Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Lalwendë]

At the first signal, Tarn made ready his harpoon and quickly issued instructions to the lad who sat quaking beside him. He could see the fear building in his wide eyes.

“You stay here, with the archers, and keep out of the charge. Your job is to help defend the archers, if any of that lot get near them.” He nodded towards the club which Thynne was clutching to his chest. “You use that and you do not hesitate. Or you will die”.

The second signal was given and before Thynne could say anything in response, Tarn was up and charging with the Corsairs, down towards the ice where confusion was reigning. His long legs and sure footing enabled him to be amongst the first to reach the shoreline, where those holding the ropes were now shouting frantically to their comrades on the ice. A young Lossoth man was holding fast to one of the ropes, unable to let go lest the rope slide into the water, and as Tarn ran up to him he yelled out in fear. Tarn grinned and threw himself against the man with his full body weight, bringing him down to the ground in a heap where he then turned him face down into the freezing snow. “See how you like this, fool” he shouted. The man choked and coughed, trying to break free of the strong hold Tarn had him in. He still did not let go of the rope.

Tarn stood up and the man slowly rolled around onto his back, his face stinging with the shock of the cold, suffocating snow. His breath came in gasps at first, but then it barely came at all and it was clear he was not going to go anywhere. Tarn saw how he still held the rope and grimly bent down and quickly cut it.

He turned then, and seeing the mayhem breaking out on the ice sheet, ran across with his harpoon and knife ready. Already there were several injured or dead laying still. An elf wielding a shining blade parried with a Corsair and had the better of him, then seeing Tarn, he came loping towards him, unsteady on the ice. Tarn, sure footed, roared at him and ran even faster, ready for the attack. At the last moment he stuck out his left leg, catching the elf around the ankle and felled him.

The elf did not land as heavily as he had expected, and he was only a little winded. Starting to run on, Tarn noticed that this elf was about to get up again, and with only a moment‘s thought, he hefted the harpoon up onto his shoulder and hurled it. It landed with sickening accuracy in the side of the elf, who fell back down. Tarn’s eyes flashed for a moment, and then he returned.

Putting his foot on the body to steady himself, he yanked the harpoon out. Blood started to seep across the ice, and as Tarn began to feel a rush of nausea, he heard the shouts of the Corsair men he had helped the day before, who were struggling against several opponents. Adrenalin stifling the strange sensation of having killed the elf, he began to fight his way through to the men.

[Kitanna]

Nilak waited for Marreth's signal. He was tired of waiting. Let's attack and get it all over with, he thought rubbing his gloved hands together. He had his harpoon ready and his dagger was ready to spill some blood.

He heard Marreth's snowowl signal and now waited for the captain to lower his arms. Nilak sat completely still, just waiting, watching. Finally the Corsair captain gave them the signal. Nilak sprang from his hiding spot and fell in the charge with the Corsairs and other Lossoth's.

Nilak charged a Lossoth who had been helping the Elves. He elbowed him hard in the stomach and when the Lossoth was bent over trying to recover Nilak ran his harpoon through. The blood streamed down onto the ice and the dying Lossoth landed inthe puddle that had formed.

Nilak was no stranger to killing sailors and traders, but he felt odd about killing another Lossoth. But he could not stop to dwell on this feeling of guilt, there were still Elves to get. He pulled his harpoon from the fallen Lossoth and charged forward again.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal had clawed his way onto the beach, stopping every now and then to assist those who were battling the Corsairs, or to lend a hand on the ropes. Finally reaching the shoreline, he darted over the crusted snow, halting just once to examine the remains of Galhardir's rope that still lay on the upper beach. He could see that it had been hacked in two, quite possibly by an axe. Moreover, the frayed ends of the rope suggested that there had been two or three successive blows rather than a single master stroke.

The beach itself was almost empty. Most of the rescuers had surged forward onto the ice in their frantic attempts to coil in the ropes and haul out the men who had fallen into the water. Footprints left behind in the grey snow revealed the spots where Corsairs and Elves had grappled with each other; the ground beneath was tinged an ominous red. The Corsairs had trampled over the field of battle, continuing their charge to the Bay where the enemy were grouped in greater numbers. The only ones left behind were Hilde, Alhaseey, and Freyn, each of whom was helping to care for those injured in the fighting. The three Lossoth had found a secluded niche sheltered by evergreens on the far side of the bank where they could tend the wounded in relative peace.

Luindal barged into the glade, shook his head in utter frustration, and growled to Alahseey, "I have come too late. I had hoped to find out who severed Galhardir's line. That had to come from within our company. And one viper from within can do more damage than a hundred Corsairs." He scanned the beach and bristled, "Where is that rascal Carrandû?"

Hilde responded quickly, "I have not seen Carrandû. But perhaps your trip is not in vain. I was able to spot the culprit who did this." She stared over at Alahseey and raised her hand, pointing a single finger at the Elder. "This one!" she glared, her face agleem. "This one....I have seen it with my own eyes. I am ashamed....ashamed that one of our Elders should act thus. But I am certain of what I saw. She raised her axe two, no three times, and cleanly severed the rope."

At this description of the deed, Luindal blanched white and gazed at the Elder, still unsure. "Surely though, you are mistaken."

"I am no traitor," Alhaseey barked. "Why say you this, Hilde?" And then her own eyes dawned with understanding.

"Speak not. Show him the axe at your side. For on its blade rides your guilt."

"That I will do," responded the woman, and eagerly drew the axe from her sheath, handing it to Luindal. At the edge of the blade, Luindal clearly saw the ragged shreds of a rope cut through in two or three strokes, one that bore witness to the Elder's seeming guilt.

"This is a lie," countered Alahseey.

"We have no time now." Luindal glanced about and saw that Freyn had finished treating the injured. "Hilde, stay in this cove and tend to the wounded till our fight is done."

He stared next at Alahseey, "Freyn, take charge of this woman. Bind her in tight cords and give no heed to what she says. After we return to the ship, we will speak further on this matter."

With a heavy heart, Luindal turned and raced back to his men.

[piosenniel]

Battle was something that did not sit well with the skinchanger. He was a bookish sort, given to the study of animals, birds in particular. Fighting was something he tended to avoid if at all possible. But there was nothing to be done about it . . . the Corsairs had sprung a sneak attack on the Elves and their Lossoth helpers. Blood was already being spilled . . . a number of the Lossoth and Elves had fallen into the frigid waters and were in danger of drowning because others of their companions could not get to them through the press of battle.

Rôg had no weapon. He was no bowman and to be honest the only blade he’d ever wielded were the knives he used for cooking. A lance . . . no . . . nor a club, either. He did have the little sling he used for hunting small game. But a quick look at the well padded, well armed Corsairs drove that idea from his mind.

And besides that . . . as a man he really didn’t relish the thought of killing other men . . .

Still, he didn’t like the thought of his friends getting hurt and killed, either.

By this time Rôg had managed to circle round behind the Corsairs’ advancing line. Less fighting in the rear . . . safer . . . but then again he could see the bowmen sending their barrage of arrows toward his companions. Perhaps if he just harassed them, knocked them about a bit . . . disrupted their attack . . .

Aaah! But how to do that. He was already slipping and sliding about on the ice and snow like some ungainly gooney bird on loose sand. And what would he use for weapons . . . He looked down at his empty hands and the snow at his feet. The insane desire to giggle nearly overtook him as he thought of making snowballs and lobbing them at the Corsairs.

In the distance he could see a number of the Lossoth friendly to the Elves fall beneath the blades of the advancing Corsairs. An image came to him, of the great white beast with the toothy smile that Bear, his Lossoth guide, had told him was his family’s spirit animal. They’d seen one out on the ice flows, hunting seal. Slow moving, massive, paws the size of large dinner plates with long sharp claws. The face of the snow bear had an intelligent air as the beast turned to look at him, considering whether the expense of energy to chase after the two humans was worth the meal to be gotten. The bear had risen up on his hind legs to get a better look at the two men who were viewing him. Almost twice the height of a tall man . . . the very size of him was intimidating . . . they had driven their sled away quickly, leaving the bear to his previous pursuit of a tasty seal.

The change took longer than his more familiar forms. Once it was complete, Rôg was surprised how gracefully the massive body of the bear moved over the snow and uneven ground. The pads moved silently over the ice without slipping. He swung his great head from side to side, taking in the figures of the Corsair bowmen. His lips drew back from his long, sharp yellowed teeth in a feral smile. Bears it seemed did enjoy the hunt and relished the kill, he realized . . . and he found himself thinking how delightful it would be to hear the crunch of his prey’s bones as he bit down hard on a leg or shoulder . . . and the marrow, so sweet . . .

Rôg shook his head to bring his thoughts back from the brink of red, ravening madness . . . He loped up silently behind the archers that were still firing and gave a low rumbling growl. Lunging forward, he reared up not quite to his full height and began knocking them down like so many clay pots with brutish swipes of his immense paws, throwing many into the air as he did so.

And those foolish heroes who chose to face him down, he simply knocked flat, swatting aside their blades and bows and spears – his cavernous maw clamping down on their skulls, crunching them as easily as a squirrel does an acorn.

[Taralphiel]

The day had been long for Freyn, longer for the need for attention that many injured in their Company had. Freyn's supply of blams, bandages, and poultices was being well used, and he wondered quietly how long he would have before they ran out. He was still idly throwing this though about in his mind, when his name was called to jolt him out of his daydreaming.

"Freyn, take charge of this woman. Bind her in tight cords and give no heed to what she says. After we return to the ship, we will speak further on this matter."

Freyn saw the distraught look on Alhaseey's face, and the anger the brewed not far under it. He bit his lip a moment, as he slowly stood, looking calmly at her. He began a small mutter of appeal for the woman to come with him, but it ended in his throat when he watched her expression again.

Freyn nodded at Luindal mutely, taking the woman by one shoulder and leading her to where he could safely restrain her. All the way the woman voiced protests, and Freyn paid no heed to them. All the while, he was pondering on what words could calm the situation, at least for Alhaseey.

Carefully, though tightly he bound her, and kneeling before her, began awkwardly:

"I have not much advice to give, save this. Luindal is fair in his judgement, and I have seen little to the contrary. I would wait for the chance to prove your innocence. Arguing may simply be digging a greater hole for yourself..."

Freyn looked at her cautiously, wondering what her reaction would be. He knew what was wisdom in this situation, but he had yet to learn how to best put that forward.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Alahseey gave Freyn a stern look, drew herself up, and scowled, "Fair, he may be. But unless someone acts quickly, many of our companions may died....Elves and Lossoth alike. I am not the spy. But while I sit here trussed up like a game bird, unable to break loose or fight, the real informer is free to weave a web of murder and intrigue. That person must be stopped!"

"Perhaps, Freyn, you and I can come to some agreement. You have known me many years, and we have never had harsh words with each other. I give you my pledge that I will wear my restraints willingly and give you no trouble on our journey back to the ship. I ask but one thing: that you will stand up and speak on my behalf once we reach the ship. I am sure Luindal will call a meeting to inquire into today's treachery. And he will respect our laws and traditions, requiring two men or women to come forth and voice their accusation of me. I do not believe he will find an accuser other than Hilde.

As to the axe, I can explain: it was a filthy trick played by the person who has the most to lose in this situation--the person who is actually responsible for slicing that rope. Most importantly, ask Luindal to listen to my words. I believe I know a way to ferret out this imposter. And, if we are lucky, perhaps one or two others have also seen evidence of this treachery.'

"Can you do that Freyn? I ask you to do nothing dishonorable, nor to break your pledge to the Elf, but merely to speak out on my behalf so that the truth may be heard....."

[Imladris]

Jynne heard a growl and swivelling his head around saw a lumbering bear galumph across the snow. Where had that come from? He had heard stories of bears sleeping peacefully in caves, dreaming of bees and honey as the winter months drifted away. But then again were bears this far north?

No matter. Whatever it was -- Jynne's eyes narrowed -- it was on a rampage. He noticed that it was targetting Corsairs. Those dratted elves.

Jynne glared banefully at the bear before plunging himself into a snowbank and rowling like a newly washed dog in the dirt. Hopefully the snow would smother his pirate scent.