Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Lalwendë]

Marreth’s obvious satisfaction with the task Nilak and Tarn had carried out had filled Tarn with exhilaration and energy. He had joined the Corsairs as they set off in a great rush to attempt their rescue of Hilde. They were a pack of wolves slipping through the white shroud of the blizzard. The snow came down relentlessly, and soon the party were all so thoroughly covered that they were indistinguishable from their surroundings.

As they stood in the deserted market place, struggling to see anything in the storm, the voices of the Elven party came out of the white sky, muffled but close, and the signal was given to attack. Hilde was defended closely and keenly, and Tarn failed to make any difference to the attack.

Standing back and sighing with exasperation, his exhilaration began to turn to anger. He was as determined as the Corsair captain to rescue the captive, but more than anything, he wanted to continue to make an impression. Nagging at him was a slight sense of surprise that a Corsair should be so keen to save one of the Lossoth, although this was a feeling he could not quite explain.

Tarn impatiently scuffled at the ground with his frostbitten foot to keep the blood flowing, something he was always careful to do when standing out in snow; the old injury still troubled him. He looked down for a moment and saw the sharp edged stones he had uncovered by stamping in the snow. Without pausing to think, he stooped, grabbed a handful of the quartz stones, and began to stuff them into snowballs.

Someone shouted angrily that it was no time to be playing childish games. One of the Lossoth guards scoffed as he saw what looked like a huge man made of ice trying to start a snowball fight. But Tarn, barely able to conceal the laughter rising inside him, hurled the first of his deadly snowballs and it glanced off the head of the guard; his mocking quickly turned to dismay when he felt the blood running from the gash in his brow to his mouth.

[Imladris]

Jynne dived into a clump of evening shadows and watched the Corsairs clash blades with the Snowmen, all the while wondering if Marreth would ever learn that one could not underestimate elves. They were not defeated easily, and had the nasty ability to wriggle free from tight places.

Of course, fighting was never the best way to get things done, he observed thinly. Naturally, you kill the enemy, but then you yourself die along with them. Of course, there were the few that survived, but fighting was not a winner's game. Both sides ultimately lost. Why play a game one couldn't win?

Then he saw her. The female elf. An evil grin cracked his face. Why were the elves so foolish? Sliding from the shadows, he slipped towards her. His dagger whispered from its sheath.

She was hanging around the edges of the fighting. Her fingers fidgeted, her feet tapped as if she wanted to go and help but then thought better of it.

Foolish girl.

Silently as the shadows fell, he wrapped his arm around her neck, and deftly caught her small wrists in his iron fist. She gasped, but swallowed her scream, which was something. Most women shrieked and fainted at the first sign of danger. "Do you feel that?" he whispered, pricking her neck with his dagger. "Fear that, and things may go well for you. I owe you my thanks, though" he added, nodding his head in a mock bow. "The elves were foolish to bring you along. They will do anything to save a woman." Licking his lips, he shouted, "Oy! Snowman leader!"

Some of the Snowmen and the elves had already noticed the elven lady's predicament and had stopped fighting, suddenly wondering what they were to do. Jynne laughed silently to himself. They were men of small stature to be so easily blown apart by a gusty gale.

"Now that we have finished this foolishness," Jynne said silkily, "I would like to make you an offer. Give us Hilde --" he cast a distasteful glance at her (if she had been more careful they wouldn't be here) -- "or your elf will never see the light of the Valar on a westward ship."

[Niluial]

Andtuariel gasped as the cold blade of the dagger was held against her skin and hard, rough hands grabbed her small and fragile wrists. She breathed deeply trying to quell the fear that bubbled somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Andtuariel felt a slight trickle of blood creeping down her neck as the corsair held the dagger too closely. The one thought that echoed through her mind was, "What is happening...why was the Corsair doing this?” Then she realized that she was a bargaining chip. They would kill her...

"Do you feel that?" he said, his voice cold, sly and creepy. "Fear that, and things may go well for you. I owe you my thanks, though" the corsair added. “The elves were foolish to bring you along. They will do anything to save a woman." He hissed softly, and tightened his grip. She cringed, hating the filthy feel of his hands. "Oy! Snowman leader!" he shouted loudly.

Everyone stopped as they noticed her. No… ignore him, keep on fighting.

"Now that we have finished this foolishness, I would like to make you an offer. Give us Hilde or your elf will never see the light of the Valar on a westward ship."

She felt a cold, numb feeling swell inside of her. She could die. She could never go west. She must not think about that...

Andtuariel heard a few people gasping and others whispering. She watched the crowds slowly step back when a sudden shout came from the crowds, “Let her go!” Andtuariel saw a tall handsome figure, it was Elwë. He was about to run right up to her when Annû grabbed Elwë and pulled him back, whispering something in Elwë’s ear.

Andtuariel watched the elves discuss the situation, while the corsair stood silently behind her though the grip on his knife never faltered. Andtuariel was scared, wishing that she could live, yet hoping they wouldn't turn Hilde over to the Corsairs. Finally the elves finished and Elwë walked up and said while trying to keep calm, “we will give you Hilde if you give us Andtuariel.”

Andtuariel didn’t believe the Corsairs would stick to their side of the deal, why would they? She was hoping they would, but doubted it.

[Arry]

Carandû watched as his brother pulled Elwë aside. And then heard Elwë speaking to the Southrons who held Andtuariel - ‘We will give you Hilde if you will give us Andtuariel.’ It was obvious that Elwë had never treated with the men from the shadowed south. Why should they give the Elf back? It would be far more strategic to keep her – to force the others of Luindal’s band out of the bay and out of the picture as far as finding the palantíri. As far as he could see, Andtuariel was an unfortunate player in this. She would be dead or worse no matter if Hilde were given back or kept prisoner.

As Elwë waited for the Corsair answer, Carandû made his way up to where Hilde was ringed by the other Elves, a smug look on her face. ‘You are nothing but fodder for carrion eaters, old woman,’ he growled at her snatching her up easily in his grip. Dragging her across the ice toward where the Corsair held the Elf captive, he cried out in a great voice. ‘Is this the offal that you seek, southern dung beetles?’ ‘Take her, then,’ he bellowed heaving her small form at the one who held Andtuariel.

Carandû nocked an arrow and let it fly after the Lossoth spy, intending to kill her at the feet of the curs who’d bought her. One of the Corsairs loosed an arrow of his own, bringing the Elf down. He could hear the enraged cries of his brother as he fell, and the zip . . . zip of arrows as they cut through the air from Annû’s bow . . .

[piosenniel]

Rôg’s first impulse was simply to flee. He did not care for combat, save by ink, quill, and paper or by words spoken within the agreed boundaries of debate. No hint of warrior blood informed his actions when faced with clashes of the physical sort. Weaponless, he backed behind Bear who seemed about to run himself. ‘What’s happening?’ he whispered.

‘That Carandû fellow . . . the one what went down,’ he heard Bear say, who now seemed rooted to the ice as he watched the events unfold ahead. ‘He’s bleedin’ awful bad. You can see the red spreading out on the ice. ‘His brother’s shootin’ at the Corsairs and now it looks like the other Elves and my people have joined in.’

‘What about that Elf that was leading us?’ he said, peering around the Lossoth’s shoulder.

‘Can’t say. Can’t see her in all the hubbub.’ Bear shifted his spear to his right hand in preparation for joining the fight. ‘Come on. We can’t leave them to fight by themselves.’ He pulled Rôg forward, shaking his head at the man’s empty hands. ‘Do something, or your friends will be slaughtered!’ Bear took off running to join the fray.

And probably so will I!’ squeaked the skinchanger to himself. He shrugged his shoulders, thinking wildly. The image came to him of the goshawk he’d seen earlier in the year, a snow-hare plucked easily from the ground as it ran for cover; long, strong, sharp talons of the raptor sunk readily into the flesh . . .

Flap . . . flap . . . glide . . .

The wings of the blue-grey bird pushed him over the heads of the combatants. From his vantage point he could see the Corsair still had Andtuariel in some sort of a grip. As the bird drew near, he dropped lower, his long legs extending toward the man’s head. Talons finding purchase, he dipped his sharp hooked beak and sank it deeply round the man’s nose . . . giving it a strong, hard nip.

There! That should give the Elf a fighting chance!

With a rapid flutter of wings, he flew off seeking other suitable “prey” . . .

[Imladris]

The bird came from nowhere, descending upon him like a hawk upon a mouse. Jynne roared with pain as the bird bit him on the nose, but had the sense not to let go of the elven wench. He tightened his grip upon her wrists, and shifted the knife so that it could more easily slit her throat in a moment's time.

The arrows reigned around them, and he backed against a tree, clutching the wench as a shield against him. He could feel the blood run down his nose, bathing his lips crimson.

Raising his voice, he shouted, "ENOUGH OF THIS OR THE ELF WILL MEET A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH!"

The silver blade flashed across her cheeks...a river of blood appeared. "This can do much worse," he said in a soft silky voice that penetrated the air. "This blade is bathed in poison, it burns you skin, does it not?" he asked almost politely. He smiled thinly as she nodded her head, a soft whimper on her lips. "And not even your bird fiend will save her," he added. "If I so much as see a shadow a birdish shadow, or hear a flutter of wings, I will not hesitate to strike. Maybe, I'll strike in such a way that she dies a slow, painful death that not even the elves can stay," he whispered silkily. "If the foolish Hilde dies, this elf dies -- very painfully."

[Arry]

His brother was dead. No flicker of familiar thoughts eased Annû’s mind as he laid his hand on the unmoving chest. He wondered for one brief moment if the old tales were indeed true. Would he meet his brother once again in the West; see him walking with that impish look in his grey eyes as he left Namo’s halls, lips curved in a smile?

"ENOUGH OF THIS OR THE ELF WILL MEET A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH!"

The Corsair’s voice cut through Annû’s thoughts. He blinked back his tears, anger replacing sorrow. Annû stood, looking toward where the southron held Andtuariel. A quick glance about and he saw Elwë standing still as death, eyes fixed on her; barely breathing as the Corsair’s knife held steady against Andtuariel’s neck. Tucking his anger away with his sorrow, Annû called out to the Corsair.

‘Stay your hand! You have Hilde, still alive it seems, as I can see her huddling low like some dog at her master’s feet. We will retreat back to our boats – leaving one on the shore for Andtuariel. Two of us will wait for her.’

The remaining Elves and Lossoth retreated as quickly as they could, leaving their dead behind. Reaching the shore where the boats were tied, they made for the ship, oars dipping silently into the cold waters of the bay.