stage and there was always something new to do in the growing and lively city. He was hoping he would have time to explore the city more than in years past. Branor did not mind promoting the play or searching for patrons (since it gave him a chance to showcase to people his talents), but he wanted time to experience the city. After all, this performance was going to be about him, about Minas Anor. King Elessar is the star of the story, the Return of the King, and it was up to Branor to get the character right.

There already seems to be a buzz around Minas Anor about the King's Players performance, which brightened Branor up even more. Now he wouldn't have to spend too much time selling seats, if this was true. Also, he over-heard the guard telling Brinn the Lord Samwise would be attending the show. Samwise? This name sounded familiar. Samwise? It couldn't be Frodo's hobbit servant, Sam, could it? Sam died, and was unbelievably daft. No way could a servant become a Lord. This had to be a different Samwise, or Aldarion was going to need to re-write the script.

Branor had had his disputes with Aldarion in the past, however he had to admit Aldarion's talents as a writer. Aldarion knew how to appeal to a crowd by knowing when the script needed tension, drama, action, or romance. Branor was just of the opinion Aldarion could take a few pointers from him when it came to acting. He appreciated Aldarion leaving the Dol Amroth troupe to join theirs, but Aldarion needed to just focus on the writing.

Then around the same time Aldarion joined the King's Players, Branor had an opportunity to defect to the Swan Players. Once Branor realized he loved to (and could) act, it had been his dream to get on the big stage. Branor judged he would not come across another troupe as prestigious as the Swan Players. However, he could not abandon Brinn (and indeed he never told her he could have left), as surely joining the King's Players biggest rivals would leave behind bitter dregs. Branor could not do that, and in truth, he realized the King's Players were rising in fame. In what other troupe could you witness mechanical monsters and an actor of Branor's caliber?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Therian could - and would - become anything. He was an actor, a master of fakery, of shams and chicanery. And today he was pretending he was entering Minas Anor with a different agenda.

How long had he been with the troupe? It didn't matter. Brinn would replace him as soon as she found someone who could act better than him, and he could not let that happen. When the time came, he would be the best confounded Eowyn the Shieldmaiden that had ever existed. These southerners... no matter how often he came to Minas Anor he could not get over their dour, self-righteous expressions, and there was something wilder and more concerning about the straw heads. He'd heard they sold their horses to the Black Riders during the War, and then holed up in some mountain to wait for the slaughter to end. Some bravery, that. And he was supposed to believe some lady princess of them had the brass to withstand the onslaught of the leader of the enemy? When the king and the prince and all were the type to hide away in a cave, Therian was supposed to believe that some thin pretty thing put away her apron and did what the men could not? Women could do many things, certainly, and far better than Therian could, but he would defy any man to show him a woman that could take him in a fight. Not that he would ever fight a woman, because that would be entirely inappropriate.

Warrior maidens. Therian shook his head.

No. He would enter the city with a showman's smile on his lips, because today he would be playing King Elessar! Of course, not really. In truth he would be playing Aldarion's completely unbelievable version of the yellow haired one. Dernhelm. Who would even call themselves that? Undoubtedly the story was at least partly fabricated. After all, what else would there be to keep the young women interested, if there were no strong female leads? Even if the Shieldmaiden was on the Pelennor, and even if she did kill the Witchking, it was probably by slitting his throat while he was busy attacking someone else. No doubt it was anticlimactic, if it even happened, and all that weaponry and banter and Black Breath was added later, to make it sound more dramatic. But still, on the stage, he would cry, "No man am I!"

But today, entering Minas Anor, he would act his best part, to keep himself from regretting his decision to join this troupe where he was so hated that he was required, through his natural lack of facial hair, to play a girl. He would tell himself all day that he was to be the King.

I am the King! he shouted in his mind, in the direction of the bells. And I have returned!

[Nerwen]

"Will this accursed crowd never be quiet?" Asta muttered, not quite under her breath. She had been working since dawn repairing and oiling Smaug's jaw-joints, which had a tendency to seize up at the worst possible moments. Now she had quite the worst headache anyone had ever had, she was sure of that. She wondered how long it was until those frightful bells sounded the next hour, and how she would stand hearing them at close quarters.

Still, the Great Gate of Minas Anor was always something to see, and so she clambered over the gear to the front of the second waggon– a slow and careful procedure, as so much space in this waggon was devoted to her various puppets and mechanical props. Some could be packed away in boxes, but others were too large and complex of shape and had to be stacked on the floor and seats, cushioned as well as she could manage against the jolting of the cart. Smaug, of course, had pride of place, taking up most of the front half of the waggon, even with his wings of metal rods and silk tightly folded. Asta patted his muzzle affectionately, noting that the gold-painted scales were flaking a little around his nostrils.

She climbed onto the driver's seat beside the stocky, dark-haired young man who held the reins, bidding him a curt "good morning". She was in no mood for either the prompter's awkward courtship or for hearing the latest version of that play he was always scribbling at.

Coldan blushed, as usual, and greeted her eagerly, but as the vast gates of steel and mithril swung slowly open to reveal the marble streets of the white city gleaming in the morning sun, he fell silent in wonder. Asta too watched with an odd tightness in her throat, and for a moment her aching head was forgotten.

[Formendacil]

Amdír son of Amrod looked out from the walls of Minas Anor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the King's Players returning. For the last few years, their visits to the Gondorian royal city had been the highlight of his days, now that his wife had passed on and his children grown and starting families of their own. Ever since Lord Hallas, who had been his master privately until he had been taken into his service as the Master of Revels, had taken an interest in the performing arts, and in the King's Players in particular, Amdír had been involved with the Players when they were in town. As a master carpenter, he had constructed their stage and sets, and done and number of simple, but important handy tasks necessary for their performances in the city.

With Cormarë looming near, Amdír had already begun thinking about this year's stage, and had inspected the pieces that remained in storage on Lord Hallas's estate to see what he already had to work with, though he would make no decisions until Brinn--Amdír never called her Celebrindal--came and told him what she wanted. The Players did not tend to need an elaborate set, apart from a way to decently disguise the mechanical nature of Smaug and its operators, because of the nomadic nature of their shows, but the audience for drama was simple enough in Minas Anor (unlike the more discerning nobles of Dol Amroth) that a grander stage helped command more attention from the public, and so more revenues, and Amdír felt that the Players enjoyed having their illusions aided by a backdrop and stage. Well, some of them, anyway...

Whatever the Players normally wanted, Amdír had the feeling that this year they would build grander than ever. Lord Cirdacil, who had only recently been appointed the new Master of Revels, on the single occasion he had had words with Amdír, had intimated that he intended to invite King Elessar himself and his guests of honour, the pheriannath, to attend the play at opening night. Whether Lord Cirdacil had issued such an invitation yet, or even intended to, was unknown to his household carpenter, and thus any answer back from the Citadel could naturally not be guessed at.

Looking out from the walls of the City, Amdír hoped the invitation had been made, and accepted. Twenty years before, he had fought in the Battle of the Pelennor, and though over two decades of peace had passed since then, he could not forget his first sight of the City, surrounded by enemies. Minas Tirith, it had been called then, the Tower of the Guard, and Amdír still thought of it thus at times, a bulwark against the evil mountains that could still be discerned in the distant east, even if the mountains were only evil in memory now. Amdír could also remember clearly the despair that troubled his first stay in Minas Tirith, at the Houses of Healing, as everyone waited for word of the army that marched on the Black Gate. He had briefly met Master Meriadoc, who was also at the Houses of Healing, together with the now-Prince and Princess of Ithilien, and knew that Master Samwise was one of the three other perians who had saved the day in Mordor.

How they had done that, Amdír was not so clear, despite twenty years of ballads and some discussion the previous season, when the Players had brainstormed ideas for the coming season's plays. Hopefully, the visit of Master Samwise would motivate an accurate retelling of that not-so-distant history, and if Amdír was lucky, he might even get to thank some of those heroes in some small way for what they had done, for the joy they had given him, and all Minas Tirith, when word came back from the Field of Cormallen that Mordor was defeated and Sauron himself destroyed.

Meanwhile, however, Amdír caught sight of the distinctive bright waggons of the Players, and began to make his steady way down from the walls of the Fifth Circle to meet them at their place of lodging.

[Dimturiel]

Harrenon was woken up by the sound of the bells. His eyes sprang open and he cursed himself for falling asleep in the cart exactly when they were approaching the city. He liked to see Minas Anor in the distance and watch as they approached it, until he could finally behold it in all its glory. He had been to Minas Anor quite a few times and he told himself that he should have gotten used to it by now. And yet, that first sight of the mighty city of Gondor was always something Harrenon still looked forward to, like a treat after a hard day’s work.

Harrenon leaped out of the cart. They were near the gate now. The city bells were ringing. They had arrived in time. It was easy to imagine that the bells were in welcome of the King’s Players. At least they should have been, Harrenon told himself grinning. They were the best theatre troupe in Middle-earth, weren’t they? And they were about to give their best performance so far. Surely they were the first ones to try a rendition of what had happened during the War of the Ring. Or, at least the first to give a reliable rendition.

“I wonder if the King himself will come to watch us,” Harrenon muttered, but he discovered that the thought of it did not bring him much joy. Actually, it terrified him. He was sure that if the King was among the spectators watching him, he would freeze on the spot and be unable to perform. Sometimes it happened like that with Harrenon. He was usually comfortable enough on the stage, enjoying the attention, despite his rather shy nature. But there were times during a performance when he suddenly found himself unable to say another word. Fortunately, it happened seldom enough for Harrenon to pretend to the other Players that he had forgotten his line. He still did not know whether they believed him or not.

But now was not the time for gloomy thoughts, Harrenon told himself firmly as the first cart of their group passed through the city gates. He was once more in Minas Anor, his favourite city in the whole wide world and he could not wait for the day of the performance. It was surely going to be a success for the King’s Players.

[Mnemosyne]

The waggons rolled onward, turning down the main thoroughfare in the First Circle to the inn where they would be staying. It had a large yard in its centre, where the Players had put on their first shows in Minas Anor, and it could house their carts comfortably.

Good publicity, too.

They pulled into the yard, and Brinn sought out the innkeeper.

"Good day, Master Ingold," she said. "Have you been holding our rooms for us, or are the crowds too big?"

"We're almost full!" said the innkeeper. "But--I've been holding out for you--you're good for our business, after all."

"That means you won't try to charge higher this year, then, right?"

"Actually..."

Brinn laughed. "The rates we agreed on last year, thank you very much." She waved in front of him the paper that they had signed a year prior.

"Too clever by half, you are."

Brinn handed him a purse. "We'll get the rest to you after the show, as always."

Once the carts had been arranged in a fashion that appealed to Brinn, the mules were taken to their stalls by a few enterprising stable lads eager for tips. She spoke briefly with her husband, and then the two of them passed the same message onto the entire troupe, in the carts or stretching their legs.

"We have a few hours to get ourselves settled. Call for rehearsal is at the ninth hour, in the yard; we want things running as smoothly as possible before the actual performance."

[Boromir88]

Branor agreed with Brinn's plan for the day to start dress rehearsal today, but was glad she was giving the troupe some free time. "Good plan, Brinn. I was thinking of saying the same thing myself. I had hoped for a chance to see the city some more, but we must not forget we are here to do a play. Well then, since you do not require my presense at the moment, I will take this time now to explore the city. And if I get the chance, I will try to find out how much interest and excitement there is for the show. Do not miss me too much, I'll be back before rehearsals"

He started to leave the rest of the players, but then he stopped to remind everyone not to start rehearsals without him. He could have sworn he heard more than a few grumbles, and sighs, of "We know."

Now Branor was about to leave, for real this time, when a friendly face approached. "Now here is a familiar face! It's good to see you again, Amdil!" Branor ignored the man's correction, for the man's name was Amdir, not Amdil. "You know the city well. I am going out as I desire to see what is new in Minas Anor. This glowing jewel of a city is always changing, is it not? What do you say about showing me around some? I would appreciate having a guide. I will even be able to get you a prime seat to our performance, The War of the Ring! Who can turn down that offer!?"

But again, before Amdir had any time to answer, Branor led him back to the troupe. "You all remember Amdir? He's going to guide me around Minas Anor. Does anyone want to come along?"

[Dimturiel]

Harrenon was relieved when they finally reached the inn. Maybe they would even have the chance to rest before starting rehearsals. That seemed likely at the moment, since Branor had expressed a desire to go for a walk through the city – which was even more relieving since Branor seemed in one of his pompous moods that made Harrenon feel quite put off most of the time. He shook his head with an exasperated sigh when he heard the man demand them not to start rehearsing without him.

“I wonder why we do not do that once,” he muttered to his fellow Players. “Just to see what he says afterwards.”

Yet when Branor told them that Amdir would be leading him through the city, Harrenon forgot his desire for some quiet time to himself. He had already had that in the wagon on the way to the city. Now he was in Minas Anor. He should take advantage of the opportunity to see as much of the city as possible. A walk would do him good. It would clear his head and help him get rid of the nervousness he sometimes felt when a performance was near. Yes, a walk would do him good, even if he was taking it with Branor – as a matter of fact, Harrenon did not dislike Branor; yes, he did find his manner exasperating, but usually endearingly so. He took a step forward.

“Well,” he began. “If you’re going, I think I will be joining you. If you have nothing against it, that is, and if I am not needed here, after all.”