Legacy of Traitors RPG

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

As Maen ran back up the stairs, twisting and turning until she finally reached the door that lead into the dining hall. She burst into the hall and cried "We've been tricked! Roryn, Atharen! Arridan is-", "dead?" enquired Roryn. Maen looked ot where Arridan was sitting, she hadn't noticed it in her hurry, but he was slumped over the chair, an arrow pierced right the way through his head through his right eye. Ferethor was sitting in shock, Atharen had a broad grin across his face, Roryn was impassive. Crystal was sobbing quietly into a napkin.

"He went for Crystal first, he lunged at her with a knife...but it seems age hasn't dimmed Roryn's speed or accuracy." Atharen said bluntly. Maen gasped, then sank to the floor, "He was a horrible man, but no man should die like that...", Roryn muttered and sat back into his chair.

...

[Crystal Heart]

The prospect of the entire night was too much for Crystal to handle, especially another assasination attempt. She grabbed a napkin and sobbed, not knowing what else to do.

She consoled herself quickly then looked up. She was angry. She hated being tricked. She got up quickly and reached up into her skirt and produced her small dagger that she had been carrying within her boot, but couldn't wear in the delicate shoes that she had been given to wear.

"Even if he didn't deserve to die, there wasn't anything else we could do. He would have killed us all if he hadn't been stopped," Crystal said as she went over to Maen. She looked her over, the poor woman before her was covered in blood.

"This blood isn't yours is it Maen?" Crystal asked her worriedly. It was everywhere. She hadn't seen so much blood since the day her father killed Arty right in front of her then sneered at her screams of horror. But that was a long time ago and it was clear that Maen wasn't dying in any way, but the sight itself disturbed Crystal more then any thing. Maen shook her head no, relieving Crystal from her fears. She stood up and turned away.

She could usually stand the sight of blood, of nasty bruises, of deep wounds that showed bone and muscle. Yet at this moment she couldn't handle any of it. She had no idea why. She knew she wasn't sick to her stomach, but her eye sight started becoming fuzzy. Before she knew what was happening she started to fall. In her mind she thought she was still standing and didn't realize the darkness that was overtaking her.

[Everdawn]

Maén gathered up herself off the floor, looking around wildly rubbing her badly bruised neck, taking no notice of anyone around her. “We need to go” she said, her voice raspy from the attempted murder. “We don’t want others to come after us. He- they’ve been with Guriel all along, I know where he is.” She said and ran up the stairs to her room where her things were, somewhat slower as it was hard to breathe. The young woman did not bother to change her dress, but gathered up al her things not forgetting Lysia’s knife.

Lady Il Galoth did not know whether the others had followed her, and at this point in time she did not care, all that was coursing through her mind at the present time was one world; Revenge. Hittai was in her stall, her saddle not far away. However weak Maén was at present, she did not think on it, breathing heavily she attempted to saddle Hittai. But in her weakened state it was a struggle.

“Here” came a voice, It was Aelimur, “Ill do this for you, you shouldn’t be running around like a mad thing.” He spoke as he saddled the horse before turning to his own.

“Haste… haste is needed… He’s so close now, so close.” Maén said through laboured breathing as she mounted her horse. She saw that Calimir was already ready to go. It was strange; she did not remember seeing him at the dinner. But Calimir was not important now; the golden haired woman was going to kill her family’s great enemy. At once she went off at a gallop, the sturdy little horse gladly obeying her mistress’s orders.

Maén looked back only once, the party was behind her, she felt a renewed sense of gall towards her enemy, and rode on.

It was not long that Maén came to a small shanty off a dusty beaten road. She pulled Hittai up and waited for the others.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor couldn’t be bothered to lose any longer time. He rose from his seat swiftly and impulsively, apparently unaware of the fact that his stool was knocked over at the impact. His fist was clenched as he followed Maen’s distraught footsteps, his countenance deathly pale with the worry of both Maen and the fate of Guriel. “I’ll be with Maen.” He called over his shoulder before he headed straight for the stables where Aelimur was saddling Hittai for Maen.


After seeing that she was off, Ferethor did not trouble to take the time to saddle a horse and swung himself up the nearest one with the swiftness of a soldier who had been in such circumstances before. His clear yet desperate voice rang out, with a metallic tint to it that left all in the hearing vicinity no doubt of his career. But probably all were still in the house.


“In the name of Gondor and the High King, Aelimur, I’ll have to pursue and stop Maen from killing the renegade Il Galoth. We cannot let Maen be slain by him, and still less have Maen kill him. Both would be disastrous. I don’t know what my presence is going to do to stop the two Il Galoths that thirst for the blood of their adversary, but my duty as a soldier of Gondor impels me to try my best. Damn the race of Il Galoth!”


Not waiting for an answer, Ferethor compelled his horse to move with a sharp cry and was off in the dry path Maen had taken. His injury was not quite healed, but that was forgotten in the concern for both the young woman and the duty he could not leave unfulfilled.


And Maen. The death of one of his companions and his own injury had wrought a slow change in him that he did not even notice, that of ... compassion, if it could be termed thus for such an unyielding, harsh and callous a soldier. It would not be good for Maen herself to throw her life away for the sake of the vengeance long forgotten, for blood did not wash away blood. It was better to forget the past, and to live and take joy in living. But would she see it? How can he convince her to see it when he wasn't sure that he saw it himself?

[Kransha]

What had been called at first a ‘dinner’ had deteriorated to the point that the word could no longer be used without the elicitation of a skeptic guffaw. Idruil, along with a number of the companions, seemed mostly unaffected when Roryn’s precise arrow found its mark in the skull of murderous Arridan. Of course, Crystal was affected, and Atharen seemed about ready to come to her aid in consolation, but time continued to fly at the speed of the Maeras, whisked by as cyclonic winds would whip through calm air. Maen materialized, having battled and slain a more homicidal Arriten, and bid all of the comradeship evacuate the manor and proceed to the last leg of their journey.

Idruil, like all the others, did not hesitate to rush to his steed outside. Ecthelion seemed to be prancing about and braying in variable anticipation, so Idruil was forced to be more blunt as he leapt into the sadly, groped madly for the reins, and gave his loyal steed more incentive to go speedily than he had ever done before, jabbing the animal sharply in the sunken haunches and leaning back involuntarily as the press of the wind and the ferocious velocity of Ecthelion, raging in two opposite directions, carried the steed forward and the rider back, leaving a trail of dusty plumes behind them in the dirt. The others were soon enough either behind or ahead, their speeds fluctuating wildly as his own was, but, to his discredit, the man of Minas Tirith paid the others no heed, as he and his glorified mound stamped and stomped their way over the oft-trodden paths after Maen Il Galoth.

Idruil, who had prided himself on being able to tail Maen adequately, found the fiery maiden far ahead by much. This did not deter him and he raced onward. He began surpassing most, considering many were preoccupied. Atharen was busy assisting Crystal, not yet fully recovered from the blatant shock of being attacked, Aelimur had taken a lengthy but somehow abrupt moment to saddle Maen’s steed, Hittai, and Roryn, one of the only others who was unoccupied, was not too far behind Idruil’s galloping speed. Idruil could barely see the steed of Lady Il Galoth as its silhouette, plastered against the darkening sky, shriveled into nothing on the forested horizon. Carathir was, in turn, not far behind her, which was to be expected, and Idruil nodded in understanding as he pulled himself miserable forward into the bouncing saddle, trying to keep steady.

But, there was but one thing amiss. As Idruil’s bereft head managed to swivel, he heard a rushing sound that resembled the whistling of an icy wind. As he cocked his cranium to one side, he saw the first unexpected thing. Ferethor! Ferethor and his steed had actually picked up incredible speed and breezed without a care past Idruil and Roryn. The horse’s hooves trampled over the earth, the vessel of the mount and mounted shooting after Maen at an unbelievable rate. This was not like Ferethor, not like him at all. He knew that the same bonds of inner companionship existed within him as they did with all others, but Ferethor’s passing gaze read as if the man was required to reach Maen before any others as he raced, with stunning resolve, after Hittai. This level of genuine concern had not been evident in the man before and Idruil could not calculate the sudden burst of energy. Prodding his steed faster, his own concern for the future beginning to swell within him, he turned the opposite way as Roryn’s horse closed the distance between them.

“Roryn,” he called across the seeming gorge between each steed and man, his voice barely carrying over the incessant drumbeat of horses’ hooves upon earth, “Something is wrong here. We must move faster!”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal blinked away the darkness and found Atharen's face above her. She smiled softly. He helped her to her feet. The next few minutes passed so quickly that she couldn't remember what she had done. Everything around her seemed like a whirlwind of events. Before she knew what was happening she was outside with Atharen, helping him saddle Sacriheart for their hasty escape. Atharen jumped up and then turned to help Crystal up. She did so with ease and settled behind him. He kicked the horse and off they went after Maen who had somehow found her way ahead of the company once more.

They speed off. Before long she thought she heard someone say that something was wrong, that they had to move faster. She tightened her grip on Atharen as he speed up the horse. She had never moved so fast on a horse in her entire life. Yet she knew that they needed to move as fast as their horses could take them. They were in grave danger.

She was mostly concerned about Maen, who had suffered probably the most at the hands of the wild man that had tried to kill her. She could sympathize with Maen at this point. She understood what it meant to be near death. She had been in that position more then a couple of times. She could only imagine the fear that still remained in Maen's heart and mind and the renewed thought of revenge which would be embedded in her mind. She only hoped that Maen would be alright when the time came to carry out the revenge.

If Maen wasn't, she would be. She would destroy anyone at this point. This company had become her companions, her friends. She now knew the feelings of the man that she had loved since the beginning. She had become friends with Maen, something she never figured would happen in her entire life. She had made friends with Ferethor-when all seemed like they would never get along. Things had happened, things had changed her all because of these people. She wasn't about to lose another friend to the man or woman that decided to try to end their lives. She vowed this as they rode to the shanty that Maen had ducked into.

[Everdawn]

Maén dismounted her horse and stormed into the one roomed shanty.

“Guriel” she called. But was surprised when she was met by an old woman sitting in a rocking chair in front of the fire knitting an ugly grey jumper.

“Guriel? He aint here.” Said the old women in a croaky voice.

“Where is he then?” shouted Maén in frenzy.

“He’s over the hill, has been there for a while.” The old woman snarled. Immediately Maén stormed out and started walking as fast as she could.


There over the hill was a cemetery, nothing else, no house, not even a stable. Maén felt the blood pumping through her veins.

“What did she mean he is here?” Maén said shakily the temperature of her blood rising with anticipation “What did she mean!” she screamed looking wildly around.
Until she spotted the grim marker under a large tree.

There at the back an ill kept grave stone read:

“Here lies Guriel Il Galoth, Now of the East, rests: No legacy shall be found for it is in you. No house of Il Galoth will reap benefits”

“No” Maén shook her head. “It is not so, this is some other I-” she looked pleadingly to the others of the company. It was if some madness had overcome her.

“My life has been stolen from me!” she wept into the ground. It was a pitiful sight to see the strong woman reduced to the mere innocence of a small girl. Maén fell to her knees in utter despair, tears fell freely from her eyes and her body shook with new sobs of sorrow. She was not ashamed for the others to see her. She just- let go.

Her whole life had become revenge, and while she did not shudder at taking life, she now found herself in a hole which she could not get out of. There was bitterness within her heart, bitter at the fact that Guriel had gotten away with what he had done. She was now faced with the inevitable, her life would never change. Deep down Maén had truly believed that if she could undo the evil done to her that some how her life would go back to being normal. The thought of her life was unbearable, and the thought that it would stay this same way for the length of her life was excruciating.

It was as if she were doomed to live her life in shadows, the shadows of the Minas Tirith court and of the fading dynasty of the once mighty Il Galoth military clan. Guriel the Traitor represented everything that she believed to be the cause of her grief, and in a way it was. She had not been driven by gold to find him, but by a desire to set things right.

Lysia had too hoped that Guriel could be killed for revenge of taking her husbands life. Maén remembered the words of her aunt, “It could be nothing…” and so it was.

“How can this be?” she cried.