Seekers of Truth RPG

[piosenniel]

Himaran's post



It was dark. Rain poured down around him, water splashed against his chest. He scanned the flooded area once more, looking for a trace, the slightest sign that she had been there. And then he saw her, twenty yards away, struggling against the current. He dove in, trying to reach her... but then the wave came, and the woman was gone.

Raen awoke with a start. He lay still for a moment, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. There was no flooded forest, no woman, just a comfortable room inside a Rohanian tavern. The recurring nightmare had haunted him for several days, ever since he the stopped searching the wilderness a week before. The general search effort had ended months ago, but the ranger was hardly satisfied by the results. It was as though he was being punished for giving up, and Raen would have speculated further upon that theory; if common sense but had a smaller presence within his mind. Sitting up, he pushed with thick sheets aside and dressed slowly. After sleeping in the forest for so long, even the smallest figment of civilized life was a luxory. The man yawned, trying to feel comfortable; for in truth he was a stranger to these civilized surroundings. Snatching up a long, slender knife from the table (out of pure habit), Raen locked the room and headed downstairs.

Taking a seat at the bar, the ranger ordered a light breakfast and a hot drink. Even after several days at the establishment, it all seemed surreal. Nothing came naturely; Raen stared at the utensils before him for several moments before attacking the sliced ham with a vengence. He felt silly to have forgotten such simple behaviors, but knew it would all come back eventually. After all, it had been a while. The man watched as commoners and soldiers came and went, chatting and dining and arguing. Their lives were so simple; waking, working, and eventually passing from the world. Can I become a part of this calm, routine life? It was a question Raen had been asking himself ever since returning from his unsuccessful hunt.

Then a single man caught his attention. It was a ranger, (Raen was certain of that), but he seemed vaguely familier. There had been several of Raen's bloodline on the hunt for Sandrina; perhaps this was one of them. But that had been over five months back, surely they had not stayed in Rohan. Most went back to Eriador or Gondor, working for King Aragorn. He did look familier, though, and Raen started towards him; determined to find at least one of the answers that constantedly bothered him. The man immediately stopped, however, when the ranger began speaking with young woman who clearly resembled the one he had so desperately sought to find...

[piosenniel]

Firefoot’s post

Harold wandered through one of the two aisles of a small store in the village near his home. Usually he would have sent one of his sons or workers to get supplies, but today he had decided to go himself and get a break from his business. His business. It still gave him pleasure to think how he had finally outsmarted his brother and gotten the Lightheart inheritance.

Other than Harold, there were only two other people in this small building. A man, and the storekeeper who he was talking to. Harold realized that they probably didn’t know he was there when he heard what they were saying.

“Do you remember Sandrina? You know, the daughter of Henry Lightheart?” the one man was saying. Harold stiffened at the names of his dead niece and brother. He wondered what news there could possibly be concerning her. Unless... “I heard she’s alive,” said the man. Harold could feel the rage rising up in him, and he stalked out of the store without buying anything or waiting to hear any more. He mounted his horse and heeled him into a gallop, heedless of anything but his own angry thoughts. Those sons of mine will be hearing it from me. They said she was dead! And now... Harold realized that he had to do something. It wasn’t the girl he was afraid of - far from it - it was her father. Henry would come after him to kill him; Harold had little doubt of that. I would be a fool to stay here. However, his pride warred with the thought of leaving. Only cowards flee, and I am certainly no coward.

Harold’s sense and his pride battled within him the entire way back to his property. The bay horse was lathered with sweat from the long gallop, but Harold had finally decided that, pride or no pride, he would rather be a live coward than a dead fool. Harold handed his horse off to a groom and saw his son Arthur crossing the yard.

“Get Samuel and come to my study,” said Harold thickly, not bothering to hide his anger. “But first spread word to my men that they are to meet and wait for me behind the house as soon as possible.” Harold knew that his son would know which men he meant; they were the select few that he had informed of their plans of Sandrina. He had not told them all at once, for then they might have told Henry. Rather, he had fed them the information bit by bit so that by the time they knew the whole plan, not only was it too late to save Sandrina, but it was also too late for them, because if they had gone to Henry they would have been every bit as guilty as Harold and his sons. Arthur hurried to do as Harold had said, and Harold made his way to the study to wait for them, every minute causing him to be more and more upset.

When his sons finally made their way to his study, Harold exploded. “Sandrina is alive. How hard could it have been to kill a weak, foolish girl? And yet you two seem incapable of even that task! Do you realize what this will cost us? Your error is forcing us to flee the property, because if we stay, Henry will come and kill us. That girl that you could have killed - should have been killed - is alive, and when she makes her way back to Henry he will come after us. No more Lightheart business for us! We won’t even be working here anymore! Instead we are forced to flee like cowards. Now, go and join my men behind the house. If you have something to say to me, you can say it there. I will be there shortly.” Harold was so mad that he was quivering slightly. He sat for a moment to calm down a bit and collect his thoughts. Then he got up and followed his sons outside.

Samuel and Arthur stood a little apart from the rest. Harold ran his cold blue eyes over everyone, silently making sure everyone was there, each one shifting uneasily when his gaze rested on him. When he was satisfied, he began to speak, his voice quieter than it had been for his boys, but holding no less intensity or anger. “In case you have not heard, Sandrina is alive.” This news brought murmurs from the group. “We can no longer stay here, or else Henry will come back, and do not expect him to have any mercy on any of you! We must leave, but before we go we are going to carry off everything that we can possibly take from this estate.” Harold wasn’t sure where that had come from, but he rather liked the idea. “The other thing that needs to happen is someone needs to get rid of Sandrina once and for all. Someone more capable than my sons seemingly are,” said Harold with a pointed glare at Arthur and Samuel. “One or two of you should suffice. Now, does anyone have any ideas, thoughts, or opinions?”

[piosenniel]

The Perky Ent's post

Arthur began the day as he normally did after his father owned the Lightheart Estate. He smoked a pipe on a hillside. With the money his father had given him, plus the extra money Arthur had acquired from selling the crystal from his sword, he was a rich man. Rich enough to get Old Toby shipped in every month. Thanks to King Éomer Éadig’s friendship with hobbits of the Shire, he learned of the many fabulous pipe-weeds and began importing them. Arthur, being a wealthy man, could import it from Edoras to the Lightheart Estate. For this morning, the Toby was particularly good.

“Ah! I’ve been missing out on the good life all these years! This is truly heaven!” Arthur said, putting the pipe down to watch the view. Under the hill, he saw two young boys fighting. “This should be interesting!” Arthur said, as he laughed down the hill.

Coming down the hill, he saw two boys fighting over a coin. “It’s mine!” one said. “No, it’s mine! I won it!” the other said. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny?” the first boy said, who was slightly large than the other. “What’s funny is that your fighting over something you don’t even have!” Arthur said, flexing his muscles. “It’s none of yours! It’s mine!” Arthur said, snatching the coin from the boys.

“Hey! Give that back!” “It’s ours!” the boys said, but Arthur was already halfway up the hill. “Survival of the fittest!’ Arthur shouted down at them, flipping the coin with his thumbs, and putting his pipe away. “Time to put this one with the rest of em!” Arthur said, heading for his house.

On the way, he had to cross his father’s house. He couldn’t really call it a house. It was more of a small mansion. Being the sole owner of the land had been very good to him. While crossing the yard, he saw Harold rush over on his horse, which seems as if it was going to collapse. “Get Samuel and come to my study,” said Harold thickly, not bothering to hide his anger. “But first spread word to my men that they are to meet and wait for me behind the house as soon as possible.” Arthur did not hesitate.

Arthur ran to the stables, which were nearby, and grabbed a horse. Riding down the grass, Arthur rode several miles until he reached a very small tavern run by friends of the Lighthearts. Inside the tavern, Arthur walked past the entrance and the main room, to a small room in the back of the building. In the room, there were twelve men gambling, all shady characters. “My father has requested an early meeting!” Get your horses and meet him behind his house. Something bad has happened.” Instantly, the men gathered their money, their cards, and their loaded dice, and rode out to Harold’s house.

“Now where are you, brother?” Arthur said, riding to Samuel’s house. Avoiding being polite by knocking on the door, Arthur kicked the door open. Inside, he saw Samuel resting. “Get up brother!” Arthur said, hitting Samuel very hard on the shoulder. “Father brings tidings of bad news!” Immediately, they both got their horses and set back for Harold’s house.

When Arthur and Samuel finally made their way to Harold’s study, Harold exploded. “Sandrina is alive. How hard could it have been to kill a weak, foolish girl? And yet you two seem incapable of even that task! Do you realize what this will cost us? Your error is forcing us to flee the property, because if we stay, Henry will come and kill us. That girl that you could have killed - should have been killed - is alive, and when she makes her way back to Henry he will come after us. No more Lightheart business for us! We won’t even be working here anymore! Instead we are forced to flee like cowards. Now, go and join my men behind the house. If you have something to say to me, you can say it there. I will be there shortly.” Harold was so mad that he was quivering slightly. He sat for a moment to calm down a bit and collect his thoughts. Then he got up and followed his sons outside.

Samuel and Arthur stood a little apart from the rest. Harold ran his cold blue eyes over everyone; silently making sure everyone was there, each one shifting uneasily when his gaze rested on him. When he was satisfied, he began to speak, his voice quieter than it had been for his boys, but holding no less intensity or anger. “In case you have not heard, Sandrina is alive.” This news brought murmurs from the group. “We can no longer stay here, or else Henry will come back, and do not expect him to have any mercy on any of you! We must leave, but before we go we are going to carry off everything that we can possibly take from this estate.” “The other thing that needs to happen is someone needs to get rid of Sandrina once and for all. Someone more capable than my sons seemingly are,” said Harold with a pointed glare at Arthur and Samuel. “One or two of you should suffice. Now, does anyone have any ideas, thoughts, or opinions?”

Arthur thought for a moment, and then said, “The girl did slip through our grasps, but it won’t happen again. We know what we need to do. I beat her, instead of stabbing her. I gave her that, as my cousin. A favor, which I will not give again! We’ll ambush her, and stab her. She won’t get away.” Arthur thought very proudly of the statement, until Harold interjected, “You think she’ll just be wandering alone. She’s probably having a guard with her! There’s probably going to be five people with her, helping her get home! Not to mention Henry! Think before you open your mouth!”


Arthur pounded his fist in his hand, and then said, “What about mercenaries? If they do come for us, why not prepare a trap? What if we hire mercenaries to fight them?”

[piosenniel]

Morsul the Dark's post

First Post:

Sam looked at his brother "Really? Mercenaries to fight mercenaries, they don't fight to the death, and surely we would be more suspicious. Simply call it a mistake should it come to it. Even the finest undertaker can not tell if one is dead sometimes." Sam looked at his brother. His brother had a glint in his eye as if he was in deep thought. Sam pulled out his pipe and filled it with longbottom, the finest imported weed in the land. It had always been his custom to do so when plotting.

Finally Sam looked up, "Perhaps Mercenaries aren't a bad idea. However we need a plan that will clear us of suspicion. Let us blame it on greedy peasants, commoners looking for a quick penny-cent of gold." He took his last puff then put out his pipe. He expertly cleaned it and placed it upon the table. He took his knife and began to cut the pig flesh on the plate in front of him. As he did he stopped he could only think of what he had done. 'No' He boldly thought himself 'It was our inheritance she had no right to it.' He looked up at his brother and waited for him to to tell his plan, his brother was, after all, the master of the plan.

[starkat]

Anora reeled in her seat when she heard the man address the woman at the bar. “Nine months is an awfully long time to go missing, Sandrina Lightheart"...

It can’t be! All the reports said she was dead! But she looks so much like Sandrina… Anora’s thoughts trailed off as she made up her mind. Getting to her feet, she walked over to the bar and took a closer look at the woman. When she saw the pendent around the woman’s neck, Anora knew.

She came up beside the man. “Excuse me. I heard you call her Sandrina Lightheart?” When the man nodded, Anora turned to the woman. “I have been watching you since you came in.” Her voice broke and for a moment her emotions got the best of her. She brushed some loose strands of hair out of her face. “You are Sandrina aren’t you? The pendent you are wearing, I recognize it.”

Anora watched the woman’s face for a moment. “I am Anora. Do you remember me?” Hope built as she waited for a reply.

[Crystal Heart]

Sandrina looked up at the man and woman that stood before her. They knew her name.

"You know me? I've been missing nine months? Oh, my head hurts so." She asked, a smile forming upon her soft lips at the thought of being recognized, of finally knowing that she was in the correct spot. Every where she had travelled no one recognized her. Except here. And they knew her name! Yet, she couldn't remember these people. She couldn't remember being in this Inn ever. She couldn't recall why their voices, or at least the woman's, seemed so familiar.

She watched as they nodded, looks of confusion on both of their faces.

"I was riding to somewhere, a place of trade I think. I can not remember. My cousins were with me. The horse got scared. I fell. That's all I remember. I had nasty brusies all over me and I could barely walk. My horse was dead beside me. Who are two? I have no idea what is going on anymore."

Sandrina put her head into her hands, hoping that this headache that had came with all her thinking about trying to remember would go away. Every second made it harder for her think and she just wanted it all to stop. She wanted to be home. Home. She jolted upward. She had a home. She had a family. Where these two people her family? As much as she wanted to believe they were, something in her heart told her that they weren't. She swallowed hard and tried to keep the smallest sliver of the memory of home inside her mind, but it slipped back behind the dark barrier that concealed almost everything from her.

"I can't remember anything. All of memories are gone. Except for a few. I just found out my own name a couple of minutes ago," Sandrina whispered in dispair, tears slipping from her eyes and down her face like sorrow filled rivers.

[Firefoot]

Harold had gotten his emotions under control, at least to the point where his face was cold, hard, and expressionless. The undercurrents of the room were tense, though, tense and uneasy. He was still furious, but he had learned through experience that the first step to getting an advantage over someone was to not let them know your feelings and motives.

Harold surveyed his sons. The option of mercenaries they had brought up was an interesting one, if not entirely sound. Mercenaries would fight for money, but a larger sum would just as easily turn them to the other side. They would need someone to keep them on task, someone like his men. He nodded very slightly to himself. That would work well.

“Mercenaries,” he said gruffly. “They might work for part of the plan. They won’t do it on their own. You there.” He swung his head to the six men standing to the other side. They had remained silent before, clearly not wanting to be on the wrong side of his anger. “You will stay at this house and set a trap for Sandrina when she comes, and she will come with others, mark my words. I’ll hire out some mercenaries, and you will be in charge of them. Make sure they hold up their end of the bargain.” Harold didn’t like putting that kind of trust in anyone, but sometimes trust had to be given. He turned back to Arthur and Samuel. “We three are leaving, by tomorrow at the latest. I have no idea when Sandrina will show up here, but I want to be long gone by then.” He noticed that Samuel looked to Arthur before showing his approval. Samuel had always been too soft for Harold’s taste, as much as he had tried to harden him. Harold knew he preferred the nickname Sam, and to Harold this was another sign of his weakness, and insisted on calling him by his given name. Arthur was more to his liking, but he had still failed in what leadership Harold had given him.

Harold supposed that his sons dared not dispute his plan, and if they did Harold would not let them hear the end of it. He ran his cold blue eyes over Samuel and Arthur, daring them to disagree with him.