An Audience With The King RPG

[Celebmornie]

***Rivendell***
Thule wakes up and goes for another walk the sun is still hidden so she knew she didnt sleep much but it was enough! She saw that a fire was going in a room ahead and wondered of it was for the trip. She quietly walked to the door and knocked.

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale-Rubin *****

save

[Child of the 7th Age]

****Harad/Umbar****

Under cover of night, Urken had managed to sail north of the pirate vessel and lay hidden as they had agreed. Now, at the appointed hour, he swiftly turned his ship about and brought it down the river, intending to pen in the pirates with no hope of escape.

As he rounded the bend in the river, an amazing sight greeted his eyes. It was one he devoutly hoped he would never see again. He had a clear line of vision to the two ships. They stood and faced one another. The broad frame of Fuinur's ship was directly exposed to the Corsairs. A barrage of arrows and flaming oil barrels were falling onto the deck of the vessel.

This was not supposed to happen! Urken had assumed that they would be victorious against the pirates. He could then present himself to the men of the town as the saviour of Gondor.

Urken ground his teeth. He was a man of Umbar. The love of ships and the sea was bred into his bones. He had been around ships and conducting skirmishes on the water at last since the age of 15.

These lumbering kings of Harad had about as much understanding of naval tactics as his old Aunt Ungit! Fuinur should have had the good sense to angle his vessel so that the whole broadside of the ship would not be exposed to enemy fire. Urken howled in frustration. Herumir was useless and drunk half the time, but he'd expected better things from Fuinur. Ah, what could you do with these lovers of land who only wished to roam their coffee plantations from the back of an oliphaunt?

If truth be told, Urken hated oliphaunts. They were necessary military tools to him. That was all. But a lovely, glistening ship--that was another story. Urken had far more love for ships than men and hated to see one abused through ignorance as Fuinur was doing.

Within a single instant, things went from bad to worse. Fuinur casually loaded his catapault and aimed right at his own masthead. Urken put his head into his hands and moaned. How was he ever going to accomplish his stated task when he had a group of incompetents travelling with him?

Urken looked at the stern of his vessel. There, right behind them, were two ships from the port of Pelargir which had been sent down to fight the pirates. They had come in response to the message he himself had sent to the mayor by pigeon. At least, the three ships would not have any trouble quelling their enemy.

However, to Urken's consternation, the sailors from Gondor had gathered on deck and were pointing fingers in the direction of Fuinur and his misaimed catapault. They were holding their sides and laughing. Urken had a devout desire to sink into the river and never be seen again.

With the three ships working in tandem, they had little trouble surrounding the Corsairs and forcing them to surrender. Actually, they refused to surrender, but did abandon ship. The sailors plunged off the side rail and disappeared into the night.

At least the ship itself was preserved intact! The same could not be said for Fuinur's vessel. The main mast had been so injured by the catapault blow that it would take many weeks of repairs to salvage the ship.

Urken scowled when he saw that. Now what were they going to do? How were they going to get to Minas Anor? He'd think about it later.

But at least one part of his plan seemed to be working. After bring the skirmish to a successful conclusion, the captains of the ships from Gondor asked Urken and the kings to lay into port and come visit with the mayor of Pelargir. They agreed. Fuinur was in quite bad shape and had to be supported by his men. When the mayor saw his miserable plight, he offered to have him sent to the local house of healing.

Urken managed to keep an impassive face, but between gritted teeth he muttered to himself: "Healing? I would rather send him to his execution, if truth be told."

However, in the interests of diplomacy, he politely agreed. Fuinur was bundled into a cart and carried away to the healers.

The mayor provided him and his men with pleasant accomodations, and it was agreed that they spend the night. They would meet later in the mayor's hall for a feast given in their honor. Mayor Elhorn was truly thankful that Urken had managed to send the pigeon out and warn them of the impending raid. He seemed willing to forgive Fuinur's vessel for acting so incompetently. Urken shook hands with Elhorn, and the two men agreed to talk further at their dinner.

[ October 18, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Harad/Umbar

Urken and Elhorn were seated beside each other at the feast. They were both men of the Sea and had much to talk about and compare. Urken was surprised to find that he felt more comfortable speaking with this man of Gondor than he had with Fuinur whose knowledge of the sea was not extensive. He had never spoken face-to-face with anyone from Gondor. Still, he was suspicious. Perhaps this was an unusual man, or perhaps he was hiding things from him.

Still, they managed to spend a good part of the evening laughing about Fuinur's destruction of this own ship. Elhorn commiserated that Urken had been saddled with someone who knew so little about sailing.

"What will you do now, since you only have the one vessel?" asked Elhorn. Since the pirate ship had been taken down in the waters of Gondor, it belonged by rights to Elessar. Urken was not pleased with this, but did not want to stir up the issue on the very eve of their entrance to Minas Anor. He had larger considerations in mind.

Urken replied courteously, "I have sent Herumir and his men home overland. They've already begun their trip and have left the city. Fuinur and I should be able to share the one vessel, although it might be a bit cramped with all the oliphaunts he's brought along."

Elhorn nodded and offered to resupply the vessel at his own expense. He also agreed to write a note to Elessar requesting a private audience for the delegates with the king.

Before they broke up for the evening, Elhorn said, "Fuinur is feeling better, and should be out of the house of healing by tomorrow morning. You should be able to get underway again by mid-day. And again, thank you for the warning about the Corsair ship."

The men took their leave of each other. Urken wondered what Fuinur would think when he discovered that Herumir and his men marching back towards Harad. He was so suspicious of everything Urken did! Herumir' departure was necessary because they had only a single vessel left, but somehow he thought Fuinur might view the matter in a different light.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Al-Gareth outside of Nurn ****

Dogs. Al-Gareth cursed, and his mind raced, looking for escape at every turn. They had gone nearly four days out of Nurn before the belling of the hounds began to track them, with painful accuracy.

The dogs that had found them however were innocent of good and evil, tails wagging as they trailed their master, or bounded ahead to new scents. But they had found the ones their master sought, and Al-Ethkeban's soldier, the leader of the group, called them back with a sharp whistle. There were eight soldiers all told, more than enough to hold two weary men.

Al-Gareth gritted his teeth as he was flung forward a few steps through the leaves by his captors. The ropes burned into his arms, his shoulders ached; they had tied his arms at both the wrists and the elbow. The bruises on his face attested to the fact he was not a cooperative prisoner, and he slowed them at every opportunity. There was no hope of rescue, but he would not go as a lamb to the slaughter. He feigned weakness, stumbling and stubborn, hoping they would relax their guard.

At noon the guards stopped for lunch, kindling a small fire. Al-Gareth's bonds were tied to a tree, while his man was tied on the other side of the clearing. The guards didn't bother to feed them.

"Let's just kill 'em," one of the men said casually, peeling a twig and flinging the bits into the fire. Others were silent, and the leader ignored him. But another agreed, sharpening his knife on a whetstone.

"They're draggin' their feet a'purpose," he complained. The leader held up his hand.

"A dead body's worse. If we bring nothing, then how do we prove what we found?" The others nodded in agreement. "But I tell you what. If he keeps dragging his feet - we kill the other one. You like that, king?"

They made somewhat better time that afternoon.

At dusk they approached a branching in the trail, familiar to them all, when the dogs suddenly bounced ahead, barking madly as if after a hare. That was all the warning they had before arrows struck the complainer to the ground, a sword struck another soldier in the gut; suddenly men, dirty and wild-haired, poured out of the forest, overwhelming the soldiers. Al-Gareth was flung to the ground, though his guards stood their post.

Their attackers had no devices nor order, but there seemed to be nearly twice as many as the soldiers. And they knew their business, rightly ignoring Al-Gareth's guards as being unable to join the fight. The soldiers were overrun, and separated.

The leader dispatched one attacker, turning too late to defend another of his men beset by two of the brigands.

"Back to back!" he yelled, "BACK TO BACK!"

Another soldier won his fight with one attacker, then was immediately engaged by another. As Al-Gareth watched, blood stained his tunic, and his sword dropped from lifeless arms. There was a shocked look on his face.

It was too much for one of Al-Gareth's guards. He launched himself at the killer of his friend, taking him by surprise, and then dispatched another in a quick volley of blows. He fought his way to his captain, who had felled another man.

They turned to face their attackers, back to back.

Their opponents no longer vulnerable, two brigands fell to bloodied steel. Then three. A volley rang to Al-Gareth's left, and he turned just in time to see his other guard topple. The brigands no longer assumed the guards wouldn't leave their posts.

There was a pause, as sometimes happens in battle, when everything stops at once. The crossroads at the crest of the hill was a mass of bodies. Only three soldiers remained, the leader and Al-Gareth's guard standing back to back, surrounded, their swords ready. The brigands around them could now be counted. Six. A third soldier hovered, half the field away, ignored.

Then everyone moved at once. One brigand fell, five attacked.. then all was still. One brigand casually pulled his sword out of a man. The two soldiers were no more. The last soldier, who had hesitated and now was outnumbered five to one, turned and fled into the forest.

Sixteen men lay dead on the forest floor. Nine brigands. Seven soldiers.

A brigand, looking no different than any of the others, approached Al-Gareth with a slow evil smile.

"What treasure takes eight men to guard it?"

[ October 19, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Alkanoonion]

******Harad/Umbar******

Seth was not happy. Not only had his master and best friend been hurt in the botched attack on the Corsair ship, but also their only ally had been sent packing with his tail between his legs.

Seth did not understand Urkens motives in sending Herumir home. What would they do without Herumir? He was still needed by his allies.
True Herumir was a drunk with a bad taste for ugly women, but he was a genius when it came to trade and land war. Even if his genius did not extend to matters of sea, his input so far had been invaluable.
What was Urkin thinking? Was removing Herumir part of some strategy contrived to benefit himself, or to just disadvantage his master?

Seth knew his lords mind. Not only would Fuinur be wrathful when he learned of the battles result, he would worry himself over the current situation. With the injuries he gained on the ship, he needed lots of rest to completely recover. However the immediate conditions would worry his friend. They would prevent Fuinur recovering properly. Besides, dealing with a sick or injured king was difficult enough (Irritating was a word Seth would use. Fuinur had always been one to whine), without said king being in a rage.

Hoping he was not overstepping his authority, Seth sent for his local contact in Pelargir, a man called Kurdin. Kurdin was the best spy in the area and as he had strong ties with Harad he could be relied on. The agreed meeting place was a little bar in the back streets of Pelargir. The bar, named the Belrogs Wings, while being in a little used part of the city was still unusually active.

Seth was seated in a dark corner sipping his drink, when a short somewhat stocky man strolled over to the bar. Seth was lucky to spot the entry of the man he had been awaiting. Lucky for the man was only 5 foot 3 in height and with the bar being both crowded and smoky, his diminutive figure receded into the background. A useful trait if you are a spy. Seeing Seth he walked over and settled him-self into a chair that looked as if it would break at any moment. As he motioned a serving girl, Seth examined the man more closely. The man had a non-descript face of light olive skin, short black hair and an unkempt goatee. His grey eyes, with their jovial crows feet were his most striking and only notable feature. It was a type of face that was easy trusted but equally forgettable, another important aspect for spying.

The man looked around. With a visual sweep around the room, he seemed to observe every aspect of it, making a mental note of all who lingered within.
More relaxed now, he ordered a glass of vintage Dorwinion wine, a most potent wine that did not come cheep.
“Living well I see Kurdin. Business must be going well. ” Said Seth. Kurdin laughed and sat back while he slapped his stomach.
“I have been known as a gourmand in the past, and I do enjoy fine wine every now and then”,
“Fine wine indeed” interrupted said Seth “that one bottle alone would have cost a years wages”.
“Yes it is a little pricey. I just cannot seem to stomach the local vintages. They give me wind”
“Well that fine. But I did not send for you to hear all about your bodily Functions. Thank you very much!
“What I want from you, is for you to send word to Herumir.”
“Herumir?, Why? He is on his way back to Harad on Urken's orders”.
“ Yes I know. That is why I want you to stop him. I have the feeling that we may need him later. It would be too late to send for him later as he maybe all the way back to Harad.
“Tell him to make his way with our troops, in secret to Minas Anor. Tell him it is imperative that they remain secreted; find shelter during the day and travel only at night. See if they can steel another boat if they have to but we will need him once we reach Minas Anor”.
With this message Kurdin immediately set out along with a goodly amount of Seth’s money to locate Herumir’s party.

Feeling his money-sack lighter, Seth decided to stop at the Healing house to see how Fuinur was doing.

At the house of healing, Seth checked that his friend was still doing well. He was still sleeping. The wound in Fuinur's thigh had been cleaned and stitched up. The wound had then been bandaged. Such wounds needed to be treated carefully as they would often go putrid from a poisoning of the blood. After examining the wound for him-self, he had always treated his masters wounds in battel, Seth felt more comfortable about his masters state of health. Seth settled into a chair beside his master, and soon drifted off to sleep.
Seth was awoken with a hand on the back of his head. Looking up Seth saw that Fuinur was wake and looking confused.

“How did I get here”?
“Urken and the Mayor Elhorn organised for you to be bought to this house of healing in the port of Pelargir”
“What has happened to my ship and men”?
Seth explained what had happened while Fuinur was unconscious.

Fuinur was furious when he learned that the ship had been destroyed and he swore that the foolish captain was lucky that he was dead and lost at sea because if he were still around Fuinur would have done worse things then kill him. The fool had not even aimed the catapults like he was instructed.

Seth then went on to tell Fuinur that Herumir and his men had been sent back to Harad at the instructions of Urken, but not to worry as he had sent a man to stop them. The dragon was glad that Seth had acted in his stead.

With the king once again mobile the remaining men and supplies were loaded onto the remaining ship.

As expected, Urken had chastised the king for his lack of caution in the handling of the ship, which they desperately needed for the journey to Minas Anor. Fuinur grudgingly accepted the criticism but reminded the priest that he was a warrior not a sailer.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Jarl listened to the ancient song of Nurn, impressed once again with the Harad grasp of history. But Gramil's song did not answer his question, which most pressingly concerned the welfare of his assistant, Garlin, and Nurn's laws today. The oliphaunts' rolling gait through the forest was relaxing however, and Jarl waited out his laconic companion's silence, as he had many times on this journey. The mark of a good businessman was patience, something both Jarl and (unfortunately) Gramil had in abundant supply.

Gramil seemed to come to a decision, and took a deep breath before he spoke.

"If we finished that song, brought it up to this day, I don't know what we would hear. Or I'm not sure. No news has come from Nurn since the end of the war. But perhaps," here he looked sheepishly at Jarl, "perhaps my name might come up, once or twice, in the recent past. Things that were best the king not know. If you understand me."

Jarl's eyebrows raised, though Gramil didn't notice as he attempted to keep his seat while he ducked a low-hanging branch.

"But when you have traded with people a long time, they become your friends. If they disappear and others take their place, one worries. Asks questions. That is one thing that is fatal in Nurn - asking questions.

"For anyone who is not holding a coffee shipment hostage, that is!" Gramil's eyes sparkled with humor. "Also walking alone where you are not expected to be. I lost one of my cousins to that.. custom.

"My king of course doesn't care who buys coffee beans and sells rice. And an ally is an ally, no matter what they are doing." It was the closest Jarl had heard any man of Harad question authority, even more surprising from this gentle singer and coffee merchant. "I found my friends. One was the former mayor of southwest Nurn, Al-Karech. A slave in the rice fields.

Gramil stared straight ahead, unmoving.
"If there is anything that burns the soul of a man of Harad, it is that. To hold a man against his will and work him like an animal! That which the beasts of Gondor are guilty, however long ago." Gramil's face was hardened and angry. He looked suddenly like the barbarian Harad warriors Jarl heard stories of as a child.

"I planned my next trip carefully. I made many offerings at the feasts to the gods, that Al-Karech would survive the winter. There were supposedly twenty-seven in my next caravan. That is what I told the slavers of Mordor. But really we only had fifteen.

"Nurn had changed, in just a few months. It had gone mad. Bodies hung in the trees for no crime I could learn. Brothers turned on eachother at rumors, for fear the Dark Lord would hear. Proud men were currying favor with orc Captains! We fought alongside them out of necessity, but we do not love them. Before last spring I would have said no man of Nurn would bow before such.

"At night, no man walked, and no lights were allowed. The streets were as dark as pitch. Only orcs abroad. Why would anyone outlaw light?

"I found Al-Karech, he had survived. But he would not come. He was very thin. Still he had others ready to leave, and a young king, perhaps, if they could overthrow their overseers. I had room for twelve. There were so many who wanted to come with me! I found space for nearly twice the number we planned under the rice bags, but it was not enough. Nothing could have been enough.

Gramil turned to Jarl, his face serious in the fading light.

"I would rather walk to the Blue Mountains than go to Nurn," Gramil laughed grimly, "Even Gondor. But I go where I must, because my king sends me. I do want to know what happened to my friend. My messages have never been answered. Maybe they never reached him. Maybe worse.."

"But I know even the borders of Nurn is no place for two boys alone."

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - INKEEPER *****

It was an unremarkable structure which stood at the intersection of the Old Forest Road and the Langflood. Built on the western side of the river, The Trade Inn had seen the comings and goings of many years and many peoples. Wars had been lost and won about it, Kings risen and fallen in the winds of shadow and light.

Still, the need for trade wove through all - foods and the necessities of life in leaner years; welcome comforts and adornments afforded by the richer years of peace.

Bram polished the dark wood of the old bar in the pale light of late afternoon. There were only a few customers at the moment, and he was enjoying the slow pace. Business had picked up since the Great War was done, and he hadn't gotten round to hiring another helper for the kitchen and the common room. Oft times, now, he ran himself ragged filling the role of three as he poured the ale, served the food, and kept the rowdier ones in check with the threat of his great cudgel.

'Done!' he said to no one in particular, as he wiped the last stain from the wood. He stowed the cloth beneath the bar, and poured himself a pint of the dark, creamy topped ale that was the mark of the Inn. He sighed contentedly as the first swig of obsidian liquid poured down his thirsty throat. A swipe of his tongued cleared the foamy residue from his mustache. The tankard was half raised to his lips again when he heard a loud clattering on the wide, wooden porch fronting the Inn.

The doors swung open, and a ragtag group entered the common room. 'Dwarves!' he said quietly to himself. 'Now this is a rare occurrence.' Taller figures followed close on behind them, and all stood blinking in the dimness of the room. 'Elves, too! And Men, if I'm not mistaken.'

He sat his tankard carefully on the bar, and reached below to lay his hand on the stout handle of his cudgel. The unlikely group came toward him, and he watched them closely.

'Good sirs!' He hailed them in an even tone. 'Welcome to the Trade Inn. How may I serve you?' His grip tightened on the club, and he gave them an appraising look.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

Holding.

[GreatWarg]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

Ulwyte stared icily at the soldiers. A few were lavishly attired in glinting mail and helms with great black feathers. These were mounted on horse back, and obviously of some sort of high rank or royal importance. The foot soldiers carried all kinds of weapons, including clubs with large spikes on the head, chains with a large, sharpened razor on the end, and an assortment of spears, swords, bow and arrow, and daggers. Every soldier had weapons at ready, and were bristling. It strongly reminded of Ulwyte of a wild beast about to leap upon helpless prey.

One of the mounted men, and evidently of the most importance, stooped and said something in a low voice to the lead guard. 'Commoners' did not generally talk to the leaders directly; often one of lower rank was sent to speak for him. It was quite an insult, on Kasteni's behalf, to be treated thusly.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Jarl *****

Jarl’s face was grim as he considered what Gramil had just told him. His grey eyes narrowed, and he looked at his companion closely. He put aside polite convention and spoke directly.

‘You speak almost lightly of what must be loathsome to you, my friend. Is that your personal style when faced with such a repugnant subject, or do you seek to shield me from something further? Do you fear what we may find, when we find Garlin and Ethar? Or do you think that we may not find them at all?’ Gramil’s face gave no answer to the Dalesman’s questions.

Jarl brought his mount to a halt. ‘I’ll go no further until we have some sort of plan in place between us. I do not know the nature of the relationship between you and the young man, Ethar. But Garlin is my assistant. I have a certain responsibility to him and to the family which entrusted him to my care. Beyond that, he is a Dalesman, and as the representative of Dale, I am accountable for his safekeeping.’ He looked east through the thick cover of trees, and sought to pierce it with his gaze. ‘He is my friend, too.’ he said quietly. ‘I have grown quite fond of him. I would not lose him.’

He turned his gaze on Gramil. ‘You know the area. You will find me a willing listener. What shall we do?

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Gramil halted his oliphaunt, drawing up under the shadow of a tall fir.

"Perhaps it is my way, to smile at death. What else can one do?" Gramil said, his voice was soft, "But I too shall speak plainly.

"To you, telling tales of horror must be merely an excerize, something you might do over a campfire or in a fantasy tale to entertain your friends. Clearly you have never experienced it in life. I, in real life, have experienced horror. I know what it is like, and what it is to speak of it.

"I have known those with hearts so remorseless and black, they would drive one to death out of mere convenience for themselves. Whose best, most noble thought is personal gain. That thought at least can be understood by normal men. But their worst... is incomprehensible. All one can do is relay the facts of what they've done. But in fact their deeds are merely the outer shell, not truly what one has seen.

"I have looked into the face of evil, and I've thought on it a long time. The nature of evil is remorseless, without compassion, without empathy. It is curiousity perhaps, or it would do nothing, want and curiousity without any differentiation between harm and good. It may enjoy good one day, and harm the next. It is eager to learn the morality of men - as a tool, as puppet strings. It views such morality as limitations, something it is far above. It is a consummate actor, can appear so kind, noble even - ha, but why? It is not sane.

"It is understanding that difference between harm and good, that keeps men sane. Understanding that difference, one can look into the face of inexplicable evil and not flinch, as it twists truth, and tries to convince you of its lies.

"Of course, it would be better to never have known it at all, to keep innocence - and the ability to flinch. I envy you that, Jarl of Dale, for all that it is hard for me to imagine now what a happy life you must have lived. May all your days be such. But do not think I have told you all. No. Nor will I. As we turn towards Nurn I remember... all too much.

"But we will find the boys," Gramil clapped Jarl on the shoulder, and prodded his oliphaunt forward, "where there's hope, there's will, and where there's will there's hope. The great shadow is gone. By comparison the lesser ones seem fleeting and weak. And maybe they are just ghosts from my past?" Gramil shrugged, shaking off his memories. "Maybe.. Nurn no doubt has changed in a year. But still, the way may be dangerous for them."

"As for plans..." Gramil rubbed his chin, thinking. "We cannot break from their trail. They've turned aside once, and may again. Here though, they broke this trail and that slowed them. We have the extra food, while they will likely stop to hunt. If we push on through sunset, that will give us an extra three hours. We will need to rest the oliphaunts, but we don't need to take the extra time to build a fire and cook for lunch as we have been. We have been moving at a very slow pace. In all we can cover in two-three days what they have in five. Unless they speed up or meet a trail, we should overtake them. At least we will be close enough to signal."

"Signal? How do you suggest we signal?" Jarl asked. Gramil grinned and said something in Harad to his oliphaunt.

"Cover your ears - !" Gramil announced. The warning was just in time.

She bellowed, and Jarl's mount gave a deafening trumpet in response. The sky rang for a moment, and Gramil listened. "No. They're still too far away."

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

****Harad/Umbar****
Urken excused himself from Fuinur and went to the rear of the ship. A pigeon was winging in circles high above the mast. Urken put out his arm and the pigeon gracefully came down to perch. The priest unwrapped the tiny message attached to the bird's foot. He could not totally hide the wide smile that appeared on his face.

Fuinur looked on in disbelief. What was the devious man doing now?

Then Urken came back to the king and cleared his throat, "Ahem, we've had a slight change of plans. I know how concerned you are about your vessel. We will be staying in port today. I've had a promise from a skilled shipbuilder to look at the masthead, and see if it could not be fixed within a few days. They have the most talented shipbuilders in the world in this city so perhaps there is hope. Mayor Elhorn has even agreed to underwrite the costs. We should know later today whether or not that repair is possible."

"Perhaps you and your men would want to spend the day touring the bazaars of the city. I understand they have many exotic and wonderful goods. We have driven the men hard since they left Umbar. Perhaps a brief rest is in order."

Fuinur looked at Urken strangely. For a moment, it looked as if he would begin to argue, but what could he say? He had no vessel of his own. And as he was an honorable man, he would not consider stealing that which belonged to Urken.

For this morning at least, their ship was to remain docked in the harbor. Urken seemed amazingly courteous to Fuinur, perhaps too courteous. Meanwhile, Fuinur didn't know whether he should feel like a prisoner or honored guest. He shook his head in dismay. For the moment he had little choice but to follow along, and keep his counsel to himself.

As Fuinur turned and was about to leave the vessel, he caught a glimpse of Urken. The latter was standing on the very edge of the harbor, his robes billowing outward as they caught the wind. On Urken's arm was a magnificent hawk which sat uneasily upon a great leather glove. Several times the bird bated, then settled down to wait. Slowly, Urken undid the beast's hood, and finally his jesses. He thrust his arm towards the heavens and the creature took flight.

As the hawk winged his way across the heavens, the priest cried out strange words totally unknown to Fuinur. Fuinur could only imagine that he used some ancient tongue spoken only by the masters of lore. Almost against his will, Fuinur found himself shudder. He commanded armies and men without number. This priest had only a handful of resources when compared with his own. Yet these words set a gulf between them which even Fuinur and all his wealth could not bridge. What were those words? Something of power surely. But what kind of power, for good or evil, Fuinur did not know.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Nevtalathiel]

*****DALE - Girion*****

Girion blinked a couple of times to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but even before he had done that, his nostrils had given him the information he needed; the building was indeed an inn, and from the smell of it, the beer and food were both very good. He smiled, at last he would be able to get a meal which did not taste of soot and a proper tankard of ale, not the weak sour stuff they had carried with them.

He flashed a grin at the innkeeper, who seemed a little perturbed by their presence.

"First of all, we would like food and drink." And a proper bed for the night. He added mentally, though out loud he said nothing, aware that they should get along as quickly as possible, it all depended how long it would take to secure a boat.

The dwarves and the elves seemed less than comfortable sitting at one of the long oak tables waiting for the food to arrive, but the sweet smell of the wood fire and the ale meant Girion could not care less about how they felt; he deserved a break. Looking around at the smoke-stained ceiling and uneven walls, he felt once more at home and far more secure than he ever had in the forest.

At a table on the other side of the room, a group of men seemed to be discussing business. Stiffly, Girion walked over to them, to see if he could negotiate the hire of a boat.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Nevtalathiel ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Inkeeper *****

Bram loosed his grip on the cudgel, and laid both his hands on the bar. He watched as the young lordling dismissed him with a smile. He shook his head. 'His father was naught like this as a young man.' he thought to himself. 'Perhaps the young cub needs a lesson.'

Girion strode to the table where some of the locals had gathered and were discussing the uncommonly nice weather and the benefits of late plantings. One of them had just brought up a problem concerning his pregnant goat when Girion addressed him.

'I wish to hire a small ship to transport myself and my friends downriver. Have you one available, or do you know from whom we might get a boat?' He stood there, waiting, an impatient air about him.

'A boat, you say.' said one of them, turning a rheumy eye on the prince. 'Berel has a goat if you're wanting it, but no boat to my knowledge.' He laughed at Girion's discomfiture. 'Any of the rest of you have a boat this princeling might commandeer?'

They all looked at the now red-faced Girion. Then one of them pointed toward Bram, who stood behind the bar watching the interchange. 'If it truly is a boat you want, and not the proffered goat - then it's him you should be asking about it.'

Girion walked to the bar and made as if to speak. But Bram had made himself busy with his other customers, now. He had tapped a keg of Dwarven spirits and served up a small tot to Stonehelm that he might pass judgement on its quality.

Stonehelm caught Bram's eye and nodded almost imperceptibly toward Girion, his eyes twinkling. He downed the spirits, and slammed the glass down on the bar top. 'Comes of a fine making, I can tell you that.' he said, running his finger around the rim of the glass. 'But it's young still, needs aging to bring out its full character. A few more years will temper that overbearing taste it now has, don't you think?'

Bram took the glass from Stonehelm and wiped at the small ring it had left on the surface of the wood with his rag. He heard Girion clear his throat to draw his attention. Bram looked up and casually regarded him, taking him in in full measure.

'So, Dalesman, what is it you need of me?'

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Jarl *****

' . . . to keep innocence - and the ability to flinch. I envy you that, Jarl of Dale, for all that it is hard for me to imagine now what a happy life you must have lived.'

Jarl's eyes were hooded, and he said nothing in return. He recalled his time spent at the side of the King in Erebor during the War. Dale had been overrun by Sauron's troops from the East, its army defeated. The citizenry had taken refuge with their allies, the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, and fought against the besieging Easterlings. It had been a bloody war, and many of his friends had died cruelly at the hands of the Dark Lord's minions.

'Let Gramil keep his innocence and his stories if he must.' he thought to himself. He drew his bow and quiver of arrows from behind him. The oliphaunts rolled along, great ships sailing slowy through the trees.

He inspected the tips of each arrow and looked carefully at his bow string. Then sitting back, he recalled the lessons a certain Mumak warrior he had befriended after the War had given him, on the advantages of positioning one's self atop the oliphaunt to shoot downward at one's foes.

************************************************** **********

The trumpeting of the oliphaunts took him by surprise. 'How interesting!' he thought to himself. 'So much for any stealth on our part. Everyone should now know where we are.' He leaned back in his saddle and urged his mount on at a faster pace. Gramil did not appear especially worried. May as well follow his lead, he thought.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

Holding.

[Alkanoonion]

**** Harad/Umbar ****
It was late afternoon. The port of Pelargir for all the surrounding water was a hot and humid place. Despite the heat and humidity Fuinur had found a dockside crate to sit upon. He was waiting, waiting for news concerning the ships repairs. The crate was in an uncomfortable spot. However the location was perfect for a good sulk.

Their ship was to remain docked in the harbour for at lest a day as skilled shipbuilder were attempting to repair the masthead.

Although repairing the damaged vessel was a logical step, Fuinur felt frustrated. He resented a situation were every decision seemed to be what Urken desired. The man seemed determined to take control of every aspect of this venture.

“Oh get over yourself!” Fuinur reproached himself
“You could be with your men enjoying this time off to explore and enjoy this city”. Fuinur decided that he would go and find something to occupy his thoughts other than ships, untrustworthy travel companions, and disobedient
Oluphaunt.

Touring the bazaars and other popular sights were not a soldier’s idea of fun. Rather a public house; with a bar, lusty barmaids and enthusiastic musicians was what he needed. As well as a lot of grog. That’s what he needed to forget his problems, at lest for a little while.

Having talked himself out of his little sulk, Fuinur left the hustling harbour district to find some obliging pub for a little amusement.

The ‘The sailers barnacle’ was a popular public house for sailors and other undiscriminating residents. ‘The sailers barnacle’ was a nice rat infested hole of corruption. Not the type of place Fuinur would normally socialize in, it was more to Herumir taste, which was probably why he chose it. He was missing his friend, and the place reminded him of Herumir. There were several ugly barmaids and villenous looking characters hiding in the shadows.

Fuinur headed for the bar. After pushing aside a patron too far gone in drink, made him-self comfortable in his victims stool.
He ordered ale, after sampling this he turned to enjoy the attractions around him.

Many of the customers were kept occupied by the barmaids who instead of working appeared more interested in socializing.

Fuinur was amused to note one couple in particular; a barmaid who had a very generous bosom was sitting in an old sailors lap. The old sailor, being rather diminutive and aged looked most comical with the somewhat younger and plump serving girl. He was completely smothered by the enticing flesh so much so that the man was barely visable.

Fuinur, laughing into his pitcher of ale, turned back towards the bar. He had gained a new neighbour during all the fun. Beside him was Seth
“Where did you come from” said Funiur
“I just returned from riding out to catch up with Kurdin so that he lets Herumir know what has been going on”
“Any chance for a drink?” asked Seth
Fuinur called a barmaid over to bring a drink of ale for Seth.
The two men moved to find a quieter corner of the bar to drink.
The two settled in a dark corner to finished the first round.

It was Seth’s turn to bye the next round. After each round the two would take it in turns to bye the next round. This went on for quiet a time until later that night it was once again Seth’s turn, with no serving girl nearby Seth went up to the bar himself. Finding the barman Seth ordered the round and started back to fuinur. On the way back a drunken man decided to have some sport with Seth. The drunk stretched out his leg so that Seth tripped over him, sending the two mugs that Seth had been caring flying across the room and into the back of another patron.

The patron thought that it was the sailor across from him who had thrown the drink, because he had made a crude joke about the sailor’s mother. Tapping the sailor on the shoulder, the patron smashed his fist into the sailors face. The sailor threw a glass of stale wine at the man, narrowly missing him with the glass but instead hitting a group of dwarfs across the room, drenching them with its contents. The dwarfs, being drunk started fighting with all the customers leaving a bloody trail wherever they went. Soon the whole bar was a heaving mess of men and Dwarfs fighting.
“Deash t’all heashens, an’ coffen pyrates” (Translation: Death to all Heathen and coffee pirates) was the passionate but slurred battel cry of Funiur as he jumped into the fight, but being drunk he was soon knocked unconscious by a flying chair.
“So much for never being defeated in battel” Thought Seth, before he found a wall with his face and knocked himself out of the fight.

Later the local garrison emptied the bar. The garrison had thoughtfully dumped the two friends into a local gutter, rather then putting them in jail. It had been a busy night, so all the jails were full.

[ October 21, 2002: Message edited by: Alkanoonion ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Kasteni motioned for his guard to wait while he road forward to meet the strange soldiers. The man on foot that the mounted leader had spoken to walked forward, but the Advisor used Petrij to brush him aside and pushed his way to the other man. “You bar our way across this road,” he said, speaking directly him “and we are in haste. Stand aside.”

The foot soldiers grumbled at the commanding tone Kasteni used, but the man sat silently assessing the group he had stopped. The man Kasteni had ignored approached again and said, “You must speak to me, for Ninos does not speak to those he does not know, especially strangers.”

“Strangers?” asked Kasteni. “We are but two days from Ozvalda and you name me a stranger? These lands belong to Mislavini, and I speak for him in saying that you are the strangers. Identify yourself or prepare to experience an Ozren welcome to our land. One that you will not survive.”

The strange leader smiled and spoke. “Kasteni, you know me well.”

“Of course I do, Ninos. And you know me. So why do you approach as enemies?”

“We ride defensively, Kasteni, and we ride in retreat.”

“As do we, though we were in fact riding this way. It would appear we both ride to and from danger. Tell us what lies ahead of us and we will likewise share the same information.”

Ninos was the lord of Losinj, easternmost of the Ozren client kingdoms, and he and his party had been riding to Ozvalda to participate in the Year’s End celebrations when they had been waylaid by bear-like beasts and besieged in the Karloba Hostel. The motley group of soldiers that accompanied him now was the remnant that had survived the attack and they had hoped to be clear of the monsters. But after Kasteni related the tale of the previous evening it became apparent that the road to Ozvalda was not safe.

“Let us ride together to my land, Kasteni,” said Ninos. Together our groups can better survive and it will help you along your westward road."

“Agreed. You will find no sanctuary to the east. How far is it to Karloba?”

The standing man answered, “It is less than three hours, my lord, and if we go quickly we can reach Vakuf before dark.”

Kasteni nodded. Vakuf was a small city of a few thousand souls, mostly criminals and vagabonds, but the place was walled and well defended, and no group of wild monsters would defeat it easily. There, horses could be replaced and a quick dash westward would put them into Ninos’ kingdom.

“Yes. Let us ride to Vakuf immediately.”

[VanimaEdhel]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

The men rode, making haste towards Vakuf. They could still hear howlings and other unfriendly sounds in the distance.

"They sound as if they care coming nearer," Lovek said, "I suggest we send out a small search party ahead. Just so that we know that we are not running right into a trap. At the first sign of trouble, they can return, and we can seek alternate paths."

Kasteni complied to this, reluctantly. Khuleln, about two guards from Kasteni's group and about five men from Ninos's army rode ahead.

*********

Khuleln and the other men rode ahead cautiously. They looked around, nervously. Suddenly, they found many more were-bears surrounding them.

"We must fight to get out!" one of the guards shouted.

"Is that not obvious?" Khuleln shouted back.

The men drew their arms and prepared to fight. The were-bears quickly moved in and attacked.

Two were-bears fell, and Khuleln felt himself knocked down. The were-bear on top of him suddenly collapsed. A guard pulled the bear off and Khuleln quickly rose to his feet again.

The men fought for about fifteen minutes. One horribly injured guard fell, having lost too much blood, immediately passing out. One by one, the others fell too, until only Khuleln and another guard were left, defending their lives.

"We cannot take them!" Khuleln shouted.

"We should die with dignity, though!" the other guard shouted back, "We must go down fighting and not give up!"

Khuleln felt himself knocked to the ground. He felt warm breath on his neck. He closed his eyes and awaited his fate, which soon came...

The last guard lasted five more minutes, before meeting the same horrible end. The were-bears had their feast...

**********

At the first shouts, Ninos, Kasteni, Lovek, Ulwyte, and all of the men stood, preparing for the others to come back so that they could flee. They waited a good while, and, when the last shouts had died down, they waited for a minute in silence, in memory of the dead, then quickly road Northward for a few miles. They determined that the path there should be safe.

They continued on in silence for a good hour. They then went South a few miles, to get back on course for Vakuf.

Soon, they saw the town in the distance as a tiny glimmer of light on the horizon-line.

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin******

Garlin kneeled, hiding in the bushes, waiting for the signal from Ethar.

It had been two days since he and Ethar had found the bodies. Feeling that it was the fallen men's spiritual right, he had insisted that they make an impromptu burial for the bodies. The soldiers, of which there were eight bodies, were given graves entangled with an old tree's long roots. A natural coffin. The wild-looking men were thrown into a large pit, the way they probably would have been in their tribe. After that, Garlin and Ethar had continued with caution, even encouraging their mounts to tread softly (for an oliphant, anyway). About a day ago, they had found a path crudely cut into the forest. They had tied their oliphants to sturdy trees, and followed the path. They were now at the camp. There were, as both could see, two hostages tied to a stake in the ground in the middle of camp. There were five of the strange, wild-looking men; three were eating a roast hog, and two were standing guard on the path. These two made Garlin glad they had followed the path through the forest. Garlin circled 45° around the camp, and Ethar 45° the other way. The idea was a pincer attack on the camp, taking down maybe two in the confusion, rescuing the two captives in the middle, and taking the rest down with the captives' help...

A movement! An arrow shot into the air, away from the camp so the 'wild men' wouldn't notice. Quickly, he drew an arrow from the quiver, which he had moved to his belt for better riding, and placed it on his bow. Carefully drawing the string back, he mentally reminded himself, both eyes open, a lesson he learned while hunting for dinner. Taking careful aim, he let fly. The arrow landed with a meaty thunk in one of the diner?s eye. Hmm, four on four, not bad, he silently told himself, as he drew his sword, and charged into camp.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Cuthalion]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^


Settling himself at the end of the bar where he could keep an eye on the rest of the room, Durgan ordered a pint and listened as Girion and the innkeeper struck up a conversation regarding the boats needed for the trip down-river. He took a long pull at his ale and for the first time since they had set out, he smiled broadly and called to the innkeeper, Fine brew! Pass me another and some food along with it! Maybe with a full belly he would be able to accept better the task at hand instead of being quite so opposed to the changes he heard being discussed. As he tucked into his meal he remained watchful, yet vaguely he hoped he might be able to strike up a friendship of sorts with one of Elves, or one of the Men of Dale. He shrugged, Suppose it couldn't hurt, might find out something useful. he thought to himself as he downed the second pint as fast as he had the first.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Brando had been sent to bed earlier than the others, but had waited until theyd come in and were asleep. He saw Odo go out of the room, counted to ten and slipped out himself.

As he left the room, he made his way down the corridor, he marvelled at the elegance of the carvings, paintings and statues, so real looking that he found himself touching his forehead and bwoing to some of the stern elven statues. He came to the end of the corridor into an open courtyard, and stood with his jaw open at the beauty of the place. A small ornamental minature waterfall trickled over smooth rocks and lilies in a small pool. Quietly the small hobbit found himself wandering over to the pool, entranced, but when he was a few metres away, a movement on a nearby bench made him stop. The elf he recognised as Ciri looked up when she saw him coming, her elf hearing picking up the smallest sounds of his footsteps. Brando started to walk away but she stopped him.
"Wait..Brando is it?" Her voice was soft and musical and made the hobbit lad turn.
"Oh..yes, yes thats right...Ma'am?" He wasnt sure how to address her, and was fervently wishing he could remember her name.
"Its Meneciriel. Ciri. Why are you wandering around so late at night? I thought all of the hobbits went to bed?" She moved over slightly on the bech, indicating him a place to sit. His jaw dropped open until he caught himself. Could she read his mind? After a moment he realised shed asked him a question and blushed, realising what a fool he was making of himself.
"I..I had to go before the council ended anyway. I just...well, this place is so..beautiful!" He breathed.
Ciri laughed, a sound like elegance itself. "Me neither. Come; I havent heard of the shire for centuries."
"Oh, of course. And I havent heard much about the elves for..." He tried to work out how long, but gave up, realising he couldnt beat centuries."...A long time anyway."

OCC: Sorry if this clashes, but in the most recent post i can find, everyone seems to have gone to bed.

[Isilya]

*****MIRKWOOD CONTINGENT*******

"My Lord, I think we should follow the trail here. Even if it isn't her brother's group, it's most likely another group headed for Minas Anor."
"True, Thoron, and I think that we will follow it. There is an inn not far from here. It is very probable that they stopped for rest and a good meal. Let us carry on."

At that, Lord Lanothir and Thoron made their way down the trail with Isilya still asleep on Thoron's horse. This had been the longest time since they had found her that she had been unconcious. Thoron was becoming concerned, but his master thought nothing of it.

"Here is the inn I spoke of, Thoron. Stay here with the horses and Isilya, and I will inquire inside."

Lanothir dismounted from his horse and handed the reins over. Walking over to the door of the inn, he hesitated momentarily before stepping inside the threshold.

"Did a group of men, dwarves and elves stop here recently, good sir?"
"Why, yes, they're here at this very moment. They plan to leave soon, though. What do you wish of the group?"
"I wish to speak to Nefros, one of the elves."
"Give me a moment, my lord. I will go and find him for you."
"Many thanks."

[ October 21, 2002: Message edited by: Isilya ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely MT^^^^^^

Frain was a good listener. After drinking a pint (or two), Frain did nothing but listen to the sounds around him.

Nefros, there is someone outside for you.... Frain heard the inkeeper say. He stood close, a few chairs away.

Frain turned his head and watched as Nefros walked out the doorway of the inn. Frain watched the door intently, reaching for his axe which he had set near his chair.

A moment later, Nefros walked in. In his arms was a lovely elf, looking very groggy indeed. Was that the elf that had been caught by spiders?

[Guildo]

<<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>

Orodan & Nefros

Orodan was begining to enjoy the Dwarven Ale quite well, and was quite entertaned by the fact that Stonehelm was becoming better friends with the Innkeeper than Girion.

When Nefros heard the word someone was looking for him he was quite startled, but Orodan knew Lanothir, and as he saw the nomadic elf peek in the door with a rather curious look on his face he nudged Nefros to go talk to him. Orodan knew it wasnt of Isilya's death, for Lanothir knew of Orodan and Nefros's friendship and in that case would have asked to speek to Orodan.

"Always cautious of everyone arent you Frain, i supposed that is an admirable trait, and im greatfull your looking out for dear Nefros"
Orodan said as he leaned towards Frain and the other Dwarves with a Smirk on his face and coninued.
"We are about to witness the light come back to that elves eys"

As Lanothir saw Nefros aproach he said.
"Oi Just the ............" but Nefros shuved him to the side at the first sight of his siter lieing in the back of the wagon.
Lanothir returned the push with a smile and a laugh.

-Back inside the Inn-

Orodan joined in the Conversation with Stonehelm, Girion, and the Inkeeper.
Stonehelm and Girion where running out of ways to ask the humble buisnessman for use of his boat. When Orodan began to say...

"My friend Bram, do you realize, two princes and a King of unlike races have come here to your very Inn to ask you, the Noble Innkeeper of a Humble Inn, for your help in a task ordered by the High King himself.
Im not asking for you to give your boat away my friend , we will pay you well, and you may journey with us if you like im sure the Prince of Dale would not mind you as another Represenative"

Orodan Begain to continue his speach when Nefros walked in the door with Isilya in his arms, and at that point he could do nothing but smile and cheer, and soon the entire Pub was filled with aplaud and salute mostly directed at Nefros but also to Lanothir and Thoron.

[Belin]

*****Rivendell*****

The hobbit's soft footfalls made no echo on the floor of the great hall, but the dwarf's boots were another story. All the same, Elladan was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn't glance toward them for several seconds, by which time he had already considered carefully the option of dropping into the shadows and waiting for them to go away. He had no intention of revealing his worries to all and sundry, and in particular to guests. In any case, nobody, with the possible exception of Elrohir, knew how carefully he planned his interactions with others, how he spent long nights quietly wandering the halls in search of insight, and he wasn't quite sure what he would do if someone were to mention these odd habits to him. He imagined, briefly, that he might show them a far less diplomatic and agreeable side under such circumstances.

But these were guests, and they walked with soft steps that bespoke their awe of Rivendell and the beauty of the hall they entered. Serin, then. That Mikhelm would never walk in such a way. Elladan had been pleasantly surprised by the younger dwarf. Quick to conversation, eager to learn, and hopeful about the king, Serin was everything that Elladan had not expected from the dwarves, and just what he might have wanted from a friend. It occurred to him, fleetingly, that perhaps Serin too was using the night to consider the very problems that troubled Elladan, but he quickly pushed this thought away. After all, he wouldn't have wanted Serin to think any such thing of him.

Besides, with him was a hobbit. Clearly, this night was to be a social event. Very well, then. He moved toward them.

"The moon?" he said.

They glanced at each other, slightly disconcerted by this way of starting a conversation. Orlo muttered something and stared at his feet. Serin stood quietly for a moment.

"Is it for the moon, then, master elf, that you're here?"

Elladan paused as well. "No," he said finally, "this is the night before the journey, and I am restless." Certainly this was close enough to the truth.

"Then you understand--" began Serin, but stopped short. Orlo, at the same moment, had piped up, "Me too," in a moment of daring. He felt a sudden strange elevation. He was part of this company as well, he understood their restlessness, he was every bit as worthy of... oh, they were looking at him.

"You are eager to be off, then, Orlo Hornblower?" asked Elladan.

"I am... Well, yes. I've never been to any of the great cities before, I've never seen the king, I've never seen anything really. Will it be all right?"

They were still staring at him. This was not how he was meant to talk, he was sure of it.. he nudged Serin. He had spoken of this with the dwarf before, so he at least should understand.

Serin bowed, apparently gathering his thoughts. "I think Orlo is really wondering about some of the members of--"

"Fanelen!" cried Elladan. She must be completely transparent to them. Silly girl. He would have to-

"Of our own party, actually," finished Serin, with a shrewd glance at the elf.

"Perhaps," answered Elladan slowly, smiling in spite of himself, "perhaps we shall have to watch them."

Serin considered. "An alliance for alliances?"

Orlo frowned. An alliance against those against alliance seemed to him to have certain problems that he didn't know how to articulate, exactly.

[Alkanoonion]

****Harad/Umbar****
The two men picked themselves up out of the gutter and slowly made their way down the road towards the sound of laughter that was escaping out through a doorway in the narrow street.

Fuinur kept tripping over as he attempted to make his way towards the laughter, but with his walking ability somewhat impaired from the grog he would fall down each time he endeavoured to step forward. His legs would wobble and then give way to the bulky body above. Having a pair of legs that refuse to function, as they should, was no deterrent to Fuinur. He would just pick himself up off the ground and return to his unsteady motion. Seth was in no better condition. Rather with every stumble, Seth would collapse along with his friend.

As the pair progressed along with their stumbling mode of travel, Fuinur notice that the enticing sound was getting louder. This seemed to encourage the pair to double their efforts. Where there was laughter there was bound to be more ale.

As the two got closer to the sound they realised that the sound was from a tavern. The tavern was called ‘The Captains Parrot’.
Hanging from hooks above the door was an old wooden sign that had been painted. The painting consisted of a pair of sailor’s pants, which Fuinur had no idea what the pants had to do with a parrot.

The tavern was reputed to being a somewhat more respectable tavern then the previous one and so the tavern owner charged more for the food and grog. This was made up for with its high quality of food, drink and clean interior. Being drunk, all these details meant nothing to the pair, assuming that they had herd of the taverns reputation. All they were concerned with was getting some more ale into their bellies.

Reaching the tavern door, Fuinur flung the door open. A wave of heat, laughter and the smell of stew hit Fuinur and Seth full in the face reminding them that they had not eaten since the noon meal.
A large fire that was roaring in the hearth lighted the tavern. Hanging from a hook was a cauldron filled with the stew that filled the tavern with that delicious aroma that had Fuinur’s mouth watering.
The tavern was crowded and the two men were forced to push their way through to the proprietor who was standing behind a bar.
“Twoo roomsh peass …and some oaf ‘hat steshw peasesss!”

The proprietor was reluctant to sever two customers who obviously were very drunk. However, the proprietor was very conscious of the two men’s strange clothing and dangerous looking weaponry. Not wanting to have his property or his person damaged, he offered to serve the two their stew in a room up stairs. Hopefully the pair would fall asleep.

With the temptation of a good meal, the pair forgot the idea of ale. They collected a bowl of stew each and stumbled their way up the stairs to the room indicated by a lad from the kitchen. The lad prevented both of the grown men from falling down the stairs by pushing both from behind one in front of the other until they were all safely above. The stew was not as fortunate. A great deal of it found its way onto the floor and stairs, much to the proprietor’s wife’s annoyance (the proprietors wife made her husband sorry for letting the two ‘clots’ stay at her nice clean inn, by making him sleep on the floor).

Once inside the room the two drunks flopped onto the two beds. The two quickly polished of the remaining soup and letting the bolls drop to the floor, both men settled in for the night.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Innkeeper *****

Bram laughed and looked at the silent Stonehelm. 'Who sent these young pups to bargain for a man's boat?' he asked.' He turned back to Girion, the Elf having gone off to see to his newly returned companion.

'The ship is yours for the asking, young sir. It rightfully belongs to Dale. A certain man named Jarl, travels through here occasionally, and he asked me on behalf of King Bard to keep the ship in readiness for aught that it might be needed.' He eyed the young prince. 'Dale has always traded fair with us, and I said that I would do that for him.'

Stonehelm smiled at this answer, while Girion looked perplexed. 'You mean we might have had it all along? Why give us so much trouble about it then?' the prince asked.

'It's not something to be given lightly, even to one such as yourself. I wished to see if you knew anything about piloting such a vessel. And I found that you did not. You asked only to hire the ship. Naught about someone knowledgable to captain it down a river that I would think none of you knew much about. And then, of course, there is the question of the first mate to assist the captain.' He eyed the entire group, and laughed. 'Begging your pardons, sir, but none of you look as if you had spent much time working on a ship, much less travelling on one.' This last remark was aimed at both the Elves and Dwarves.

'And as for the offer being named a trade representative for Dale, that is what I am already, by the grace of King Bard.' He looked at Girion. You would have known that, had you taken time to ask your Father or the Head of the Merchant Guild for particulars about possible contacts.'

He sighed, and sat down on the stool behind the bar. 'I have been waiting for you for at least a week now. The King sent a messenger bird to me, detailing your mission and how you might need my assistance. All is in readiness for you. The ship sits ready to sail, supplies have been taken on board. There is even a place where you might keep safe your ponies. Though it is larger than I thought you might need - I had expected you to come more quickly by horse.'

And the Captain you mentioned,' asked Stonehelm, 'would that be you, by any chance?'

Bram laughed deeply at this remark. 'My good Dwarf, what a compliment!' He wiped a mirthful tear from his eye. 'Nay, your Captain lives a days journey downriver. He knows we are coming. We will pick him up there, tomorrow.'

'We?!' said Girion, arching his eyebrows at the Innkeeper.

'Yes, you won't be rid of me that easy, young master! I shall be the first mate, and pilot the ship down to the good Captain's place on the river.'

Bram came out from behind the bar, a large seagoing bag gripped in one hand and his cudgel in the other. All the companions' eyes had now turned to him. 'It's good that you have not yet unloaded all your wares and belongings. We have a fair wind this late afternoon, and the current runs with us.' He called to his wife in the kitchen that he was going. She came out wiping her floury hand on her apron and gave him a farewell kiss and a promise to watch well over the Inn.

Let's go gentlemen . . . and m'lady." he said, nodding his head to the fair Elf maid. 'Our ship awaits us, as does the King in Minas Anor.'

He led them out and down to where the ship was docked, their protests and grumblings unheeded. His eyes sparkled as he bade them climb the gangplank and load their belongings aboard. He pulled in the plank once all were on board, their gear and ponies safely stowed. Then he bade old Beor, who sat on the dock fishing, to cast them off.

The sail, now unfurled, caught the wind, and they were off. But only he seemed to be smiling at the thought of it.

[ October 22, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely MT^^^^^^^

Frain's eyes darted to and fro as the conversations of a boat continued quickly. Frain had no interest in boats. Bram was right, he had no experience or training on boats. This journey was not only full of surprises, but it also brought out the best and worst in the company. Everyone would change in some way, or learn something.

In the end, it was Frain's turn to sigh. Yes, a boat. He knew it would come to taking a boat a ways down the great Anduin, yet he had no idea it would happen so quickly. He was glad somewhat. The Trip seemed almost over. Yet he felt almost sorrowful to leave such a fine company.

But that day was a ways away, of course. Frain was getting ahead of himself.

And then there was Bram! So he was to go along with them? The group was picking up new members quicker than a spider catches flies. Bram annoyed Frain endlessly. Now he was to be stuck on a boat with the innkeeper?

Well, that is what I get for agreeing to come on this trip. And not a sight or thought of riches or reknown yet! Thought Frain to himself.

A boat. That still troubled him. The boat seemed, unstable, in a way. As though it would not hold them in the monstrous Anduin. Oh yes! The Anduin! Such noise it made. Frain had no need of a cabin for sleep! The river roared so loudly it could wake anybody, deep sleeper or no. The cabins were small and smelly anyway. Nothing like the cool, calm, strong walls of his bedchambers back home.


Ah well. Dwarves can survive anything, and I will not be the one to whine and prove that wrong. Frain told himself.

Frain prepared his smaller packs of goods and such clothing he needed. Soon, he would board the ship, and even more so the great Anduin.

[ October 23, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Cuthalion]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^


Durgan rose from his place at the bar, though not without misgivings. He was glad however that Bram, who seemed to more than up to the task at hand, was to go with them. The more experienced hands on the boat, the more confident he felt that they would make the journey in one piece.

As the company began to collect their weapons and various belongings, he found himself unexpectedly eager to begin this leg of the trip. He was finding in himself the before unnoticed pleasure of discovery. His eyes opened to the fact that differences were not necessarily things to be suspicious of.

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin*****

Ethar watched as Garlin rushed into the clearing. The four remaining men jumped up. Three ran towards Garlin, drawing swords. One ran in the opposite direction, towards Ethar. Both Garlin and Ethar shot their bows at the same time. The man fell, Garlin's arrow sticking out of the back of his knee, Ethar's, in his stomach. He lay on the ground, wheezing. One of the three charging Garlin turned, and rushed towards his fallen companion. Anticipating Ethar's arrow, he rolled as he approached the fallen man. Ethar's arrow flew right over him. Leaping up, he flung the dagger he had drawn in his roll. Quickly it flew, spinning end over end, and smashed into the tree where Ethar's head would have been. Ethar, however, had started to run out at a curve, towards the captives. Upon reaching them, he pulled out his sword and slashed the bonds that held them. Just as they reached the enemy, he felt a cold flaring sensation in his left calf. Reaching down, he felt the dagger, thrown by the second man, embedded in his leg.

[ October 22, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Elenna]

Ciri led Brando to a bench intricately carved with flowers. "Come! Tell me of your land."

Brando began to speak of the hobbits and the Shire with the sort of quiet love that only someone who has traveled away from their land can muster.

"You miss your land already, don't you," Ciri asked quietly.

"Is it that obvious?" Brando blushed.

"To me, yes. But there is no shame in it, my friend. We have our task to perform, and that means we have to leave our homes for a time, but we will return. And we will love our land all the more for having been away."

Side by side elf and hobbit sat, talking of the upcoming journey and gazing at the stars.

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire/Rivendell/Blue Mountains******

Orlo was confused, to say the least. Both Elladan and Serin seemed to have a conspiratorial look about them, and their talk of "alliances for alliances" greatly puzzled him. Watch who? Fanelen? Or Mikhelm? Or both? He decided to speak up: he'd already proved he was a simple hobbit ; there was no harm in being straightforward.

"Excuse me, sir- sirs," he added, carefully looking at Serin. "All this talk of alliances has confused me. What exactly are you meaning?" He looked at his companions seriously, hoping they wouldn't burst into laughter at his naive manner.

[Nevtalathiel]

*****DALE-Girion*****

Girion trailed behind his companions as they sorted out their gear into places on the boat. Across the small crapped room which hey were sharing Rubin gave him a quizical look, as if to ask whether his leg was troubling him, but he shook his head. His leg was not hurting at the moment, it was his pride which was causing him grief.

He felt humilated. He had been made to look like a fool in front of his peers. If he had had time to ask one of his father's advisers he would have done, but he had been given such short notice he could not have been expected to do everything. He clenched his fist and hoped Bram, if he had spoken the name, he would have spat it, would keep out of his way during the trip down the river and would not attempt to prove himself better than a prince. Girion had previously taken it upon himself to show several people that he was indeed fit to be a prince, and Rubin would testify that both he and Girion had been elsewhere at the time.

Slowly and what he hoped was calmly, Girion unclenched his fist and let out a long breath. His father had never been pleased by his outbursts, and he did wish to show that one day he would be a suitable ruler. He bit his lip with determination and turned to help stow his things, aware once more of the sunshine outside the small window and the ever present babble and rush of the river.

[ October 23, 2002: Message edited by: Nevtalathiel ]

[Alkanoonion]

**** Harad/Umbar ****
It was morning. Fuinur awoke to the sound of an army of olephants marching around his bed, their feet going thud, thud, thud. Each olephaunt as it walked past the bed would raise its trunk and blurt away. Fuinur groaned and promptly fell out of bed. The olephants continued their nosey rampage around the room showing no mercy for the Dragons poor head.

“Get away, Get away” screamed Fuinur but they kept at him. Trying to get up he felt his stomach heave and as Fuinur leaned over he spewed forth a mighty river of what looked like tar, all black and sticky.

The poor king felt a trunk wrap around his waist as one of the Olephaunt’s made to attack the stricken King. Screaming Fuinur made a clumsy swing at the olepaunt but missed. “My lord Dragon you are sick,” said the olephaunt. It sounded just like Seth. Opening his eyes Fuinur saw that it was Seth and not the head of a talking olehaunt, as he had first thought.

Helping the king to stand Seth grabbed some water from a pitcher and pored some of its contents down the Dragons throat.

Seth thought grumpily of the Dragon “More like a baby, making such a fuss about a little drink. Why, anyone would think it was his first time getting drunk!”

Fuinur felt his stomach heave again and rushed to grab the chamber pot. Once he had finished vomiting, he felt much better.

“Seth looks well” was the digested reasoning of Fuinur “How can that be? He drank as much, if not more than me. He must have a gut built of cast ion.”

Fuinur vowed never to drink again.

It was many hours more before the two appeared inside the Tavern. Seeing the proprietor,who was standing behind a bar, thanked him and payed for the nights lodging. The proprietor having receiving prompt payment (most did not these days) offered them a meal of leftover stew. Accepting the meal the two sat in silence in a corner while thinking about what to do next.

Fuinur decided to see if he could find out what the progress was with the ships mast. Leaving the ‘The Captains Parrot’ the two made their way to the dock.

Arriving, a lot of activity was going on but there was no sign of Urken. Looking around Fuinur spotted Mayor Elhorn. Grabbing the mayor by the sleave Fuinur asked him were Urken was. Elhorn replied that Urken was away on private business but asked if he could help. Fuinur replied that he cold help by having Urken send him word once he returned. He would be staying in a place called the kings palace, a place that they had heard about the night before. The Palace was a place for the rich to go when they wanted to gamble or meet with women.

Fuinur felt the need for some distraction to take his mind from events from the past. He could also meet people who he could talk trade with. It never hurt to make new contacts, besides there might be a nice woman who could help him with the ach in his thigh.

Leaving the Mayor the pair made their way to the Palace, The palace was surrounded by rolling gardens filled with fountains and benches for the enjoyment of patrons to sit and rest by. The building itself resembled a palace, on a slightly smaller scale. The entrance was equally grand being made up of stone with mithril designs on it; clearly this was a place of much wealth.

Standing by the door were two guards, one on each sides. Both were armed with swords and pole arms. Entering the palace the two made their way towards a card table and not recognising the game, the two found it quite boring. They moved on towards another table. The next table that they visited was a knife tossing competition. A man, with his eyes covered would throw a knife towards a target. The target was painted half red and half black. If the knife hit the red and you had betted on that colour than you won. If it missed than the house won. Painted in the centre of the circle was a small white mark. A person could pay extra for the chace at the white mark and if they hit the mark, all money bet would be doubled, but if they missed than they had to pay double. Not surprisingly few people paid for the chance.

The Game controller saw that Seth was interested and offered for him to have a shot. It cost only 1 gold per toss. Seth declined, not having the money to spare. The men around him sneered. Not one to back down from a challenge, Seth accepted. The controller placed the blindfold on Seth and placed him on the mark. As an added challenge the conductor spun him around three times and placed a knife in his hands. Pulling back his arm, Seth threw the knife. What Seth did not know was that he was facing a window and not the target. All the spectators knew what was going to happen. They were not disappointed. A great smash could be heard as the knife went flying out the window.

The men around the table laughed at Seth’s loss as he paid over the two gold coins. Fuinur Offered to have an attempt, only he would double what Seth had lost in the original bet. The crowd went silent.

Fuinur paid over 4 gold coins. The conductor placed the blindfold on Fuinur face and handed him the knife. He winked at the crowd and spun Fuinur around three times facing him in the wrong direction. Fuinur was not fooled. He turned and threw the knife directly at the target, winning himself not only 8 gold coins but also the cheers and applause of the crowd. Laughing the pair walked away with Fuinur handing Seth back his two coins.

Next the pair found their way to a room where beautiful women were in skimpy clothing and lounging around. Seeing the pair they offered to serve them for only 2 gold each. The two men smiled at each other and agreed, “why not” they both said in unison. Each picking the women of his choice the pair made their way to a small room where two beds where set up. Removing his tunic Fuinur laid down on the table where the women started to massage his muscles

‘Ahhh, that is lovely”. The massage was pure heaven and soon Fuinur started to doze off the last thing that he remembered was thinking that he liked this little break and then he dozed off.

[ October 24, 2002: Message edited by: Alkanoonion ]

[Adanedhel]

Rira sat over looking the dock and wondered when the the ship would arrive and what condition it would be in. As these thoughts crossed his mind he rubbed his short scraggly beard and run his fingers through his thick dark hair wondering what his new crew would be like and more importantly what his First Mate will be like.
Rira liked to run a disciplined and hard working ship, but with a new crew you needed to earn respect from your crew before you could be their Captain.

As Rira pondered over this he sighed and took a long pull from his tankard and rocked back in his chair, staring thoughtfully out over the dock willing the ship to come faster.....

[ October 24, 2002: Message edited by: Adanedhel ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Innkeeper *****

It was late afternoon by the time the unlikely crew of from the Inn had sorted themselves out into cabin mates, gotten their gear stored, and wandered up to the deck of the ship.

It was not a large vessel, that is compared to the great ships that sailed the seas of Middle Earth. But it was big enough for the river, and sturdy enough to see the companions through the greater part of their journey.

Bram stood at the helm, his eyes fixed on the river ahead. He had positioned one of the sharp eyed Elves at the bow as lookout for any downed trees or other such obstacles as Mother Nature might throw their way. He nodded his head for a moment toward the West and sent a small plea to Yavanna and Ulmo to see them safely on their way.

'Orodan!' he called out to the Elf standing river watch. 'How looks our way? Is it clear ahead?' The Elf waved the all-clear signal to him, and Bram nodded back to him.

One of the Dwarves had also been up at the bow, taking in the sights of the river, and now came walking back toward the helm. His gait was a bit unsteady. 'Not gotten his sailor's legs yet!' thought Bram as he watched him step uncertainly along the deck.

'Hringa, isn't it?' asked Bram, as the Dwarf came up to him. 'Is there something I can do for you?' 'I was noticing that interesting figurehead you have attached to the front of this boat. Nice work. Small and intricately crafted. But I can't make out what it is.' He looked up at Bram, expectantly.

The Man laughed in delight at the question. 'This is how I heard the story. There was a certain young man of Dale, Jarl by name, who desired greatly to see the world beyond Dale and The Lonely Mountain. He travelled once to the wilder, southern lands - into Haradwaith and along the coasts of Umbar. For a while, it is told, he was a smuggler, having taken up with a small crew who ran pipeweed and the fiery spirits so much in demand in Southron taverns. To make a long story short, that was the figurhead on the prow of the ship he sailed on. It foundered one dark and stormy night off the Havens of Umbar, and this was all that remained of it, washed up along the beach like so much flotsam along with Jarl. He took the carving with him and made his way back to Dale. And into more respectable trading practices! It was he who left this ship here for the Trading allies of Dale to use, and I who fixed the figurehead to the prow for him.'

'A good story!' said Hringa. 'But I would still like to know what the carving represents.' Bram laughed at himself. 'Sometimes I get too wrapped up in telling a story, and forget the point of it!' He shook his head. 'It's the figure of a bloodsucking insect. They named their ship after it.' He laughed again. 'The Nefarious Neekerbreeker!'

'That is a ghastly name!' remarked Hringa. 'Indeed!' laughed Bram.

The remainder of the day passed into night as the ship ran the river. 'I knew it would be good to have Elves aboard.' thought Bram to himself. 'They never require sleep and their eyes are keen even in darkness.'

Night safely passed and by the middle of the next day they they found themselves nearing the halfway point to the where the River Gladden joined its courses to the Anduin.

'There's a dock ahead!' cried Orodan, pointing, 'and someone is waving at us!'

'That would be Captain Rira!' Bram shouted out to the companions, 'Frain and Durgan - Furl the sail and secure it as I showed you! Stonehelm,Hringa,Nefros - make ready to throw those ropes to him! Girion and Rubin - prepare to drop anchor on my order!'

The crew busied themselves with Bram's instructions and the ship was soon brought safely into dock. Rira tied off the now anchored ship. Girion and Orodan put out the gangplank and Rira stood ready then to walk up it, his sea bag in his hand and his scimitar secured at his belt.

He smiled, and shading his eyes against the lowering sun, looked over the crew now gathered at the railing. 'Permission to come aboard!' he asked, as Bram stood at the head of the plank.

Bram waved him up, and clapped him on the back as he stepped onto the deck.

'She seems a sturdy craft.' remarked Rira. He looked over the crew. 'And an interesting crew!'

'Yes. And, yes!' came the reply from Bram. 'Now let me introduce them to you.'

[ October 24, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm had been thankful when his bunkmate Hringa chose to go above deck. It gave him more time to pratice his boat legs and so far his head had connected with the wooden rafters only three times. He had watched the men and elves, seen how they held their legs as they trouped around the deck, and had determined to practice the style himself--a not altogether unsuccesful exercise. At least, he decided, it was good thing a dwarf's centre of gravity was lower than that of the elves.

Hearing commotion above deck, Stonehelm realized that the captain was arriving. He left his cabin and collected his travelling companions from their cabin. Sturdy Frain refused to show any discomfort from the boat's rocking, but Durgan was another matter. He was green to the gills and his braids were wet.

Ah, Durgan, how useful are you as my bodyguard when you add ale to your seasickness? Stonehelm grinned at the seasoned guard, although pickled might be a better word for the dwarf's state.

[ October 26, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Tharkûn]

*****DALE-Garlin*****

Garlin saw the throwing knife leave the man's hand and penetrate Ethar's leg. With a grunt, his friend fell to the ground. Not realizing what he was doing, Garlin yelled at the enemies who were closing in on Ethar. One of them turned to face him. Big mistake. His head hit the ground, the look of startled surprise still on his face. With a shock, Garlin realized that he had swung far too hard, and his back would be open to attack. Closing his eyes, he wished for the best. When he finished his swing and opened his eyes, he found that the two other men who had been hostages had finished off the last of the wild men. He rushed over to Ethar, who was clutching his leg.

[ November 04, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]