Prisoner of Númenor RPG

[Meneltarmacil]

Azarmanô, Inzillomí, and Thoronmir searched the rest of the area for Abârpânarú's cell. As they searched the building, Thoronmir spotted a guard walking in their direction. He tried to hide his face, but the guard recognized him before he could do anything.

"Sakaladûn? Is that you?" said the guard, coming closer.

But to Thoronmir's surprise, he didn't try to arrest them. Instead, he pulled them aside into an unoccupied cell and started talking to them.

"My name is Târik. I am one of the Faithful, and I have been secretly passing information to Abârpânarú," he said in a whisper.

"We came to break him out. We brought his wife into the city as part of our disguise, so we didn't actually intend to have her sacrificed. With your help, we'll have everyone out in no time," Thoronmir said.

"Is he hurt?" Inzillomí asked.

"He wasn't the last time I checked," Târik responded. "His cell is the first one up these stairs to your right." He indicated a nearby staircase. "I have to go. Good luck."

[littlemanpoet]

As Târik disappeared into the darkness, the group heard a clang from down the corridor to which Târik had pointed them. A dim light caused shadows to move along the far wall opposite the mouth of a corridor that turned to the right. Then the shadows returned.

The group moved quickly and quietly to the corridor and turned right, and stepped up the half flight of stairs lying before them. Just three ranga ahead of them the corridor they were in opened into a taller and broader way. Thoronmir was in the lead and waved the others to silence, listening. There seemed to be footsteps fading to their left down the broad hallway. A heavy door closed, echoing like drums of doom. Then all was silent.

"His cell should be just to the right," Thoronmir whispered, pointing down the broad hall. The others nodded and followed as quietly as they could, turning into the hallway.

It was dark, except for a torch smouldering fitfully in its sconce at the intersection of the corridor they had just passed through. There was one cell before them. It was empty.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Azarmanô stared in disbelief at the empty cell that stared back at him. The feeling was shocking, very empty, and extremely hollow as if a hole had suddenly opened up in the ground underneath him. The obvious question struck him with incredible force: Where was Abârpânarú? This was his cell, or so the gaurd that had known Thoronmir had said. He could not remember the man's name. Azarmanô viewed the guard's assistance with suspicion, but it had been their only lead. Now, it seemed as though they had been duped by one of the king's men. He had no idea where Abârpânarú was, but it was not the time to sulk. They would have to move quickly if they wished to find their leader's cell amidst all that were in the high security tower.

Inzillomi too looked stunned as she stared into the empty cell. She began to let out a high pitched scream and shake her fists vehemently. Azarmanô silenced the distressed woman by placing his hand over her mouth and restraining her while whispering words of calm into her ear. He feared that his damage control only did limited good, since some guards surely had heard the high-pitched explosion and knew that something was amiss.

"I would urge everyone to stay calm. We will not leave until we find Abârpânarú. He is in a cell somewhere in this section. Let us search," he concluded.

And so Azarmanô sprinted down the dark stone corridor glancing quickly from one side to another for any sign of their leader followed by the rest of the group. Every cell inflicted more pain, anguish, and panic upon Azarmanô's heavy heart, but he dare not show it. He kept his face blank, stoic as if he were window shopping for a new suit of plate mail. The light tread of his leather boots echoed down the deserted hallway. As he travelled farther down the corridor, the floor became dirt and the slope of the path led down. The cells seemed to be more spread out and larger.

Ahead of the group, from a distance, Azarmanô could see a clearing inside the dungeon and a large black obsidian alter whose stones were stained red with blood. A chill of fear spread throughout Azarmanô's body as he stared at the alter of Sauron the destroyer himself. The blood of the former Faithful cried out from the ground as a testimony to the atrocities that had been committed there. Azarmanô did not see Sauron himself, but he imagined that he could not be far away.

Following the curve of the tunnel, Azarmanô saw four guards lurking clsoe to a cell. Although he expected to find Abârpânarú within, as he grew closer he was disappointed to see that the cell was quite empty. Why would the soldiers be guarding an empty cell, he wondered. And if this was in fact Abârpânarú's cell, where was he? He approached the soldiers cautiously, sensing that confrontation might be near.

Azarmanô addressed the group, "I have a prisoner that I am escorting to her cell. She is the wife of the Faithful leader Abârpânarú, and I was given orders to place her in the cell next to her husband's. Is this his cell?"

The leader spoke, addressing Abârpânarú disdainfully," Stop where you are. We know what you are up to. You are a resourceful group of vermin, I give you that. We found the group of guards who became extremely drunk and then fell asleep in the middle of the hallway. They told us how you slipped past them with the female prisoner and stole the keys to the high security area. We were ordered to patrol the high security area and look for your group. You will not be so lucky as to escape again. "

I'll show you resourceful, he thought as a mischievous grin spread across his face. Impulsively, Azarmanô unslung his bow and unleashed an arrow into the throat of one of the guards as the other Faithful turned to face them.....

[Himaran]

Abârzadan's keen hearing easily picked up the loud conversation between the guards and Azarmanô, even though he was now positioned at the rear of the group. The discussion was both heated and brief. Although the man expected the guards to see straight through the captain's now compromised story, he had not forseen the swift and violent reaction that brought an abrupt end to any negotiations. The other Faithful turned instantly as the lead guard fell to the floor, a shaft protruding from his throat. Silence reigned for a split second as a faint gurgle escaped his lips. Then life fled the body, and the hallway decended into chaos. The remaining guards charged Azarmanô, and with Inzi and Thoronmir blocking his path Abârzadan knew that he could do little to help. Events soon proved him very, very wrong.

Suddenly, on Abârzadan's side of the hallway, two more guards appeared. They had obviously heard the commotion and come to investigate it. Thinking quickly, the man dropped his spear (which he had been carrying for show) and ran towards them. "Stop! Stop! A prisoner escaped! He's gone!" Unable to see what was happening further down the passage, but horrified by the news shouted at them by the "guard" running towards them, the pair froze as if stuck to the glistening stone floor. The penalty for allowing an inmate to escape was sacrifice in the temple. Something had to be done! Forgetting about the conflict ahead, the guards allowed themselves to be forcefully turned and pushed in the direction that the supposed fugitive had fled.

The trio skidded to a halt as the hallway ended and two side passages appeared, going in seperate directions. "Go left, I'll go right," yelled Abârzadan, and the other two (motivated by the fear of a horrible death) obeyed without question. As they dashed off, the man slowed, stopped, and waited. Once sure that they were far enough away, he turned and sprinted back the way they had come, hoping that the others had survived.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Inzillomi's intense regret at her outburst disappeared the second the guards appeared. She was too busy calculating their chances of escape to spare any thought for her recent stupidity. A bolt pierced the neck of the spokesman for the King's Men. She spared a second to glance at Azarmanô... he held his bow and appeared to be sizing up the enemy. The hapless man fell to the floor, a choked gurgling coming not from his mouth, but from the new hole permeating his throat. Chaos ensued.

A tall guard slipped past the men to reach Inzillomi. Violently he grabbed her by the hair. She bit back a scream while, encumbered by the chains of her disguise, she grasped his hands. She felt quickly for the tender spots on his forearms and pressed hard, digging with her nails. He released her with a grunt and dove forward, propelled by anger. She ducked fast, barely missing his fist coming in direct contact with her face. She heard Abarzadan yell unidentifiable words as she gripped her attacker by the arm and helped him to fly over her hip. He slammed hard into the bars of the empty cell, slumping. It never does to underestimate a small opponent when you are giving them all the momentum they need, though Inzillomi with a resigned sigh as she advanced, pulling a small black vial from her wide sash. She broke the seal, uncorking the bottle. As the dazed guard looked at her hazily, Inzillomi poured a small amount of the pearly liquid into the unlucky man's mouth. Within seconds he was unconscious. She did not envy him the headache he would have upon awakening.

She turned on her knees, eyes sweeping the scene for more attackers. Azarmanô fought ferociously. Thoronmir grappled with his own opponent a short distance away. Abarzadan was missing.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Azarmanô looked approvingly as Inzillomi smashed the head of a guard against the cell bars and poured something down his throat. Perhaps he had underestimated her, for he did not expect her to be so well prepared. Thoronmir disposed of the third one quickly as he thrust his sword into the guard’s stomach, through an exposed point in the plate mail. Azarmanô now loaded his bow a second time and shot the lone remaining guard. The guard leapt in an effort to dodge the arrow, but was struck in the leg and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Azarmanô prepared to finish him off with one well placed shot, but restrained himself. He shunned unnecessary bloodshed and felt that the guard would not harm anyone in his present condition. After taking the guard’s sword, Azarmanô motioned to the rest of the party that it was time to proceed.

As he glanced back at his companions he was alarmed to see that Abarzadan was not among those present. Azarmanô was surprised by this, particularly because he had seen Abarzadan mere moments before the fight began standing by his side. In the turmoil of combat, Azarmanô had not given much attention to the whereabouts of the rest of the party. It did not seem unlikely that Abarzadan could have easily escaped, but the real question was why. Could he, at this moment, be reporting to the enemy, notifying all the temple of their whereabouts? Azarmanô had come to expect suspicious behavior from Abarzadan, and this disappearance seemed to confirm his fears.

“We can not wait to see if our elusive friend will return. We must go forward,” he announced decisively.

He turned to look expecting to see the black sacrificial altar, where he suspected Abârpânarú was being led, but saw that the door had been closed. It must have been shut while we fought from inside, he thought. Quickly, he ran forward, grasped the iron door handle firmly, and pulled hard. Azarmanô cursed in desperation as he realized that the door had been locked. He tried to use his bronze high security key to open the sealed entrance, but the key would not turn.

Consumed with anger, desperation, and urgency, he shouted “Thoronmir crack open this door with your sword. An axe would do the job better but I have none. Make haste for more than one life is in jeopardy within.”

Thoronmir swung his long sword, but the blade merely made several cuts in the wood and the door was very thick. Azarmanô battled the ideas flowing through his mind that the effort was futile and Abârpânarú’s doom imminent. Suddenly, a low rumbling noise began reverberating through the hallway. Subdued at first, the sound grew louder until it reached a tremendous roar. The ground beneath his feet began to quiver and small rocks came crashing down from the ceiling. At first, these things had seemed strange to Azarmanô, but now he understood. The beginning of the demise, the harbinger of destruction, the end that he had dreaded but known one day would come was upon them. The Island of Numenor was drowning, sinking into the vast ocean Azarmanô loved so well.

[littlemanpoet]

Míriel waited behind the thick velvet curtain. She could see everything. Mabalar had been led into the sacrificial chamber; and he seemed to recognize the three others who had preceded him. The girl, could she be family? His daughter? She caught an exchanged glance between them, and knew it must be so. The sorrow in their faces convinced her. That could have been her daughter. The girl was beautiful. Míriel had never met the woman Mabalar had married, but had heard of her. Inzillomí, she was called, of the house of Andúnië, daughter of Elendil. Mabalar had married well; maybe better than he might have, had she become his wife. For she knew how the ancestry went, a lady who should have ruled, passed over for her younger brother. It seemed that all had gone awry because of that.

Míriel held the potion in her hand. That fool, Herugor, had been so malleable to her purposes. All that had been needed was a little female attention - not so much as she would regret later - and he had become putty, giving her every desire of her heart's whim. So he thought, not knowing her purpose. The concentration spider's venom would render its imbiber dead to the world in all seeming, for days, or at least hours, depending on the imbiber. All she needed was a distraction.

What was that noise of banging on the door from which Mabalar had come? Who could want to come in? It was much safer out. Where was Tarík? Had he gotten her message to him? He must have, unless he had been kept from doing so. She had bade him tell Mabalar that they must not leave until he received her gift. She knew she could trust Moizandû to funnel the prisoners into his underground. He had told her the entrance to the secret passage, and she had guarded his secret with great care. The palantír must leave the Temple precincts. Sauron must not get it. She had been careful to keep secret from him, and from Herugor, but once the doom came upon Númenor, who could say what that evil one might uncover?

There was an odd rumble in the distance. Was there an army marching outside? No, it was growing. A herd of animals escaped from the nearby pens, racing for the Temple entrance? Absurd. It kept growing. The floor dropped a few inches from beneath her feet. She almost fell. This was the moment! It was an earthquake. The floor kept shifting, the ground beneath them groaning with a terrible roar. Míriel stole into the chamber in the confusion, keeping low to the shifting floor as the guards and their prisoners fought for balance, vainly trying to stay on their feet.

Mabalar saw her. His eyes widened briefly. She came to him and placed the vial in his chained hands.

"Drink this now. It will save you."

She left him and made her way back to the curtains as the floor continued to rock, the roar of the earth slowly dissipating. When she had regained her composure, and her feet, she looked back. Mabalar lay on the floor, his face looking paler already. Around him, his daughter and her friends were fighting with their guards.
The door to the dungeons flew open. She turned away and moved quickly back to her chambers. She might have been seen, and knew that she must not be found near the chamber of sacrifice. It was time to retrieve the palantír and wait for an opportune moment, to give it to the safekeeping of Mabalar, once he awakened.