Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Folwren]

Bror declined Riv’s offer of more ale and kept his eyes on his brother’s face as he suggested his plans.

‘What say you?’ Riv asked in conclusion. Bror considered it carefully for a minute. Then he put his head down and lightly plucked a simple tune on his strings before speaking.

‘Well, if you don’t mind my saying so too much, I don’t think it’s a good idea to raise any hue and cry just now. If you spread the name of Sauron around there will be terror in the streets and nothing will be accomplished half as well as it should if it were only known by a few. If you meant something else than that when you say hue and cry, then please explain.

‘But about Skald and me going on to gather a few extra people, I’d be up for that. As you said, we’d be able to move more quickly without the extra armor and that’d give the fellows we gathered a little time in advance to make preparation to go. Are there any dwarves in particular that you want?

‘If you’re gathering the food,’ he went on with hardly a pause, ‘please bring something other than cram. I’d think that we’d have thought of something better than that when we have to go off and do something. Sure, I know, I’ve never been on a real mission before, but I’ve tasted the stuff that you all take with you and I can’t say it’s too appetizing!’

[Amanaduial the archer]

Narisiel looked up at Maegisil, surprised and half-smiling, as if expecting him to be grinning back. But when she saw the other elf’s solemn expression, the amusement faded from her own as she looked away, her fingers tracing the engravings she had started on Leneslath’s sword blade. “You…you shouldn’t,” she replied softly, her pale face looking suddenly more wearied even in the warm light cast from the forge. How can he know of what price she fear I may pay for my craft…how dangerous those rings could be in the wrong hands… But her melancholia only seemed to last a moment, for, closing her eyes, she sighed gently and then sniffed suddenly, blinking a few times, and glanced shrewdly back up at the king’s counsellor. “My apologies, Maegisil, it has been a long day – I have several commissions at the moment that have pressing deadlines…”

“Oh, well if you do not have time, do not worry about it–” Maegisil replied hurriedly, turning away, but the elvensmith shook her head hastily, reaching for his arm and interrupting, “No, I…I did not mean that – my commitments are not so that I could not fit another in, depending on its nature. Although I do warn you,” she added with a smile. “If you wish me to make yet another blade, I shall strongly resist the urge to scream.”

The older elf smiled back gladly, shaking his head. “Then do not fear! No, I intended to commission your skills for something which I believe is an area of your particular expertise, or so I gather from my Lord Celebrimbor.”

There is not a craftsman alive who does not appreciate sincere flattery from those who know what they are talking about: Narisiel smiled, blushing slightly, and cocked her head to one side questioningly. “Oh ho, really? And what would this be then, if not weaponry?”

“Jewellery.”

The simple word could not have startled the elvensmith more, and she actually visibly flinched at it, suddenly firing up with the anger that she had been noted for in her younger days. How could he know what she had been thinking of just moments before? Jewellery, yes, that had been her expertise – but why did Maegisil ask about it now? It seemed unusual to make such a frivolous commision, to be sure, when war seemed imminent – unless it was not as innocent as it seemed, for had the other not just mentioned his ‘jealously’ of Narisiel?! The thoughts swelled through the elf’s mind on a wave of paranoia and she gave Maegisil a very straight, fierce look. “Why do you say that?” she replied quietly.

The other seemed taken aback at Narisiel’s sudden fierceness and frowned, but stood his ground. “Because you were one of those who helped Lord Celebrimbor with the forging of the rings,” he replied levelly. “But also because I know, as any other in the city, that you are one of the foremost jewelsmiths in Ost-in-Edhil.” He looked coldly at her, then nodded stiffly. “Good day to you, Narisiel.”

“Wait. Please.” This time she did not reach out for his arm and as Maegisil turned back, he saw the smith wipe her eyes wearily with her fingers, smoothing them back across high cheekbones to rest on the sides of her face then rested them with the fingertips meeting in a steeple between her eyes, almost as if she was praying. Those dark, sharp eyes regarded Maegisil pensively, then she sighed and let her arms hang down by her sides, shaking her head and looking away once more. “I am sorry, again, Maegisil. I…well, I cannot pretend the rings have not been on my mind of late.” Looking up, her expression and voice softened to an almost motherly expression of concern. “How is Lord Celebrimbor?”

“Have you not seen him recently?”

Narisiel shook her head, turning away towards a tall, locked cupboard, fumbling on her belt for the right key. “There are certain worries on my mind that have prevented me from seeking out my Lord in recent times, although I know I must talk to him,” she replied, finding the correct key. Raising an eyebrow, she looked back over her shoulder at the other elf. “And I am not talking about commissions,” she added quietly. The latter nodded, understanding. “The rings.”

“The rings,” Narisiel repeated meaningfully. Twisting the key deftly in the lock, then in another two which were more surreptitiously and cleverly placed on the hinges, the craftswoman slowly pulled open the doors, then paused when barely a crack was visible. Smiling mischievously, she inclined her head, signalling that Maegisil should come forward, then her face became serious once more. “I cannot muse on those particular…objects…for too long, Maegisil, or I would be sure to go mad, to become obsessed with them – as any who had seen their power is at risk of doing. Please don’t ask me about them,” she continued hastily as the other seemed about to speak. “Please.” Then her smile resumed its place on her pretty features, both mischievous and strangely fond at the same time as she returned her gaze to the cupboard and began to open it slowly. “I would prefer to talk about this particular piece of jewellery you wished me to make. I presume it is a gift?”

“For my wife,” Maegisil replied, nodding. Narisiel nodded in turn, as if satisfied. “I thought it would be.”

“And why is that?” This time Maegisil seemed almost edgy. Narisiel glanced sharply at him, but did not reply, simply contenting herself with shaking her head, then swung open the cupboard doors. Maegisil could not contain a slight gasp and Narisiel smiled proudly, her eyes glittering as the other ran his eyes over the jewels that were displayed there. “Welcome to my little box of tricks.”

[Orofaniel]

The newly arraived elf was waved towards their table by Ondomirë. Now Geldion realized why they were all gathered here. The table, as Geldion had noticed when he arrived, was set for four.

“So, will you feed us while we’re here?” Hénsirë asked Ondomirë with a great smile on his face. He too had probably noticed the table that had been set. Hénsirë was a tall figure with broad shoulders. He was a warrior with great strength and fierceness. His face however, had very clean and bright features and seemed more gentle than the personality it represented. The elf in front of them was by all means, nice and decent, not to mention noble. At the same time however, he represented stubbornness and perhaps little self awareness. He was a bit ruthless, and quite arrogant at times. Nevertheless, he fought with the strength of ten men, or perhaps more. And thus many looked up to him; he would make a decent leader, Geldion thought, disregarding his personal faults.

“Indeed, if that is what the gentleman wants…” Ondomirë said and gestured the newly arrived elf to take a seat. “I think another cup of that excellent wine will do, for my part at least,” Geldion said politely. It was then Hénsirë noticed his presence ad greeted him as a friend. “Captain Geldion,” Hénsirë started, eyeing him. “I never got the chance to converse with you at the High King’s meeting. A real shame, as I’ve heard much about you and your skills with the sword,” Hénsirë then continued. Ondomirë took another sip from his cup. “You are too kind, Captain Hénsirë,” Geldion then forced, not knowing what else to say. “It is by far time you lead a small troop,” Hénsirë said before Geldion could finish his sentence. “I mean, after all those years, loyal advisor to the High King….”

“Well, I’m honoured that the Hight King would grant me such a position of great value. I am grateful for what He has given me,” Geldion replied. Hénsirë then smiled and turned to Ondomirë.

The moments of silence were interrupted by a few sips every now and then.

“So, when do you reckon’ will get the warriors and the supplies ready?” Hénsirë then asked.

It was a question that had dwelled in Geldion’s mind as well. “Hard to say,” Geldion said. “We ought to have some sort of control over the supplies we need, and the troops as soon as possible. The arranging of the troops will be the most difficult task I expect. There are many warriors and a lot to keep up with,” Ondomirë continued. “Not to mention the supplies that has to be arranged before we leave. Remember; there is a long journey in front of us, and getting short of supplies is the very last thing we need,” Geldion then finished. Hénsirë nodded and so did Ondomirë. It seemed that Alcarfalon was now sitting in his own thoughts, not minding the conversation going on between the three of them.

[Arry]

‘Have to agree with you on cram, Bror.’ Skald raised his mug to his brother and grinned. ‘Just as soon eat my boot soles than try to chew a piece of it, much less swallow it.’ He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘I’m sure our dear mother most likely makes the finest, most serviceable cram beneath the Misty Mountains, but I’ll be a rock lizard’s uncle if even her stuff doesn’t suck the spit right out of your mouth at first bite.’ He took a long swig of his ale. ‘Let’s go heavy on the dried meats and fruits and bring just a small amount of the Dwarven bread, eh Riv?’

‘And don’t let this go to your head, little brother, but I’m going to weigh in with you on not spreading the word about Sauron being behind all this trouble. I got the idea from Father that while he felt alright sharing this bit of news with us, he didn’t want it going any further. I think perhaps the King means to take counsel with all us Dwarves is what he was getting at – allay any fears and put a stop to any panic at the news.’ Skald shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just thinking off the top of my head, really,’ he said. ‘Nothing firm on that.’

‘About tomorrow . . . I’ll leave my gear piled here in the kitchen, Riv, for you and Uncle to load up on the cart. And Bror, there are several stonemasons’ halls I’d like to call in at as we travel along. There are a number of Dwarves round my age who were apprenticed at the same time as I. I’m sure they’d be able to lend us a hand with fetching the Elves.’

He drank down the last of his ale and pushed the cup away from him, shaking his head ‘no’ when Riv held up the ale-skin. ‘I think I’ll say good-night. Get my gear in order for tomorrow.’

Skald stood up from the table and grinned at Bror. ‘Think you can make it out of bed for an early start?’ he asked.

[Folwren]

Bror choked suddenly on his last mouthful of ale. He swallowed desperately and fell to coughing, turning bright red in the effort to get the liquid out of his wind pipe. His brothers laughed and Skald bent towards him to slap him on the back. In another minute, Bror was recovered and he turned with furious indignation towards Skald.

‘Of course I’ll be up!’ he exclaimed, gasping for breath at the same time. ‘By heaven, I’ll warrant I’ll be up before you when morning comes!’ A quick and rather stern warning and check from both Riv and Orin halted the words that might have followed and Bror shut his mouth with a snap. Skald continued to laugh.

Bror got up, still scowling, and with his harp in one hand and his other on the back of his chair, he addressed Orin and Riv.

‘I had better go to bed, too, seeing as...someone-’ a quick, darting glance towards Skald ‘-doubts my ability to get up in the morning. I’ll leave what I need brought with his stuff. I don’t know if we’ll be off before seeing you in the morning or what. You, I won’t see, Uncle Orin, but Riv might be up. Goodnight, then!’ He turned to go, but half way to the door, he turned back around. ‘What time do you want to be off?’ he asked Skald.

[Boromir88]

Orin smiled at Skald's jest of marriage, but still refused to wear lots of armor. He'd probably dress in a mail hauberk crafted by himself, a wooden shield, a helmet (which sounded like a good idea), but nothing else. "I will take a suit of mail, a shield, and a helmet, but refuse to wear anything else. Nothing else is necessary. Even the best armor may be pierced by a sturdy strike." Orin said sharply. "You better not wait too long to get a dwarf lady." His expression had now changed to laughter.

If you are asking for my input, "I think you have all grown to be able to make your own decisions and there's nothing for me to add." They all nodded, Orin continued, "I'm sure Fawrin would like to join, as he seems to have more interest in this than myself, and I'm sure I can round up some other lads."

They continued to discuss the plans. Orin began to doze off when Bror suddenly began yelling at Skald. Orin snorted and quickly jerked up in his chair, hoping no one caught him napping. Orin was taken back by Bror's defensive reply. "Well, I'm sure you two know him better than me, but that certainly did not seem like the Bror I've grown to know." Orin shook his head puzzled by Bror's reaction, "He must be under a lot of stress, because of the news." Aren't we all he muttered under his breath.