Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[piosenniel]

The space between the ships was narrowing as The Sea Spirit drew closer to the Corsair vessel. Rôg did not fear that he would be crushed between them where he swam in the small area of water between them; the sides of the ships would touch long before the keels were near enough to cause him problems. He was anxious, though, because the distance between the Elven ship’s side and the plank where Andtuariel stool was becoming critically close.

Again, and in a much louder voice, he urged her to jump. But his words from that distance were hard to hear above the din of the beginning battle. Still, he noted. she had heard something and now glanced down looking to see who had called to her. He pushed himself up as far as he could from the surface of the water and motioned to her with his flipper.

Too late!

He saw her look up and over to where The Spirit drew closer. There was a sudden look of horror on her face as the loud cracking sound that echoed between the ships was quickly followed by the deafening whump as the Elven vessel’s mast crashed to the deck of the Corsair ship. She was frozen in time for a moment, then fell from the plank like a limp rag doll.

Rôg dove deep below the surface of the waves, one eye above to where she might enter the water. Like a leaden weight, her body plunged downward, and, unresisting, was met by his own as he raced upward to bring her to the surface. He moved his body under her floating above the waters surface. He spoke to her, wanting her to take hold of his flipper, so that he might more easily move her to safety, But, there was no response. Desperate, he grabbed her by the neckline of her cloak, and flipping on his back, the main weight of her supported on his underbelly, he swam slowly around the prow of The Spirit to the side of the ship away from the battle.

Rodhal had been watching Rôg from the first, crouched down and peeking over the edge of the deck as he could. He followed the path of the Skinchanger, and seeing the tired fellow trying to keep the Elven maiden afloat, he ran quickly to get his uncle’s help. ‘Down here!’ he cried, tugging Galhardir to the side of the ship by his coat sleeve. ‘He looks tired Uncle and the poor Elf weighs heavily on him. He can barely keep the both of them afloat.’ Galhardir got into the longbot that hung on that side of the ship. Several of the other Lossoth took hold of the ropes and lowered him in a crazy, swinging motion to the water below.

‘Take her!’ Rôg gasped, as Galhardir reached down toward the Elf. ‘Get her out of the water.’ The Elf’s sodden body was pulled as quickly as could be done into the bottom of the boat. Rôg put his hands boat’s edge and hauled himself into it. He was shivering now, his face drawn from the cold, and from the gravity of the situation. Galhardir had taken his own cloak and set it about the man’s shoulders.

‘Nay,’ rasped Rôg, attempting to stand and place the cloak over Andtuariel. ‘She needs it.’ Galhardir pushed the man back down to the seat. ‘Nay, Rôg,’ he said gently, settling the cloak about the huddled figure. ‘She has no need of it now. She has gone where the cold touches her no longer.’ He raised his hand to wave to the Lossoth above, signaling them to raise the boat back to the deck. With great care they bore the Elf’s body to her room and laid her out on her bed, to be seen to later when the press of battle was not upon them.

Rôg, for his part, put his grief at the death of the fair Elven maid aside. There was nothing more he could do for her. But his other companions were now fighting on the Corsair deck. He could still aid them in his own small way. Shaking off the now sodden cloak, he took wing once again as the merlin. Eyes sharp as he circled above the battle, he flew in a tight circle, then darted swiftly down; his beak and talons harrying the Corsairs from above as he could.

[Arry]

In his haste to make his way to where Andtuariel stood on the plank, Annû did not see the man standing in the shadows. But Elwë, a few paces behind him, caught the glimmer of the man’s eyes as they flashed at his friend. The Elf stopped and faced where the Lossoth pressed back, into the darkness. Elwë’s keen eyes narrowed as they picked out the man’s features. This was the one who had tried to beat and injure Annû when the foul Corsairs had tried to invade The Spirit. ‘Come out, you craven worm!’ he challenged the Lossoth. He shook his club at the man, spitting out the words, ‘Face your better, coward!’

-----

Annû’s eyes were on Andtuariel. The Corsairs had turned away from her when the Elves had rushed onto the boat, and now she stood unguarded on the plank. He was almost to the place where the narrow board extended from the ship, when his attention was caught by the loud cracking sound of The Sea Spirit’s mast and the rapid fall of the Elven ship’s spar to the deck of the Corsair vessel. He leapt away from where it crashed and rushed back to help those who had clung to it as it fell up to their feet. They fell upon the Corsairs with a vengeance.

Andtuariel was nowhere to be seen. He could only hope she had somehow gotten to safety. The battled swelled about him, sweeping him up in its ferocity. He wielded his knife and club against the Corsair crew with grim determination, bringing down those whom he could . . .

[Orofaniel]

"She has no need for it any longer..." Galhardir whispered to himself as he sat in the longboat. The fair elven maiden had closed her beautiful eyes with the long lashed one last time. Her body was cold as ice and the skin was pale and lifeless. She was gone. The waves had taken her, all too soon, after Galhardir’s opinion. Why did she have to suffer? Even if Rôg had come earlier Galhardir doubted there would be much hope for the elf.

It seemed, by looking at the body, that it had been the icy water had been the only reason of her death even though she hadn’t stayed in it for too long. Sighing, feeling tears in his eyes he gazed towards the ship. There was still battle, and shrieking voices. His thought turned yet again to Crandû who had also lost his life earlier while they had been searching for the Palantiri. All this sorrow caused by two stones. It seemed meaningless.

Rodhal, his poor nephew had witnessed all of these things. What a great sorrow for such a small boy. Such scenes should be hidden from his pure heart, and he shouldn’t have to think about it. Now it had become a reality that Rodhal, still young in age, would have to live with for the rest of his life.

Looking at the body once again, he felt empty. He was interrupted by someone calling his name; It was little Rodhal. Hadn't Rôg told him to stay under deck so that he would be safe? Moving the body he fetched his oars and steered the longboat towards the ship again.

**

Two strong Lossoth were ready to take the boat in and it went smoothly, looking away from that there was still a battle going on. Galhardir didn't know what he should do about the body, so he decided; since it had been the sea that had caused her death; he felt that it should indeed be the sea she should belong too - forever.

"No, Uncle," Rodhal whispered.

His eyes were red and he was crying. "What my dear boy?" Galhardir then asked, looking gravely at his nephew. "Lets' take her under deck, we can't let the fair eleven maiden go...." he said. He whimpered. It seemed that the boy didnd’t even try to hide his feelings, he was just crying continually.

Galhardir nodded; “Rodhal, I'll take her under deck if you go there now and stay there. It is not safe for you here. Hurry, and I shall come in a minute." Galhardir held his nephew tight, not wanting to let him go right away as he knew that it could have been him in Andtuariel’s place. "Hurry now and I shall be there!” he said, making the boy run.

[Lalwendë]

He had managed to hide from the Elf who gave him such a thorough pummelling, and was about to think himself lucky when another Elf saw Tarn crouching in the corner. ‘Come out, you craven worm!’ he shouted, brandishing a club. ‘Face your better, coward!’

Tarn laughed hard, despite the pain wracking his ribs as though they were about to crack again. He was working, and in no rush to step up to this insolent Elf. He finished what he was doing, watching the Elf out of the corner of his eye, yet confident he would not attempt to attack him in this shadowy corner. When he was done, he looked at the Elf with his slight build and club. How did he hope to brandish such a thing with any power? He really thought he was the better fighter? Tarn drew himself up to his full height, squared his shoulders and stared hard at the Elf. His laughter ceased abruptly and he became serious. His dark eyes turned to flint and glittered with real malice as he stepped from the shadows armed with nothing more than his knife.

“As you can see, I am far from being a worm,” said Tarn, moving closer to the Elf. “And I am no coward, either. As for you being better than me? Would you like to test me on that? I’m quite happy to oblige. Sir.” He bowed as dramatically as he could and gave the Elf a sarcastic grin.

Elwe was enraged, and stepped up to Tarn, swinging his club, just as Tarn had hoped he might. Tarn back stepped into the corner he had been working in, with a look of mock fear on his face. He feigned the gesture of offering another respectful bow as he looked down for a moment, to cover the fact that he was being very careful about where he put his feet. Elwe just saw an insolent Man who had decided to mock him. He did not see any trap.

The corner Tarn had been hiding and working in was under some steps, and tall supports held these up. The old rope, thin but tough, had been left under here, and Tarn had almost tripped over it when he first crept into the space. This was what gave him the idea of tying it to the supports. Blackened by tar, the rope was almost impossible to see in the near darkness.

Tarn stepped back over the rope, and bowing low again, as he prepared to jump aside and back into the open, he flung out his hand in a gesture of welcome. “And would Sir care to take a seat?”

As he said it, Elwe’s foot was caught on the rope and his body flew forwards, his head striking the hard wood of the stairs. He landed in a heap and did not move. Tarn crouched down to look at the Elf, his knife ready in his hand. Elwe still breathed, but his eyes were glazed and he would not be swinging the club again.

“Perhaps, sir, you would like the worm to get you a blanket?” said Tarn, standing up again, and leaving the Elf where he lay.

He laughed to himself as he slipped away, keeping close to the steps. Then he heard a familiar voice. Familiar, yet somehow strained. Tarn turned to face the Elf Annu and noticed the redness of his eyes and the beads of sweat on his brow.

[Arry]

He no longer noticed the pain that flamed in his side; it had become such a constant companion. Still, it was an increasing effort to move. Lessons, though, learned long ago in training and years spent in the service of his Lord sustained him as he fought against the Corsairs and the Lossoth who had allied with them. Legs and arms moved in familiar patterns as he struck and cut and felled those who came against him . . .

---

The press of battle was slackening as the Elves pushed hard against the Southrons. Weariness returned as Annû paused, leaning heavily on his club, breath coming in ragged gasps. One hand strayed to his side, pushing on his wound. It was open again, oozing down to soak the waistband of his breeches. And without the distraction of the fight, the pain had begun to return. Dizzy, he shook his head trying to shake off the feeling.

No!

He heard Elwe’s silent cry. Annû looked round the deck, seeking where his friend had gone. He could see him a ways off where he stood against one of the Lossoth. Tarn, it was. The one who had knifed him. Pulling himself erect he moved toward where Elwë stood. His friend was unharmed as far as he could see, though waves of great pain radiated from him. Quickening his stride, Annû approached the two combatants.

Not so! Not so! It cannot be!

Elwë's words rang in Annû's mind as he saw his companion fall. But it was not for himself that Elwë cried out. She is gone . . . were his last thoughts, cut off as his head hit hard against the stairs. Elwë’s hard fall had not killed him, but Annû could already feel the Elf slipping away, his spirit following after Andtuariel . . .

---

‘Shadow’s pawn!’ Annû said quietly to the Lossoth, his voice filled with regret. ‘You have killed what is fair; pushed back the light with your darkness.’ With a sigh, he brought up his club, preparing to engage the Lossoth. ‘Second born,’ he murmured to himself, his gaze far away ‘tell me, where is the light my brother saw in you . . .’

Annû threw down his club. It clattered on the deck and rolled to one side. ‘Come, little brother,’ he said in a flat voice, his face slick with sweat, grey eyes fixed on Tarn’s face. Let us fight evenly.’ The Elf and man circled each other. Tarn was as sly as ever, his movements defensive as he watched Annû. The Elf lunged toward him several times, feinting, looking for a way to get within the man’s defenses. Tarn could see his opponent’s movements were slower than before, that he grimaced slightly as his torso twisted. The man smiled to himself. This will be easy, he thought. And just as well, he followed up, feeling the soreness in his own ribs.

For his part, Annû fought against two opponents . . . his own failing strength and the persistent foe who sapped it further. He did get in several cuts along the man’s forearms, but could push in no further. Tarn’s knife sliced against his flesh as well, leaving trails of fire. Nearly done in, he made one last desperate attempt, rushing forward. His feet lost the thread of command Annû intended for them. The Elf stumbled, barely regaining his balance.

Tarn grinned, slipping beneath the outreached knife with which the Elf had hoped to finish him. His eyes lit with a feral pleasure as they spied Annû’s club lying near. In a single move, he snatched it up, bringing it round against the Elf’s side with a hard Crack!. Annû fell hard, crumpling down to the ship's deck, his head hitting solidly against it.

The club fell from Tarn’s hands. He was gasping now as the quick movements for his blow had made his own cracked ribs protest loudly. Looking down, he saw the Elf sprawled on the deck, unmoving. With a groan of pain, the man picked up his own knife which had fallen from his hands and stumbled toward his opponent, intending to finish him off . . .

[Orofaniel]

"Noooo!" Galhardir yelled.

He had been watching the whole scene between Tarn and Annû. He now realised that Annû was in great danger as he was crawling away from the enemy on deck. Tarn had found his knife and was now running towards Annû in full speed, ready to finish him. It became clear to Galhardir that the only chance Annû had of surviving was if someone would come to his rescue. The images went slowly in Galhardir's head, as if he wasn't able to understand what was happening around him. He watched carefully, before he let out another yell. It seemed like minutes passed, even hours....

Grabbing one of the oars, Galhardir ran towards Tarn. Tarn was now standing over Annû. With a hit in the skull Tarn fell, surprised that a Lossoth had hit him. Tarn cried out in pain, but he wasn't too preoccupied with Galhardir, as he'd probably decided that killing Annû was his first priority. Tarn got up immediately, and he didn’t even seem weakened by the oar that had hit him.

"Argh..." he growled towards Galhardir. Tarn’s eyes were full of hatred and anger; the flames that passed his eyes were terrifying.

Galhardir's legs weakened, he couldn't stand up. Then he noticed Annû; who was slowly getting to his feet just behind Tarn. Galhardir thought that he might keep Tarn occupied while Annû got to his feet, fully recovered and ready to fight. Feeling encouraged, he followed Tarn's movements carefully with the oar. Then suddenly, quite unexpectedly, Tarn did a quick movement, turning back to Annû, dragging the elf in front of him with the knife on the elf's throat.

"Annû!" Galhardir let out, seeing his friend in a most unpleasant and dangerous situation.

Thoughts roared around in Galhardir’s head; Was Annû going to die? Would Tarn cut his throat while Galhardir was watching? “Oh please, let this be a dream,” he sighed just so he, himself, could hear it. "Galhardir, friend," Annû whispered underneath Tarn's heavy arm which was resting on Annû’s shoulder.

"Quiet, or I'll cut your throat right now!" Tarn yelled.

"No!" Galhardir screamed, full of anger and frustration.

"Then, put your oar down, and keep quiet....both of you," Tarn said with a vicious and evil smile. "No, don't do what he says, Galhardir, don't do it," Annû encouraged full of courage and bravery, feeling the pressure of the knife getting closer to his blood veins in his throat. By this Galhardir felt confused.

What would the consequences be? Tarn was in the lead. He was decided as he was the one holding a hostage. Should Galhardir just do what he said, or should he listen to Annû? By holding his oar still, he could attack Tarn right now; hopefully he could hit him pretty hard and perhaps knock him out for a second or two so that Annû could get free. Then together they could finish Tarn. But what happened, if he attacked and Tarn was too quick for him and cut Annû’s throat before he had a chance to rescue him? Then, he could always do what Tarn had told him to do; drop the oar. But how could he then protect himself? For surely, if Tarn killed Annû now, he would go straight after Galhardir.

Having such a heavy debate with himself in this position didn't make it easy for Galhardir. He wanted to act on intuition, but he had already involved his feelings and his thoughts…..

“Let him go!” Galhardir then said sternly, not quite understanding his own words; he didn't realise right away that he was in no command, as it was in fact Tarn who was holding the hostage. Perhaps this, however, would buy Galhardir some more time to think. Tarn didn’t seem too pleased by being commanded by Galhardir and it looked as if he was holding his knife even closer to Annû’s throat. “You’re in no position to demand anything,” Tarn replied angrily. Annû gasped for breath. “Now, I’ll give you two seconds; drop your oar or the Elf dies,” Tarn said, and Galhardir knew he was telling him the truth; Tarn was ready to kill Annû.

Letting the oar slip his hands it fell to the deck with a low sound.

“Don’t…” Annû whispered, but it was too late.