Island of Sorrow RPG

[piosenniel]

The battle had raged on below as Orëmir sat on the grassy sward above, his brother cradled in his arms. Endamir’s mind was in turmoil as the Diviner and the Seneschal fought. She had not withdrawn from him when Idrahil had attacked, but had closed one icy claw of her mind around his own and battered at his spirit. He could feel Orëmir’s attempts to reach him, but feared were he to make that connection with his brother, then the Diviner might draw him, too, into her grasp.

The pain, the release, of the Diviner’s fëa as the Seneschal drove his spectral blade into her was . . . in a way . . . exquisite. And he felt himself carried along in the wake of her passing; his spirit drawn toward the blesséd light of Aman. Orëmir’s presence grew small, faded . . . as his own fëa raced westward.

Just at the edges of his consciousness he could hear Orëmir’s voice . . .

[Envinyatar]

No! No! Do not leave me, my brother! Not now. Not in this way.

Orëmir pressed deeply into his brother’s mind, following the fading thoughts. He had reconciled himself to Endamir’s leaving at the end of this . . . trip, he was going to say . . . but now, the word debacle came to mind.

He had wanted to stretch out what little time was left to them. And now that time was narrowing down to nothing.

Orëmir’s arms went slack; his head fell forward, resting against his brother’s brow.

I am with you . . . wait . . . wait . . .

[piosenniel]

This is not how it was meant to be . . . my brother did not wish to go . . . it is only his great affection for me which draws him on . . . not his desire to return to Aman . . .

His chest rose as the salt sea air rushed in. With a sigh of near regret he breathed it out again. Orëmir’s forehead rested against his. And on his still closed eyes Endamir could feel his brother’s pooling tears.


Endamir pushed himself up to a sitting position, shaking off the last of the Diviner’s assault. Harder to put away was the remembrance of the white shores he had but barely glimpsed and the sweet music which had reached out to him. He reached out his arms to his brother and cradled him against his shoulder.

A fool, Orëmir . . . that’s what I was, to think that I could leave you.

He laughed, his eyes glinting in the sea-light. And more the fool, you . . . for thinking I would . . . that I could . . . do so.

They sat together in silence for a short while. Then the sounds of their two companions near them drew their attention. ‘Lómwë! Lindir!’ they called out in unison. The two brothers stood and helped Lindir up on his good leg. They made their way slowly away from the grassy cliff, toward the place in the fortress from which they had started that morning. Lómwë followed along with the trio, quiet and seeming despondent.

‘Malris! Where are you?’ Endamir called out, his voice echoing among the stones of the empty space . .

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Tasa sat away from Malris; close, but not touching, and in silence. She refused to probe his thoughts and so she sat tending to her own.

Though the hostility had faded away until none remained, she felt uncomfortable still. She was trapped with Malris in his dead wife's bed chamber... Giledhel had assaulted her spirit. Tasa could have stayed in the Golden Wood, fading ever until the last, and she would not have been forced to bear these ghosts.

She had expected emotion to run high during this last trip together, but assaults and near-death experiences had barely crossed her mind. With the wars of old long cast into legend, she had lain aside battle-lust and sword. Breathing deeply the golden flowers of Lothlorien, she had made for herself a sweet sanctuary. Elven Rangers guarded and Tasa stayed in quiet retirement, weaving, walking, and singing with the birds of the trees.

But Malris' letter had come. She had responded, befriended its messenger. They had travelled and they had met, joyous and ready to move onward. As friends they had taken to the boat and as friends they had kept it from sinking during that first storm. As friends they had camped together, stealing moments to watch the stars at night. Perhaps as more than friends, they had borrowed long moments from the journey to stand amidst the early rays of dawn, hand in hand. And as friends again, they had explored the island.

Now, Malris felt cold and distant, as far from Tasa as light and hope had been so recently as she battled desperately against shades of horror. She sat against the wall with her knees pulled against her, her clothing torn from battle and the smallest of her injuries already healing to silver-white scars. Those adorning her jawline felt cold, though no longer burned or froze as before.

The door beckoned to her, but she was not strong enough now to move it.

‘Malris! Where are you?’ The call echoed dully through the stone, coming more as intent than sound.

Yes Malris... where are you? Tasa thought sadly. She barely knew the form slumped dejectly before her. She was helpless. Unless he could come back to himself, and actually desire to leave, they would remain, for she could not leave him here even if he bade her to go.

[Child of the 7th Age]

With his ankle tightly wrapped in rags, Lindir made his way down the hill, all the while leaning heavily on Endamir's arm. Though encountering some difficulties with fallen debris and littered rocks, he had finally arrived back at the meeting point where they'd begun their search that morning. He was feeling much better than he had earlier in the day. The throbbing in his ankle was far preferable to the sense of isolation and despair that had overwhelmed him when the houseless spirit had threatened to evict his fëa.

Lindir located a stout branch that could serve as a cane and found he could hobble forward on his own as long as the ground was relatively even. The enclosure within the fortress was too littered with stones and rubble for him to go back into the ruins to hunt for Malris and Tasa, both of whom were apparently missing. Using his talents as a scout, he found a gentler path than the one they had originally taken that led towards the beach. Lindir decided to go down and secure a few items from the boat, meanwhile keeping a sharp eye open for Malris in the unlikely event that he and Tasa had ventured down to the shore.

The path was blocked in places by clumps of tall grass, but the descent was gradual, so that Lindir had no serious problems finding his way back to the ship. Arriving at the boat, he dug through his spare satchel and located a change of clothes, quickly pulling on clean breeches and a shirt. As he stopped for a moment to get a ladle of water from the barrel that stood in the middle of the deck, he realized that something on the ship was different. A few items on deck were shifted ever so slightly out of place. Hobbling as quickly as he could and navigating the ladder with some difficulty, Lindir checked the supplies and equipment first down below and then out on the main deck. Nothing seemed to be missing, but he could not shake his initial feeling that someone had come onto their ship and searched through their supplies and belongings, putting things back as closely as they could so as not to be discovered.

Lindir shook his head in frustration. He had his small hunting knife at his side, but had left his sword and bow back in the fortress, since these had only seemed like an extra burden at the time. Lindir had just decided he’d better go back to the others and get some help, when a rough voice sounded in back of him. Whirling around, he saw that four figures had encircled him dressed in rough mariner’s garb and were cutting off his means of escape.

A tough voice boomed out: “You’d best explain what you’re doing here. Elf or no, you owe us an explanation! We trawl these waters to ply our fishing trade and make sure no travelers set foot here. This isle is a killer of men. It’s been years since we’ve seen anyone on these shores. So what mischief brings you and your crew here today?”

[piosenniel]

There was no response to their calls from Malris or Tasa. And Lindir had hobbled off saying he would look for the two on the little strand where they had moored the ship. At loose ends, and oppressed by the wreck and ruin of the fortress, Endamir suggested after a short while that they all go down to the ship to await the pair’s return.

Lindir, it seemed, had found a less strenuous route back to the beach. Following along in his track, the two brothers stepped onto the sandy shore in short time and turned toward the boat. In the distance they could see the deck and upon it not one, but five figures.

Orëmir drew his sword and was about to run to Lindir’s aid when his brother stayed his hand. ‘Put up your sword. I’ve had enough of fighting.’ He called out to Lindir in a loud voice.

Lindir! Are you alright? Who’s come aboard?’

~*~

The four sailors turned their attention to the two new Elves. Their hands were near their weapons, and grim, wary looks upon their faces. In the distance, anchored off shore, were four fishing vessels, and as he spied them, Endamir smiled.

‘You’ve found us the answer then to our needs!’ he said, coming to stand near Lindir. The four fishermen relaxed their guarded stance, though their brows furrowed and they looked from one to another at the Elf’s words.

[Envinyatar]

‘You must forgive my brother’s eagerness,’ Orëmir said, coming to stand by Lindir and Endamir. ‘He’s not usually so vague. But this island, this mountain top where once stood our captain’s fortress has got us rather spooked. We’re eager to be away. And we would do so, on our little vessel here, save we have the obligation upon us to lay our comrades who fought at our side to rest. We have gathered their bones and would let the sea take them westward to their final peace.’

The fact that there were Orcish remains among those bones, he chose to pass over . . .

The sailors narrowed their eyes, and one or two nodded their heads, weighing the Elf’s words. ‘So, you’ve come to honor your dead,’ the taller of them said. His eyes glinted in a shrewd manner, calculating how they might turn this need of the Elves to their advantage. ‘Be it a ship you’re wanting?’ He looked out to where their boats were anchored. ‘Those ships be our livelihood. And as such they’ll be dear.’ There were murmurs of assent from the other sailors as they caught wind of what might turn to their profit.

As Orëmir began to bargain with the fishermen, Endamir went below to their quarters and brought up to the deck two of the small leather pouches they had brought on this journey, each filled with gold coin of various sizes.

‘Will this be enough for one of the smaller vessels?’ he asked, pouring the contents out onto the head of a nearby barrel. The men’s eyes widened and some were eager to say ‘yes’. But the tall man intervened saying, how hard it would be to let even the smallest of their ships leave their hands.

It was then that Lindir stepped forward, and unpinning the jeweled brooch from his tunic, he placed it atop the pile. The facets of the jewels caught the sun’s light and threw it out in a glimmering display. Before the tall fisherman could protest again the worth of the vessels, the owner of the smallest reached out his hands and clasped the brooch and gold in his fists.

‘She’s yours!’ he said with a grin at the glittering wealth that threatened to spill through his fingers . . .