The King's Players RPG

[Boromir88]

Branor's eyes darted from the exit to the large man about to pound Therian's face in. He could just quietly leave. Therian got himself in this mess, with his mouth, had he just let Branor do the talking, they would still have the pretty bar lady talking about the hobbits.

Then a thought came to him, what would the King do in this situation? Would the King run and leave his companion behind to face certain death alone? No. Branor had to step in.

"Friend" he said to Olog, giving the man a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Get your hand off me!" Olog barked. "I don't know you!"

"Sorry. Sorry. I just mean to tell you you don't want to do this and you look like a reasonable man, we can surely work out this misunderstanding." Branor was about as tall as Olog, but not nearly as solid. He tried to buff out the chest as much as possible.

"What mis understanding? This fetcher insulted my wife and me, and now I am going to squash him!" Olog squeezed Therian tighter.

"Therian meant no insult, I assure you. We are not from Minas Anor and I believe it is just a minor miscommunication, since we are not used to your proper speech habits in Gondor. I am not saying you are wrong to feel insulted by my friend's poor manners. I am merely saying it was not his intent to offend and this place was built on laws and customs, yes? I am sure we can come to an agreement resolving this matter, that fits your City's laws. It hardly seems just this boy loses his adorable face, simply because he was looking out for your lady's safety, but did not know she was in your very capable...hands."

Olog looked mostly confused by Branor's exhaustive speech. But it seemed to work as he loosened the grip on Therian and then shoved him away. Olog was probably only using half his strength, and still managed to send Therian into one of the bar stools. "Fine. What's your offer?"

In truth, Branor did not think that far ahead. He only wanted the very large man to let Therian go, because even if Branor wanted to, he knew he would not stand a chance against this troll. And who knows if he had any other dumb bruisers in the tavern. Branor motioned for Therian to slowly move behind him. "My offer? Your wife was the one disrespected, so my offer is to her."

Antian gave Olog a look saying it was ok, let Branor make his offer.

"How can a pretty lady like you be happy with your life, waking up to a dumb oaf like that everyday?"

There was a loud crack, which was no doubt Olog breaking something, but Branor was not curious to find out what it was. Something hit Branor in the back of the leg, but at least they both escaped, in one piece.

When they were both assured they were well away from Olog and the Rohirric Unicorn. Branor panted "I don't think I make a very good spy. I am just going back to regular King Elessar. That is enough action for me!"

[Formendacil]

Amdír poked his head into the barn that sat at the back of Lord Hallas' estate. He had risen with the dawn to travel out there with one of Lord Cirdacil's waggons. It was nice to get out of the city. The estate was nestled under the shadow of Mindolluin in the western part of the Pelennor. Normally, Lord Hallas was nowhere near his estate, preferring to dwell at his fashionable city house in the fifth circle, only venturing out to the country when he had a party of fashionable young lords and ladies to accompany him. His lively interest in the theatre and eagerness to have a good time had made him an excellent Master of Revels, though perhaps one a bit too loose with the royal purse, and Amdír missed his involvement--even if Lord Hallas had a tendency to look right through the actors he was hiring, save when they were onstage.

The setpieces that had been kept in storage were mostly created, back when the Players had first come to Minas Anor, for their production of Bard the Dragonslayer or The Battle of the Five Armies, but because the set included a corner of a house (to represent Laketown) and a generic mountain/stone backdrop to represent the Lonely Mountain, it could serve a number of stories. The mountain backdrop, especially, would serve well in scenes with either the Misty Mountains, the Ephel Dúath, or even Mt. Doom itself.

Amdír was less certain that they would use the house-corner. Most of the War of the Ring story took place out of doors--either Elessar's Fellowship was travelling in the wilds, or they were fighting battles in fortresses. Probably, Brinn was going to need or want a section of battlement. If they had any indoor scenes, they were probably going to convey it by means of furniture, rather than backdrops. Finding that furniture--such as a throne to use for Denethor--would also be Amdír's task. Although the Players had some basic furniture to use while travelling, their patronage in Minas Anor meant that they could borrow some fancier things. Amdír wondered if Lord Cirdacil would have such a chair they could borrow, and whether he even wanted to ask. It might be better just to ask Lord Hallas, who would probably be more congenial about it, even though he was no longer formally connected with the Players at all.

Having laded the waggon with the first half of the mountain backdrops--a task that required the assistance of a couple of Hallas' men--Amdír started back towards Minas Anor.

[Anguirel]

A sound of rows of ceremonial bells on bridles mingled with the repeated reports of hoofbeats to interrupt the noises of dawn in the First Circle. Some streets were still dead calm, others were filling up during this season of festival with stallholders and swarming hawkers, but the sight of the six riders going by affected the quiet and the active alike. Housewifes, discreetly attending to hanging up their linen, stared glumly from high windows or loitered in their doorways. Rowdy toughs outside warehouses let their jaws slack the better to concentrate on staring. Any Guards of the Citadel were an unusual sight so far down in the city; and not a universally welcome one, either.

The small but formal calvacade rode two abreast, Guards leading and Guards at the rear. Three of these four horses rode black stallions, which were becoming once again prized, now that they were not associated invariably with Mordor; especially by the haughty and somewhat menacing officers of the Guard. One of the lead riders rode a big roan instead, not so flashy a statement but looking a more formidable animal even than its companions.

It was clearly an escort; in between the two dark pairs a couple of unarmoured men, one very old and one scarcely come to manhood at all, were ensconsed. Their bearing made them rather obviously commanders, rather than prisoners, of this little detachment. Lords nearly always travelled by litter; these nobles must be in a hurry, and the folk of Minas Anor knew well enough to get out of their way and watch their path from the side of the cobbles.

"Where did you say the ragamuffins were stewing themselves?" the Lord Cirdacil barked at his son.

"The Inn of Ingold, close enough to the city gates themselves, father," Sador spoke softly in answer.

"I've a good mind to thrust the pack of 'em back through them," the old man expostulated. "How far are we from this Ingold's place, captain?"

"A negligible distance, my lord," the officer on the roan answered with a tone so obedient it was almost insolent. Cirdacil did not exactly like the Tower Guard officers as a rule; they were all better born than him, and they tended to intimate that they knew it. Still, it was worth dragging a few around with him to keep up appearances in...disciplinary cases like these. They had, now, indeed arrived at the inn.

Without needing to be commanded (and again, Cirdacil thought grumpily, that was a little too consciously meticulous) the lead captain rode up from the formation and rapped on the door.

"Open up, open up at once for the Master of the Revels!"

Even in this reassuringly powerful context, Cirdacil could not help but recoil a little at the mention of his latest title. It was all just so irritating.

Beside him, Sador looked cheerful and interested; as if he was excited at the prospect of laying eyes on the famous King's Players, rather than already anticipating his plan to cast their production into rank disarray...

[Nerwen]

Asta woke from a confused dream in which King Elessar cut all the trees down and they fell on the yelling Sorceress, to find that the blows of the axe continued: a loud knocking somewhere outside. Below that, she could make out the sound of horses moving around, and the light jingling of bells.

"What is it?" she asked Sereth, who was peering out the window, silhouetted against the faint dawn light.

"I don't know," the girl told her. 'There's a whole lot of men on horses, and someone was shouting to open up. I think they're guards, Asta!"

Asta joined her at the window, which overlooked the street. Sure enough, the street outside the inn was almost blocked by a small group of riders, four of them in the distinctive black-and-silver livery of the Guards of the Citadel.

"Oh my goodness!" said Asta. "This must have something to do with Branor!"

[the phantom]

Did he say "Master of Revels"? Aldarion rose from his desk and stuck his head out of his window. By the arched entrance to the courtyard he could see several horses topped with armored men. Soldiers! By the Valar- I hope this has nothing to do with Branor!

Soon after he had retired to his room the previous night Aldarion had heard the window in the room next to him grind open. Curious as to what Branor was up to, Aldarion had peeked and caught a glimpse of Branor slipping out, dressed all in black, sneaking from tree to tree. So- gathering his information in the style of the new spy-king, eh? We'll see how this ends.

Aldarion's mind immediately recalled that moment, and he berated himself. Why didn't you stop him, or go after him? You should've known something awful would happen. He probably tried to sneak into the seventh circle and got caught attempting to climb in the Queen's window! The King probably thinks we're spies!

For a moment Aldarion considered checking on the other players, but there was little hope that the entire troop could evade arrest if it came down to it, and Aldarion felt he could be of more use out of prison than in it, as he was more likely than the others to be able to forge useful contacts in the city, or if need be he could travel back to Dol Amroth and explain the situation to the Prince.

Aldarion rushed to his door and sprinted down the hall as silently as he could towards the common room. There was a low fire burning in the fireplace, a couple tables of breakfasting travelers, and a man asleep in a padded chair by the fire. Aldarion lowered himself into a chair next to the sleeping man and turned it slightly so that he could see the doorway to the hall. If the soldiers go to our rooms, I will see them pass by.

[Mnemosyne]

There was a commotion outside, enough to awake Brinn. She pushed her husband awake. "Is it dawn already? Or past? We're losing time!--go out and see what the matter is!"

Rollan sighed. His wife was feeling her confinement already. He rolled out of bed and blearily stepped out of the cart--they'd gotten a room at the inn, but since Brinn's injury decided it would be better to stay with the carts so she wouldn't have to move nearly as much. "There's talk of the Master of the Revels," he said. "And some guards. I think they're here for us, and not for good, either."

Brinn groaned. "Well, someone will have to go out and meet them. They'd better not have started charging for the right to make folk smile! Tell them--tell them that we're not official, we never have been, and if they're going to make a fuss about it we'll move out to the Pelennor where he can't say anything about it." In recent years Minas Anor had grown too small to house everyone who came for the festivities. "And if it gets to be too much trouble, bring them to me."

Rollan frowned in thought. When had he become that "someone"? "But don't you need help getting dressed?"

"I'll be fine, go! Would you rather have Branor be our spokesman?"

She had a point there. Still, before leaving, he went through the trunk and pulled out one of Brinn's overdresses. "There," he said. "Now you won't hurt yourself even more for your stubbornness."

He dressed himself hastily, ignoring Brinn as she told him to put more care into his appearance for the Master of the Revels, and stepped outside. There were horsemen outside the inn, and a very pompous-looking mule of a man standing just inside.

Rollan bowed. "My lord?" he said. "Is there aught we can do for you?"

[Pitchwife]

Still yawning, for he hadn't slept that well, Coldan trudged along through the streets, doing his best to keep up with Harrenon's brisk stride. The fresh morning air and the gleams of early sunlight on the upper stories of the buildings around them contrasted sharply with his muddled brain and the gloomy mood he had carried over from yesterday.

It could have been worse, he reminded himself. At least Brinn had shown sense enough to team Aldarion up with Rollan and keep him safely away from Asta for most of the day. (Remembering how the two of them had intimately whispered together last evening sent renewed pangs of jealousy through his heart.)

At first, he had relied on Harrenon to come up with an idea as to where to start their research, but it soon became apparent that the young Gondorian was about as much out of his depth as himself.

“How about looking for armouries or smithies?" Harrenon finally suggested. "You know, places where you can get swords and the like. Soldiers go to such places even in times of peace, or so I’m told. Who knows? Maybe we might even run into some of the Citadel Guards, if we’re lucky.”

"Sounds good to me", Coldan replied, "if you know how to find such a place."

Harrenon didn't, so they agreed to just stroll on and enquire for directions on the way. Their first stop was Lamedon Square Market, which was already filling with a busy crowd eager to get hold of the best goods while they were fresh; two or three city guards were patrolling among the market-goers, but none of them looked old enough to remember much about the war.

"Lots of people to ask for the vay", Coldan observed. "Let's start zere!" He pointed to a bakery that sat right in the middle of the square, at the intersection of two crossing roads. Harrenon had been in such a hurry to set out that he had had to forego breakfast, and his stomach was complaining rather loudly. He bought some delicious-smelling golden rolls from the owner, a well-rounded woman with a friendly face, and asked politely: "Vould you know, good mistress, vere to buy a good blade in zis city?"

[Anguirel]

Lord Cirdacil waved the two guard officers at the front aside, craning forward to get a better view of the fellow who had opened the door.

"Who is this fool?" he asked no one in particular, examining Rollan with impersonal disapproval. "I was under the impression these charlatans answered to a woman, one Mistress Celebrindal."

"If what I remember from Amlach is correct, father," Sador put in, speaking in his usual measured way, "this will be her husband, Master Rollan. He is a comedian, I gather, of some note."

Sador's honeyed accent sounded genuinely impressed to encounter such a renowned personage. But his father knew him well and understood that the main import of his explanation had been a slight. When, accordingly, he addressed Rollan directly for the first time his curt voice had lost none of its asperity.

"I have business with your consort, not you, sir. I want her, and that carpenter attached to the Revels purse - Amdir? yes, him, as soon as they can be found."

"Although," Sador added in an assuaging manner, "it will be good to have you present as well, Master Rollan, indeed. I think we have certain subjects to discuss that will interest you all. Finally, if your playwright, Master Aldarion, is at liberty from his intellectual pursuits, I have a letter for him that I would be grateful if you would deliver."

"So do I," said the leader of the guards, who had dismounted quietly from his roan horse, and, no sooner had Sador put his letter to Aldarion into Rollan's hand than the guard followed suit. Sador looked very taken aback by this, but his father had lost interest in this side-issue.

"Well, hurry up then," Cirdacil barked out anew. "Chop chop, my man, fetch the wifey, the carpenter and anyone else with an interest in the future of this...troupe. My escort is hungry; we shall wait here and tuck into a hearty breakfast."

The previously dour and wordless officers exchanged grins at last...