board77

posted as Elf-Hunter

Posted: Wed Jun 16, 2004 2:57 pm

No shadow gave away his coming. The light of the flickering torch he held only cast a sickly green light in his wake, emphasizing the colour of the slimy mold that covered the walls of the deep levels. Not a sound betrayed his passing; only the faint, frantic scratches of terrified rats as they bolted into the nearest holes.

Eldaraimo drew to a halt. The last stretch of narrow corridor, lined on either side with a number of heavy iron doors, was dimly lit by a single mounted torch set in a high bracket. Carelessly he dropped the one he held, the languid flame withering from the instant it left his hand, expiring before it hit the rough slab floor with a soft thud. One of the doors stood slightly ajar. The gasping sounds, however, a suppressed moan followed by a faint shuffling of feet came from the opposing portal.

A touch of his ice-cold hand, a hissed command, the door grated open. In the far corner of the damp, filthy chamber huddled two elves, the female hiding her ageless, pretty face in the torn folds of her husband's cloak. Licking his lips fearfully, the male hugged her closer, averting his terror stricken eyes. Pain suddenly lashed through the elf. His arms and legs shot out as a terrible force pinned him against the wall. Agony beyond anything the Teleri had ever known in his long life silenced his gaping mouth. The elfess crumpled to the ground in a heap, sobbing.

A cruel smile curved the elf-hunter's bloodless lips as he entered, oblivious to the eldar who hung helplessly, twitching five feet above ground, forced to watch his every move.

"Have mercy," the elf lady pleaded, raising her delicate tear streaked face. "What have we done to incur your wrath?"

'You have lived, endured, eluded me. You have escaped from Cuiviénen'.

Each thought cut into the minds of both elves like steel. The lady's eyes grew ever wider as the memory of these dark times returned and her gaze turned in horror to her hapless husband whose eyes all but burst from their sockets as another wave of agony wracked his body. Panic-stricken the elfess threw herself at the feet of the shrouded figure and begged, her voice near breaking:

"Please! By the Valar, have mercy. Kill us… kill us both….."

Eldaraimo almost gently pulled her off her knees, regarding her for a long moment. Then, with a sudden jerk of his bony hand, he pulled back his deep hood revealing a face that had not been seen since the sundering of the dark of Arda.



Her screams, turning slowly into unearthly howls, at first reverberated wildly through the dungeons. Soon they faded, lost forever in the maze of underground tunnels that riddled the crags on which the broken fortress stood.

"When she finds her way to the Barrow-downs, she'll find good company - the most excellent of companies…." were the last words the Teleri heard before he crashed to the ground, his spirit broken as his body; the hopeless wail escaping his lips before he passed out silenced by the heavy clunk of the shutting door.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


When he passed Oscargam on his way to the rampart he had but a condescending smirk for the knight. How pathetic he was, a one-handed puppet dancing to the tune of one that had been but a messenger. He, Eldaraimo, would show her, he would show them all where true power lay - all in good time.

A low, rhythmic 'thud' sliced the dark skies as a massive form took flight to the north just as darkness enveloped the island.

Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2004 4:29 am

"This is for you Miss Alandriel."

The Ranger's eyes narrowed, as the rotund woman placed both a mug of ale and a glass of brandy in front of her.

"They come from that man in the silk shirt and his companions. He says that they are the ones you were to meet."

Alandriel turned to follow Else's nod, a sharp pain in her shoulder momentarily contorting her face. Else's worried look followed her as, a brandy shot later, the Ranger made her way slowly towards the table, foam from the too generously filled mug dripping over her hand.

'Brûnir never overfills his mugs. That Corsair must have provided a handsome tip,' she pondered silently, studying his face again.

That her benefactor was indeed a corsair, probably a highly opportunistic brigand and mercenary, of that Alandriel had no doubt. Why the generosity? Clearly he was hoping for a beneficial contract. Pirates loved, above all else, the gleam of gold. Despite the possibility of him being allied with the thugs that had tried to kill her, Alandriel was not entirely displeased at this presence. The salt-encrusted watermarks on his bald head and white shirt, the dry crystals that knotted his buzzard-like eyebrows clearly spelt out his recent arrival by sea. Maybe he had come with Arunakhôr. But whether or not this was true did not concern her at this point. What concerned her was that here was someone who would listen carefully to the talk of coin, knew the seas, how to commandeer a boat and quite probably also how to get one if the price was right.

Her gaze wandered to the next face, a dark-blonde woman, the vest she wore bearing the White Tree openly proclaiming her alliance. As she reached for her drink, a flash of light caught on the pin that held her cloak.

'Kingfisher! The ancient insignia of the royal messengers! Gondor has answered.' Alandriel thought, her spirits lifting after the initial disappointment of not seeing Baradan amongst those seated at the table. Before their eyes could meet, the Ranger's gaze shifted to the next patron and unwittingly a small smile curled her lips.

'A hobbit! The spirit of the Brandybucks and Tooks is well alive then,' she thought, surprised and pleased in equal measure.

Then there was a young woman, no! A peredhel, for she showed that unusual mix of both races. She wore a cloak that despite being travel stained and weather beaten still showed traces of a colour Alandriel knew all too well: it was of a particular blue hue only worn by the people of Dale. Had she been sent by Aram?
The perehel's amber eyes suddenly widened staring concernedly at the only person the Ranger had recognized amongst the group: Legyviel. It was as if a shadow crept over the elfess' face. She seemed to falter. The bard's tune hung as if arrested in mid-air. A violent shiver coursed down Alandriel's spine, making the small hairs at the nape of her neck stand up. More ale spilled over her hand as she whirled around, her eyes searching the room. There was nothing; only faint traces of a menace that vanished as soon as the bard ran her hands across the harp, picking up a mellow, sad tune.

The hobbit's voice brought the Ranger back around. Legyviel recovered and gingerly touched her face reassuring her companions she was alright. Shaking off the bad feeling that only moments ago had made her skin crawl, Alandriel quickly covered the remaining distance.

"I am Alandriel, the one whose plea you have answered," she said, setting the mug on the table and pulling up a chair. Before continuing, her eyes sought each of the ones gathered, resting a little longer on Legyviel, giving her a slight nod of welcome as much as reassurance. Then she sat down.

"I have asked for aid. You have answered. You have come without knowing why. For that you have my gratitude and respect."

Her hand reached for the ale and as she took a long swallow, her eyes once more rounded the group. Lowering her voice she continued:

"A great gathering has recently taken place, a meeting of elves, dwarfs and peoples of the free races. When rumour of this event reached my ears I travelled here to the Grey Havens to investigate; for when I learnt who was amongst the invitees it struck me as highly unusual. Their names are too numerous to recount here but let me say that too many an important lady and lord, persons of high standing in the governing of the lands, were amongst them to make this but a chance gathering. What disconcerts is that most of the ones that have returned are….. changed. They do not remember to where they journeyed nor do they recall any particulars. It is as if their minds are shrouded."

Noting the frowns all around Alandriel continued.

"But that is not all. I have seen their eyes…. and this is what drove fear into my heart. A seed of darkness has taken root. I have called for help for I intend to travel north. By ship….." her eyes turned to the Corsair to note his reaction. "…..with a small, skilled group to try and find this mysterious island. There I hope to find answers as to the root of this new threat, a seed of darkness that will grow and spread if nothing is done."

For a long moment she let her words sink in, regarding each and every one in turn.

"What say you? Will you accompany me?"

Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2004 12:24 pm

« Look, you have scratched your cheek. »

For a moment, Tibodom even hesitated to rise and to touch the elven lady’s cheek or at least to hand her a handkerchief for the little drop of blood on the scratch that she had done to herself. But he did nothing of it. The big folk had not really impressed him, but an elf… He remembered how Samwise had described the elves, as if they were in the same time as alive as anybody under the sun and yet already like creatures written in books only. Now, that he was sitting face to face with an elf, he understood better what his kinsman had said. There was a mystery about Legyviel and he thought that all had seen it, when she drifted off into that elvish world, into that world that must be made of creatures written in books only. Only later, when Tibodom knew his companions better, he understood that not all saw reactions and faces like he did. But hobbits do not lie unless they have no other choice, so they are no easily deceived. He did not stretch out his little hand, which was a bit hairy like his feet, he felt as if he could have sullied the lady by his touch – and for sure that he did not want it.

But there was no time for Tibodom to understand his own reactions. Already another lady approached their group and now, at last, it was the one they had all been waiting for.

"I am Alandriel, the one whose plea you have answered,"

The voice of the lady was somehow hesitating; she sounded exhausted – at least to the hobbit. But maybe he also just projected his own fatigue on the ranger, yes, although he was probably the one who had had the quietest trip, the best food and the shortest way, Tibodom was tired. Good willing to listen, to help and to please – but tired. Any maybe to be honest a little bit hungry again.

And while his mind was playing tricks on him every time that a waiter brought a plate of food to another person in the Inn, he tried to focus on the long-awaited news end explanation that Alandriel did not fail to bring them.

"A great gathering has recently taken place, a meeting of elves, dwarfs and peoples of the free races.” –

Tibodom almost interfered – not all free races, he wanted to say – he would certainly heard of a hobbit going away from the Shire. But then, since the adventures of the fellowship had been reported back, more hobbits than in decades before had travelled. Maybe after all, he could not be sure that none of his people had joined that Gathering.

“ I have called for help for I intend to travel north. By ship….."

Tibodom almost swallowed his ale when he heard the word “ship”. Even being a Took, he did not trust anything that remained on the water for long – and if a little barge for fishing was all right – a ship, something huge, probably with sails – that was an entirely different matter. Even if all of their eyes were fixed on Alandriel, at this precise moment, a mocking smile curled around the lips of the corsair – and it did not go unnoticed…

"What say you? Will you accompany me?"

With those words, the lady Alandriel looked at each and every one of them, and Tibodom wished that he could turn his glance away when she asked – indeed he blushed almost immediately (and at this moment, felt as if the elf Legyviel was smiling) and bent his head low. Without knowing it, he reacted like his kinsman Samwise, when he had met Galadriel – fleeing the inquiry glance even if unlike others he had no intentions to hide.

A moment of silence was floating in the air, and Tibodom wondered who would be the first to speak. And he wondered what he would say – and even more do.

Here, dear Reader, let us see what you would expect from our little hobbit and from the other members of the company. Tibo is weak, untrained for fighting, afraid of the water, small and tired. Probably he would be a burden for the company… Yet, still, I am sure of it, you expect the little hobbit to get on his hairy feet (if not knees) and to promise his ever-lasting allegiance to the lady Alandriel. Now, you know a lot more about Alandriel than this little hobbit: you know she is brave and courageous, has faced in this very day more dangers than Tibodom in all his life, you know she is pretty when she is less fatigued, and she is so selfless not even to mention her own wound. But Tibodom, he knows nothing of this. He only has his good common sense to judge the situation – and should this one not tell him that his place was not on a ship? Or would you judge him a coward if he said so?

However, Tibodom is not the first in the prestigious assembly to take the freedom of speech. It is, even if it may seem surprising, the Gondorian messenger, maybe also because it is easiest for her: she is on an official mission and any other behaviour would seem like treachery.

“You have called for Gondor… and Gondor will answer your plea.”
She said in a voice, which sounded solemn, almost too solemn for the pointy little ears of our hobbit.

The elf and the peredhel mumbled something, that for Tibodom at last sounded like an agreement, and the bald man nodded, if it was mechanically, or a sign of yes, Tibo could not say. He felt like all of those big people were looking at him, and that now they expected him to speak, and as if his tongue all of a sudden had swollen and he could not utter a word. In fact, the hobbit was nervous and probably flabbergasted with the news he had just heard and the perspective of a long trip on a ship in company of big people and tall elves only. On the other hand, if he could find a mysterious island and bring back something unique growing only there, among all the hobbits of the Shire, he would be chosen by Daisy Cotton, that was sure. Only Daisy Cotton was not here tonight to encourage him with a smile at the right moment. He had to take that decision alone.

“Bu do you have a vassal already? Would you want us to leave tomorrow?” he asked in a slightly panicking voice.

“No, Master Hobbit” answered the ranger, “alas, so far no safe ship is available for our journey.”

“Then” and now the young Took was smiling broadly again, for he had found an exit out of his dilemma – at least for a short while “then the most important would be first to get us a safe means of transport. (He could not resign to let the word ship come over his lips) And then, there will be still enough time to decide on the direction and the company.”

The hobbit seemed very content with this solution, and as he saw no frown eyebrows, nor grunted disagreements, he thought everybody else was too – and he was already occupied to catch the waitress by her arm and to order some more bread and sausages.

“If a long voyage is awaiting us, is it not best to take some strength right now. And in the Shire, we say that nothing seals a friendship like shared food.”

His smile had found back to his usual broadness and confident again, he looked around, nodding in particular to he Corsair, whom he considered almost like a friend in this strange environment.

But nothing was less sure than that he would indeed be able to consume his meal. Several loud noises could be heard from outside, and a mumbled scream. Maybe Tibodom would not have paid attention to it, or he would have thought that it was usual in inns of the big folk that there were doors slamming and voices arguing, especially as he has seen the argument with the thief. But he saw that Alandriel had turned pale. In fact, she had been pale from the beginning, but now she was close to white.

“Lady Ranger – what does trouble you? Do you hear that noise from outside, probably just a few drunken lads? Has anything affected you before you arrived here? Is it anything that cannot be cured with the fine food of this inn?”

Tibodom was surprised at his own eloquence and perspicacity – and before too long the reactions of the others and most of all of Alandriel herself should show him, if he had indeed seen or heard well, or if he had – once more – acted foolishly.

Posted: Sat Jun 19, 2004 3:04 am

"I am Alandriel, the one whose plea you have answered," the red haired wench had said, setting the mug on the table and pulling up a chair. She sat on it as a lady would, she was no sailor mused Kalin. He looked her up and down, noting the thin line of her mouth and travel-stained clothing.

And what lay beneath, he thought as she talked. By her posture she was a fine woman, but hard. Well he had bedded worse, and he liked the way she handled her ale. She drank like a man, but supped like a lady. He really should listen to her, the others looked intent and were nodding in agreement to something.

"A great gathering has recently taken place, a meeting of elves, dwarfs and peoples of the free races. When rumour of this event reached my ears….” Alandriel was saying, he tried to concentrate but the brandy and the warmth of the fire was playing with his mind. She talked well Kalin had to admit, but flowery. Like she had to little to say, and much to hide so she kept it in the pool with the pretty fish rather than the ocean with the sharks.

Noting the frowns all around Kalin tried to listen as Alandriel continued.

"But that is not all. I have seen their eyes…. and this is what drove fear into my heart. A seed of darkness has taken root. I have called for help for I intend to travel north. By ship….." her eyes turned to the Corsair to note his reaction. Kalin looked intent, and nodded. In lieu of the fact that a vast wealth could be his reward, he hoped he had made the right reaction there. "…..with a small, skilled group to try and find this mysterious island. There I hope to find answers as to the root of this new threat, a seed of darkness that will grow and spread if nothing is done." She finished, glancing back at Kalin, who nodded thoughtfully.

There was no thought behind the nod, only piles of gold and there for the taking. All those rich travellers who had vanished, they must be someplace and this Alandriel looked like she knew where. He smiled.

"What say you? Will you accompany me?" She was looking at the company when she said this, and caught each eye including his. Kalin nodded, he would join her, and get rich. Or escape.

It was the Halfling of all the people here who brought up the matter of the ship. The Halfling whose destiny was wrapped up with his own. And Alandriel was planning a voyage with no ship. Kalin looked incredulous, and then thought about it some more.

More food had arrived; his wolfish little friend set to and demolished another plate of sausages and bread as Kalin pondered.

“So Miss, Alandriel. I will of course be able to help with sailing yer vessel, I have had twenty years at sea, man an’ boy, and sailed the length of the world at one time or another. But I sees a problem with a crew. You see, we will need one. I can see the folks you have gathered, high and mighty at that, but I can’t see no sea legs amongst ‘em, nor no practice of sea bound discipline.”

“Do you have a plan to provide me with a ship?” Alandriel asked. She did not know this corsair but if he had a ship.

“I may as do” smiled Kalin, “For the proper fee of course, I will get you the finest ship and crew this side of Umbar.”

“Umbar, that haven of Pirates and vermin” said the Gondorian, her beautiful face contorted with a sneer.
“You may not like the city me lady, but they produce the best sailors this world has seen since the elder days.” He looked back at Alandriel and ignored anymore of the Gondorian’s comments. “I will get you a ship, but on my terms and I will be the captain and authority on board. Will you agree to those terms?”

He held out his hand, in true Umbarian fashion. A deal so agreed could not be faulted on, nor would any be wise to do so.

Posted: Sat Jun 19, 2004 6:41 am

The woman and her knight faded away, and the dark hole they left behind was replaced with Tibodom’s face. She looked at him as though through a black haze- for some reason, his image was wavering before her. The bard plucked the strings of her harp, the melancholy tune rubbing away the last traces of the woman. Legyviel’s will faltered, and her ice-blue eyes darkened as she tried to keep memories of the last few minutes at bay.

“Look, you have scratched your cheek…”

The hobbit’s small voice, far away and uncertain, penetrated her thoughts. That voice was innocent and sweet, a contrast to the one echoing in her mind, circling her thoughts. Her body heard Tibo’s voice and responded automatically. Legyviel’s eyes sharpened, the memory of the woman pushed to the back of her mind to be examined later. For now, she seemed to be worrying her companions. One long hand reached up to touch her cheek, and as she pulled it away she saw there was a single drop of blood on her finger, bright red against the whiteness of her skin. She looked up.

“I’m fine… it was nothing,” she murmured, her silvery voice softer than ever as she said it. Her companions didn’t look convinced, and would surely have questioned her further had Alandriel not joined them just then.

The sight of the ranger, alive, vibrant and as feisty-looking as ever, calmed Legyviel slightly, and she sank back in her chair. This action pushed the hood of her cloak forward, so that her face was now hidden from the others. Nonetheless, Alandriel’s eyes sought out hers and found them. They held a question she could not answer just yet, but hoped she would have the time to later. Alandriel nodded, her gesture as much a sign of welcome as it was of reassurance. Had she been in a normal state of mind, the elfess would have noticed how pale the ranger looked, and how one shoulder was drooping slightly. But she did not notice, and her replying nod was distracted and vacant.

Alandriel began talking, telling them of her plan and why she had called them together. Legyviel forced herself to listen, to pay attention, but as Alandriel neared the end of her little speech she found she was glaring at the bard. Her eyes, identical chips of ice, bore into the bent neck of the bard, who was demurely plucking the strings of her harp. Whoever she was, she was contaminated with the stench of the dark woman, a stench Legyviel longed to annihilate from the face of Arda. She planned to take care of that later, her cold fury keeping her from caring whether the bard was an elf or not. She doubted it would really affect the woman, though- if she was as powerful as she had seemed, a petty servant would not do her much damage. What was the life of one person to her black heart, rotten to the core…

Astonished at the power of her hate for the woman, Legyviel wrenched herself back to the present, only to find that she had missed only a small part of Alandriel’s speech. Odd, it had felt longer. She frowned as the ranger continued, noting she wasn’t the only one displeased with what she was hearing. There was a lengthy silence as Alandriel stopped speaking, and Legyviel mulled over what she had just said, pushing aside her own haunting ghosts to consider the problem before her. Alandriel watched them, then popped the question.

"What say you? Will you accompany me?"

The others looked dubious and worried, with the exception of the Gondorian lady Areanor, who pledged immediately to answer Alandriel’s plea. Legyviel’s eyes strayed to Tibo, and her lips quirked up when she saw he was blushing. On her part, she did not need to think about it. Alandriel had called, and longing to escape the confines of the forest that was her so-called home, she had come. And now she had explained herself, and there was one phrase in particular that stuck in Legyviel’s mind, one phrase that decided it all for her: “I have called for help for I intend to travel north.” Legyviel stirred and leaned forward in her chair.

“I did not come all this way to scurry home at the first hint of danger. But you say you plan to go north, and be it for whatever reason, I will accompany you, though in truth that would be scurrying home anyway,” she said. To one who did not know her, who did not know that the north was more home than Lothlorien had ever been, that would sound like an odd thing to say, but Alandriel understood and smiled for the first time since joining them.

“The way will be easier with you by my side, Legyviel,” she said. The last shreds of darkness and doubt that had shrouded her mind were swept away, and she smiled too, silently thanking Alandriel. Tibodom began to speak of ships and how they would travel north without one, then in typical hobbit fashion suggested they eat something to seal their friendship. Legyviel shook her head, astounded that so small a creature could eat so much, and dismissed the muffled shouts and screams coming from outside as a band of drunks. She wasn’t sure she could handle more trouble tonight.

“I will get you a ship, but on my terms and I will be the captain and authority on board. Will you agree to those terms?” Kalin’s voice broke into her thoughts, and the elf turned back to the conversation at hand. Kalin might be saving them the trouble of finding a ship, but what did he mean by “authority on board”? Legyviel didn’t like the sound of that, but her face was calm as her eyes snapped distrust when he held out his hand for Alandriel to shake.

posted by Braganil

Posted: Sun Jun 20, 2004 11:56 pm

The fighting was fierce and the stables in danger of being demolished from the inside out. the three Rohirrim fought well, but their attackers weren't so bad either. Blood and sweat was beginning to cake Braganil's handsome face, and when he looked over to Ceorth and Aliana, he saw they too had their hands full.

"What do they want? Why is no-one from the Inn coming to help us? are they deaf???" Dispatching another of the assailants with a thrust of his sword into the man's bowels, the Rider began to look worried.

posted: Tue June 22. 2004

With her face in the shadows of the candlelights, she watched the assemblage around the table. Humans from different corners of Middle Earth, an elfess and a hobbit, all waiting for this mysterious Alandriel. The Gondorian wondered who else would turn up. If the ranger had sent word to all regions, then dwarves and Rohirrim should turn up also. Still the question of what this all was about hung unsaid between them.

While the Halfling tried to fill the silence with light conversation, Areanor let her thoughts wander. Now and then she shot a curious glance at the bald man. She would like to challenge him on a game of Kahala, which was often played in the southern harbours. A small smile stole upon her lips. Well, if they really were to be travel companions, there would be a lot of time to find out more.

When the door opened and a red-haired woman entered, all gazes followed her. Was she the one they were waiting for? The bartender conversed with her and nodded into their direction. Just at that moment Legyviel seemed to faint. But before the message rider could react, she shook her head and indicated she’d be alright. Areanor’s eyes narrowed. What could cause such a discomfort to an elf here?

Before she could make a query, the tall newcomer walked over to their table. A closer look at her gave the impression the woman had been kept awake for years. A pale face showed signs of worries. When she introduced herself as Alandriel, Areanor nodded. She had seen that face before, somewhere in the crowds of the white city, some time ago. And she remembered Baradans words spoken this very afternoon: “This Alandriel is a tough one. She’ll go where noone else dares to go. If she ask you to follow, prepare for a long tiresome journey into dark places.”

While she listened to the things the ranger had to say, a thought nagged at the back of her mind, but never came up to the surface long enough to get hold of it. Again she frowned, then shrugged. It would come again later, she was sure. Hearing of the suspicions Alandriel had, Areanor scanned the room and looked into the faces of the others. In the face of the Periannath open fear was to be seen. The young lad sure had never learnt to hide his feelings. The corsair’s eyes seemed to count the coins he would make out of it. She couldn’t interpret the expression in the blue eyes of the elf, neither could she see Tanith’s face.

When Alandriel had finished, silence fell upon them. Then Areanor leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Well, I don’t know if that is the right place to talk about such things,” Again she shot a suspicious glance about the room which had suddenly seemed to have become darker. The bard’s singing had ceased and the air felt thicker as if every single thing in the house wanted to listen to their conversation. ”but you have said the main things already anyway. You have called Gondor and Gondor has answered your plea. My name is Areanor and I come from Minas Tirith. I was to meet Baradan, whom you should know. He sends greetings, but he couldn’t stay to wait for you.”

Alandriel seemed to consider this and nodded. Then the Gondorian went on: ”Baradan said I was to be joining you on your quest whatever it might be. I might be young and not that experienced, but I’m a fast learner” A smile played around her lips, saying “I might not be experienced in warfare, but hey, try and you’ll get some unsporting kicks and kidney punchs.”

”My duty is to support you, so if you will have me, I’ll follow.” Their eyes locked and Areanor saw a faint glow in Alandriels pupils. It looked like satisfaction which was soon replaced with a mixture of hope and a brief agony of despair, when her gaze wandered away to meet the ones of the others. Areanor leaned back and waited for more reactions. There would be more time later to talk to Alandriel in quiet, not only about Baradan.

Kalin was far too quick to answer the question about providing a ship. Pffff. was all Areanor uttered at last. Where would that rascal find a vessel? And a fine crew into the bargain? All around the table were silent, waiting for Alandriel to agree the terms. In the thick silence the rattles of the window shutters in the storm could be heard and then thunder rolled loud.

posted by Aliana

Posted: Thu Jun 24, 2004 10:12 am

"Oh great, first my dream girl eludes me and now THIS? Whoever you are – DON'T YOU KNOW THAT IT'S RUDE TO DISTURB A CONVERSATION?! SHOW YERSELVES!"

What on earth was Braga talking about? Aliana wondered. She was about to inquire into the identities of both “dream girl” and “YERSELVES,” when Ceorth suddenly dropped to the floor of the darkened stable, pulling his sister down with him as she cried out in surprise. An ugly blade gleamed in the space above her, where her neck had been not a second before. Narrowly dodging another blow, she managed to pull herself upright again, unsheathing the dagger she carried under her cloak as she did so. She saw her brother move in the corner of her eye—Good, he had his sword, at least. So did Braga—or he had an axe, or something big and sharp and metallic. He was shouting something to them, but she couldn’t make it out, not quite.

In the narrow aisle between the horse stalls, amidst the nickering of alarmed animals, Aliana found herself struggling back to back with Ceorth, with Braga nearby. Still too dark—how many were there, how many?—and what in the name of Bèma did they—

“Ali,” Ceorth muttered between blows, “coming here—ugh—was definitely—augh!—the worst… idea… you’ve ever had! Even worse than the time you wanted to play—“

“Dress up?” Aliana finished for him, giving a grunt of grim satisfaction as her knee connected with one of her assailants’ groins. The man doubled over, and she plunged her blade into his shoulder with the old mixture of sickness and exhilaration that bloomed in her whenever she drew blood. “Come now, Ce, that was way back when we were seven and nine.” Somewhere behind her, there was another sound of metal slicing flesh, and a man howled in pain—she hoped it wasn’t Braga. “And besides,” she added, breathing heavily, “you made a beautiful girl!”

“Augh!” was Ceorth’s only response, and it occurred to Aliana that this was probably not the best thing to tell a teenaged boy when he was in the midst of a battle. Still, it was only the truth… She gasped as a sharp pain shot through her thigh, and remembered, ruefully, what one of her trainers had said to her some years ago: Best to stick to the bow, Ali; however much skill you learn with a blade, it will all come to naught when you come up against a man who’s twelve inches higher and twice your weight… This, too, was the truth, and she felt it acutely, now. The Truth, in fact, had one large, dirty hand around her throat and the business end of a knife at her ribs…

And then…

“Go! Go on, you worthless—“

There was a shoving and scrambling in the dark, and then the three Rohirrim were alone again. Aliana sat down on the dusty, debris-strewn floor, clutching at her own neck and gratefully taking in air. Ceorth and Braga were standing over her; both men looked bruised and dirty and cut, but fundamentally sound. They all started at once:

“What in the name of Èorl was—“

“You all right?”

“Did you know them?”

“Look,” Braganil said, pointing to two inert forms lying on the floor. “Whoever they were, we got a couple of ‘em.” He knelt and placed two fingers against the neck of the first one, then the second. “Dead,” he confirmed.

“Dead,” Aliana repeated, as Ceorth pulled her to her feet. Her entire body ached, and she felt much, much colder. “So what now?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“We’ve got to take care of ourselves, first,” Braga started with the steady, decisive tone of the seasoned warrior he was. “They could come back.”

“They could come back with friends,” Ceorth appended, nodding. He was holding the heel of his hand to a dripping cut on his cheek.

“All right,” Aliana said, with more resolution in her tone. Although her ribs protested, she bent and scooped her dagger from the floor and wiped it roughly on her cloak before putting it away. She’d give it a more thorough cleaning later. “Let’s get inside the Inn.” She surveyed the smashed-up interior of the stables before stepping over one of the bodies of the men they’d killed. When they’d attacked, Braga might have been on the threshold of saying her name—their Letter Writer’s name. If they could find her, perhaps Lady Alandriel could supply them with a few more answers… “This is not my idea of hospitality.”

Posted: Fri Jun 25, 2004 2:32 am

You have called Gondor and Gondor has answered your plea. My name is Areanor and I come from Minas Tirith. I was to meet Baradan, whom you should know. He sends greetings, but he couldn’t stay to wait for you.

Alandriel's gaze turned to the Gondorian woman.

Baradan said I was to be joining you on your quest whatever it might be. I might be young and not that experienced, but I’m a fast learner."

The twinkle of playful sincerity, a trait the Ranger had seen in but a few women's eyes, which – interestingly - was also present in the lady sitting next to Legyviel, set alight new hope in Alandriel's heart.

My duty is to support you, so if you will have me, I'll follow.

Alandriel nodded. "Thank you, Areanor of Minas Tirith. I am saddened to hear that Baradan is unable to join, but I am sure you will make a fine replacement for him. The help of Gondor is most welcome."

“I did not come all this way to scurry home at the first hint of danger. But you say you plan to go north, and be it for whatever reason, I will accompany you, though in truth that would be scurrying home anyway.”

Again, Alandriel nodded, this time at the silver-haired elf who had spoken: “The way will be easier with you by my side, Legyviel. Besides, without doubt, your knowledge of the North will prove an asset in this journey."

The Ranger's eyes wandered to the peredhel at Legyviel's side.

"My name is Tanith and I also will join your quest."

Alandriel saw her exchange a fleeting glance with the elf whose eyes momentarily showed a faint glow. 'Those two will work well together' she thought. Aloud she said:

"Be welcome then, Tanith, I am sure you will make a fine addition to the party."

“If a long voyage is awaiting us, is it not best to take some strength right now. And in the Shire, we say that nothing seals a friendship like shared food.”

Alandriel could not help but smile at the young Hobbit and she waved at Else to bring the young Master another plate of stew.

“Lady Ranger – what does trouble you? Do you hear that noise from outside, probably just a few drunken lads? Has anything affected you before you arrived here? Is it anything that cannot be cured with the fine food of this inn?”

Alandriel gave a small laugh. "No, indeed, Master…..?"

"Tibodom Took," he spluttered and blushed violently at the realization that he had not introduced himself.

"No, indeed Master Took," she picked up again, "very few things there are that cannot be cured with a helping of Hilda's fine stew or Brûnir's excellent ale. I just had a long day, a weary day, that's all."

That of course was not half the story but at least the Hobbit seemed content with her explanation and as the Corsair began to talk Tibodom heartily dug in. Alandriel carefully listened to the rogue's discourse and, as his last words hung in the air, all eyes turned to her. Even Tibodom sat wide-eyed, his dripping spoon hovering a bare inch from his mouth.

“I will get you a ship, but on my terms and I will be the captain and authority on board. Will you agree to those terms?”



Alandriel looked at the proffered hand, weather beaten and aged beyond its owner, tar and grime stains making the many minute creases and lines stand out even more; like the ones in his palm for instance. They looked very much like recent rope burn marks or so she thought. Or the one's around his wrist. Those seemed more like scars. Two lines, quite uniform and clean, spaced evenly apart. 'He's had a run-in with shackles.' It was more than idle speculation.

Slowly she extended her hand but instead of clasping his, her slender fingers fastened around her mug of ale. Her eyes fixed him over the rim as she said:

"That's an interesting offer … master…?" The last word, spoken with a hint of sarcasm hung in the air as she took a swallow.

"Kalin, Kalin el Dineen….. at your service – for the right price," he replied smoothly. He had not flinched nor had his eyes wavered.

Alandriel set down her mug, letting her hand come to rest atop the table. Her fingers gently tapped against the pewter vessel as she considered her answer.

The prospect of sailing under Kalin's command, authority no less, with a crew most probably composed of rogues like him made her feel highly uncomfortable. Looking at the faces of her companions she saw her own concerns mirrored. All, except for Tibodom, who seemed decided to forgo the issue at least until his plate was empty. The speed with which that spoon of his made the passage from plate to mouth was astonishing. That he would rise to the task, that the adventurous streak of the Tooks would eventually gain the upper hand in the young Hobbit - provided he was given plenty of sustenance - of that Alandriel had no doubt.

Kalin, however, had brought up a point; a point that worried her. The small matter of a crew.

Would the party seated around the table be able to rise to the task? Four females: an elf, a peredhel, a Gondorian and herself – and a Hobbit. Would they manage?

Highly doubtful!

She would at least need one that new how to commandeer a ship. She also needed more men. Fervently she hoped that her plea had reached Rohan and the Greenwood; that yet more would show up before she ran out of time. She knew Dindraug was here, somewhere in Mithlond. She but had to find him. There was a strong possibility that the elf had good relations with Círdan. Alandriel held high hopes that somehow through him they would yet be able to secure an elven vessel.

And there was Arunakhôr…… although how she possibly would secure his cooperation she had no idea.

Considering all the possibilities she knew but one thing: she needed more time. She needed to stall.

Her fingers stopped their tapping.

Her voice clearly showed her weariness as she began:

"It's a dark ev'ning, Master Kalin. Decisions like that are better sealed in the light of day and besides I'm just too tired to …"

A loud commotion from the Inn's main door arrested her words and made all heads turn. In stumbled three Rohirrim, the door shutting with a loud bang behind them. Alandriel's eyes widened. But not only in surprise as one of them loudly confronted Brûnir.

'Rohan as answered' she thought with more than just satisfaction.

posted by Braganil

Posted: Sun Jun 27, 2004 2:39 am

Braganil has had it with this forsaken elfin port already. He should have stayed in cosy warm Edoras, where sleeping with his horse usually not ended in being almost cut to pieces by some unknown ruffians! No, in Edoras there was law, there was peace, there was nothing wrong with sleeping in stables!

Telling his two companions to set their things by the door and make certain no others sprung on them like they had in the stables, Braganil approached the main desk of the Inn, his fist slamming onto the top of it, his other grabbing the startled inn keeper by his shirt.

“Is that your idea of hospitality to all? Having some riff-raff trying to steal our purses and kill our horses in the stables? Is THAT how ye make yer living? By Bema I will make sure this house is gonna be CLOSED FOR BUSINESS!!!” Braga was really furious by now. “A BUSINESS WHERE ONE CAN’T EVEN SLEEP PEACEFULLY WITH HIS HORSE IN THE STABLES! You better have some rooms for us right NOW or we will find ourselves some rooms … maybe we’ll simply take YOURS! We haven’t come here being summoned on some secret mission to be stopped by an incompetent inn keeper who cannot keep his stables safe and properly run!”

Just then, a pair of elves, who had watched the scene and looked quite aghast, stood and made their way upstairs as quickly as their fleet feet could make them. A moment later, they returned, with travelling bags on their shoulders, also now addressing the inn keeper.

“What kind of establishment is this? You have thieves and thugs under your roof? We are not safe here. Come, dear, we LEAVE!”

The two elves made a noisy exit and even slammed the door behind them. Braga looked after them in surprise – door slamming elves? Who’d ever seen that? He rubbed his beard and truned back to the inn keeper. “Seems there will now be rooms for us? Nevermind if its just one room… we Riders are not picky… except when it comes to GETTING DISTURBED BY THUGS WHEN SLEEPING WITH OUR HORSES!”

He was clearly still a bit peeved, and motioned Ceorth and Aliana over to him. “I think we have rooms here now, my friends! Now all we need to do is find that mysterious woman we… I mean, I have been called here by.”

He looked at the two Riders quizzically, what had they been about to tell him before those ruffians had interrupted them in the stables?

Posted: Fri Jul 9, 2004 2:08 pm

We haven’t come here being summoned on some secret mission to be stopped by an incompetent inn keeper who cannot keep his stables safe and properly run!"

'Not so secret anymore' thought Alandriel, glancing around the room, glad that only a handful of patrons aside those of the group were left in the taproom.

The Ranger fixed her eyes again on the Rohirrim. The speaker… there was something about that young man …… his profile, even his built… She studied the young Rider for a moment longer.

By the time the two elfs had made their exit there was no doubt left in her mind. Alandriel rose and approached the counter on the far end where Brûnir had taken refuge after his release. He was in the process of downing a large mug of dark ale Hilda had hastily put in front of him before shuffling over to the Riders, offering her apologies while filling three more pints, mumbling about the hard times and the sad fact that some folk seemed to see no other way than retort to thievery but that hopefully all would be settled and sorted…all in good time and after a restful sleep.

"The bard. Will she stay the night?"

"Huh….?" Came from the depths of the ale mug as a pair of red rimmed eyes tried to focus on Alandriel's face. Leaning closer, Alandriel repeated the question in the same hushed tone.

Wiping his mouth, Brûnir shrugged: "She might stay in the taproom or go her ways. I don't know and frankly, Mistress, I don't care. All I want is to lock up and get this day done and over with, especially now, that I will have to let that lot," he rolled his eyes towards the Rohrrim, "stay for free."

"Never mind that. Forget any of this happened."

She did not raise her voice but her tone turned intent. "Lock the doors tight tonight, Innkeep. Put a few extra bolts if you have."

"I am certain you have some," she insisted in a mere whisper before sliding her hands off the counter and walking off. Brûnir's incredulous gaze followed the fiery haired woman as she approached the Riders yet he nodded. Then, astonishingly swiftly, he pocketed the large and heavy silver coin that lay gleaming on the hard wood, took a last drought of his ale and began to put various bottles away for the night, grinning all the while.

~*~*~*~

"The mysterious woman you seek is me, son of Geric, for is that not who you are?"

"What the …!"

"Lower your voice young Rider. There has been more than enough commotion and trust me when I say that you're not the only one that has run into difficulties today. Let's not invite more misfortune, shall we?"

"But how…?"

"You're the spitting image of your father, not that I knew him well nor did I …"

Noting the puzzled looks of Braganil's two companions she redirected: "… but that is a tale for another time. What's important is that you're here, that you and your friends have found me. Join us at the table. "

The threesome followed Alandriel's lead and pulled up some chairs. Introductions were made and the Ranger filled them in on all that had been discussed so far, concluding with:

"I would like to meet all of you again here at noon tomorrow and then, Master Kalin, I will give you my answer. As I attempted to say earlier, it's too dark a night for important decisions. I am weary. You all had long journeys also and need to think on what has been said."

After noting a few silent nods she stood. "I bid you to excuse me and wish you all a peaceful night."

~*~*~*~

By the time she reached the landing that led to her room, Alandriel's steps had slowed considerably. The heavy key would at first not turn the lock. 'Will need to remind Brûnir to get that oiled in the morning' she thought as, after a few attempts, the door finally clicked open and she made her way in.
That the fresh scab in her left shoulder had broken through the effort at rattling the door, leaving a stain on the landing she was not aware of.

Posted: Sat Jul 10, 2004 1:37

"What?" the question lingered in the air for a moment. And as Din partly turned himself around Jae's hand shot out without warning and hit the elf hard on the left cheek leaving a deep red weal clearly visible even in the dark of night.Her hand had been itching to do something that would make him stop rush off. And so it had. Din reached up and ran his hand across his cheek, as if checking for broken bones or cuts. A slight sting, as if Jaes ring had split his skin, but it was nothing. Still, she had strenght, he had to admit.

"Where to begin!" she spat back, the hand that had hit Dindraug now clenched as a fist slightly shaking with anger. After Din had let go of her waist and was about to run off to the House of the Seven Stars, Jae had been stunned. Questions inside that badly needed an asnwer all tried to push their way out of her at once. And so that was what happened:
"Who were they!....what did you just?!....why do we have to...?! Dindraug don't you dare walk away now!!!!"

Din had already half turned around when she started speaking mumbling something about not having the time for explaining. Jae on the other was not at all in a hurry at the moment. Why should she run of with him and get herself in troubles which somehow always seemed to haunt the Avari "I am not moving before I have had some answers.I want to know just what is going on. Why are these bandits walking around and what do you have to do with them? Don't look at me like that, I am no fool."
Din looked at her as if assessing something, then he sighed. "If I would have to explain to you all that happened it would take too long." But seeing how she still refused to come along he took a breathe and decide to compensate "Would it make you feel better if I said I have nothing to do with them?"

Glaring at the elf Jae crossed her arms pulling her cloak tighter around her. The wind that had began to blow in the evening had now turned out to be a storm pulling at her clothes and cloak and blew sweeps of rain in her face. Her mood now was nearly as dark as the storming sky. "yes it would."

"Then I have nothing to do with them!" Din exclaimed giving her a piercing look imbued with deadly serious intent. His impatience grew she knew and Jae swallowed angrily.

"But Jaeniver," he said "They have something to do with me, and the person I came here to meet, and your snow elves...and Now I think they have something to do with you. If you wait for them to find you, you will die. Now come with me and I will try to keep you safe. We must meet up with the ranger who brought me here. I too want awnsers. He looked at her and smiled.

"The Cuivemar." Jae stared back at him in surprise and sudden panic. She had not thought of the group since her run in with the thief that stole her pouch. Her fingers caressed the the cold air where it should have been."Are they in danger? I need to see them!" without waiting for a reply she spun around. how long had it been since she ran from the White Beacon? How much damage could be done in that amount of time? Jae did not know.

"And you are welcome" Din said, watching her intently.
"Welcome for what!" she snarled,not turning around. She had not forgiven him.

"Why for saving your life" said Dindraug.
She shot him a contemptious look at him and set herself to walk into the darkness that lay behind dark curtains of rain.

She walked off up the road towards the old palace, that now lay partially in ruins as age had pulled the might ediface down. Din made to correct her, but realising she needed a cooling off period, he shook his head and just followed her as she wandered off. After ten minutes she had to admit she was lost. She had no idea just where exactly she was and therefor had no idea where the White Beacon Inn was situated. Opposite of the harbour she knew but in which direction was the harbour?

"Turn right at the next street," Came the soft voice of Dindraug from behind. He hadn't sounded at all mad despite her stubborness. It had been almost as if he understood. Jaeniver bit her lip and walked into a street that lead between a row of old houses that once belonged to the Eldar. Now only half of them were habited.The luxuriant vegetation that was spread over the sides of the buildings now looked diminutive and the green colours were but a shade of grey. Jae eyed it almost sadly as they walked on.

Ahead was the White Beacon inn, she looked almost apologetecly at Dindraug, and walked in. She immidiately noticed that the culvimar were not there, and looked at the innkeeper elf.

"Where are they?" she asked, a thin thread of fear slipping down her spine.
"They left. They said they would not wait for you, but will find there own ship. Your contract is off, and you are to provide us with recompence" The elf stared at her.

The Inn keep was probably right, she needed to pay up…but with what? Again the old wave of anger of her stolen pouch rose to the surface but faded as quickly as it had come. There were bigger problems now.
"I will be back" she muttered and ran from the room. Dindraug had watched the exchange. As Jae rushed passed him in search of the Cuivemar he looked at the innkeeper contemptiously, then turned on his heals and fled affter his charge.

They found the Cuivemar minutes later. They were stood around the fallen body of one of their number, and Losp’Indel looked at the two of them with distain and hatred.

Posted: Tue Jul 13, 2004 12:45 pm

“You dare to come to us now” hissed Losp’indel, her features torn with age, shame and hatred. The contempt spat out in her words struck at the two elves, who could only look at the elf who lay on the cold street, her white furs stained red in the moonlight.

“What, how did thi-” said Jae, her eyes rimmed with tears.

“We were hunted like airrowas, by men hunting you little Meklut and you.” She stared at the two of them, her eyes burning coals.

“I am truly sorry for your loss.” Dindraug looked at Losp’indel with pity and some regret.

The snow elf looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She knew in her heart that the one who had died was not ready for this night, and that it would have been safer to stay in the inn. It would have been safer to stay in Helloth, and not come to this forsaken city of the lost Eldar. Losp’indel realised she had nothing to say to them, and turned away from them and the pleading look in Jaeniver’s eye.

Hoisting the corpse onto her shoulder the Lady of the Cuivemar walked away down the street with her companions by her side.


“Let them go little one” muttered Dindraug, holding Jae tightly.

“But I do not understand, what did that mean, those words. They are of no tongue I know” she sighed, holding back tears.

“They are old, older than Quenya that the Noldor brought back. They are from the dawn of the world and they were not said kindly. But she is angry, and in her people anger is slow to build and slow to fade. It is best to let them go. We must return to find Alandriel”. He knew Jaeniver wanted more, but this was not the time. The streets were still alive with danger.

“But they trusted me, they called to me.” She said watching the slow procession vanish into the stormy night. “Mithlond calling to the far away towns, that is what they said…why are you looking at me like that?” Jae was puzzled. Dindraug had paled, his eyes were wide with surprise, suspicion and for the first time in the ancient elf’s eye she saw fear. He said nothing, just took her hand and hurried through the streets.


They ran fist through rain slick streets, then they climbed in silence, up ornate columns and facades, along marble parapets and across slate roofs. Always silent, always fast. They stopped abruptly, Jae almost fell but Din held her back. Silently he nodded and below them she saw the Inn of the seven stars.

“Follow me and put your feet and hands where I do”, Dindraug whispered; the first sound she had heard him make since they left the Cuivemar. He led her down the building and across the silent courtyard. The door to the barn opened and three figures left, weapons bared. Din pulled her back into the shadows until they had passed, then tapped Jae on the shoulder, pointing upwards.


She never knew where the holds were until he placed her feet, and knew she would never find them again. But they led to the overhanging roof which was reached in moments. Din smiled at her, and looked around the courtyard below. They were invisible in the shadows, and the men who now scurried below them were oblivious. Jae watched, then turned and almost gasped. An entrance had appeared to a small room in the corner of the building. Gently Din led her into his lair.


She was disappointed, the room was Spartan. A bed, of sorts, lay along one wall with shelves above it just long enough to fit the wrapped spear that lay on it. There were other oddments too: books, a scroll, bags and knives, but none that caught her attention. That was held by the painting, of a fortress under siege from dark figures. Dindraug watched her watch the painting, then gently lifted it aside.

“This was written sometime in the night before the Army of Gil Galad marched to War at the end of the Second Age. We do not know who wrote it, only I, the King and his other guards were here that night, and all deny writing it. We thought it was about the war. And when we came back, the King dead, it was forgotten. But now tonight you quote it. Why would that be Jaeniver?”

She just shuck her head, and gazed at the writing etched in black on the ancient marble of the wall.


“Mithlond calling to the faraway towns
Now that war is declared-and battle come down
Mithlond calling to the underworld
Come out of the cellars, all you boys and girls
Mithlond calling, now don't look at us
All that phoney Numenoria has bitten the dust
Mithlond calling, see we have no swing
Except for the ring, and that Narsil thing
The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Rivers stop running and the wheat is growing thin
A Noldorian error, but I have no fear
Mithlond is drowning-and I live by the river
Mithlond calling upon the zombies of death
Quit holding out-and draw another breath
Mithlond calling, see we ain't got no fears
Except for that one with the yellowy eyes
Now get this
Mithlond calling, yes, I was there, too
And you know what they said?
Well, some of it was true!”

“I do not understand any of it” she said, her head tired and confused.

Din just stared at her, then cocked his head to one side. Pressing it to the wall he whispered so that only they could hear. “Nor do I.” he admitted “ But I think somebody has gone to bed next door. Maybe we should see who it is.”. His hand slid across a catch in the wall and opened up a small spy hole to look into the room beyond.

Where he could see a flash of red hair.

Posted: Thu Jul 15, 2004 11:30 am

For a small room, it was a small room. Actually, it was rather a cupboard. But then, it was a room for a small hobbit. Moreover, a small and tired hobbit. And if it held no window, no decoration and no charm, it held a bed with sheets and a pillow. What does a small, tired hobbit do in a small room without windows, charm, company or food, but with a bed? He lies down on the said bed. And in less time it will take you to read it, he is sleeping. And snoring. Already.

A furious guest in one of the real rooms would call for Brunir a few hours later, totally unable to sleep in the noise that the innocent hobbit was making in the room next to his, without even knowing it. He slept like a baby, deep, uninterrupted, ignoring comings and goings of the night.

Had Tibodom understood that this day was the one that would be a turning point of his life, so quiet so far? Probably yes – he has heard of adventures, dangers, ships, brandies, and elves… more than in his lifetime before. He has lost his mule and found – in his opinion at least – some friends. Should he now stay awake and remember the moments of the day, try to understand what has happened, to recall who would be his travel companions? Most humans would do so - but not most hobbits, and certainly not Tibodom. So far, for him decisions were easy to take. He had been sent out to meet Alandriel, and met he had her. For the other minor problems – like the fear of the sea, the total absence of coins and means of transport for the voyage home, he would deal with it later – or rather not deal with it at all.

But in fact, his night was more troubled than the constant noise coming out of his nose and mouth allowed to suppose it. Yes, Tibodom slept – but he also dreamed and in his dreams entered more of the troublesome events of the day, than he would acknowledge by himself. He dreamt of his mule, his dear Lutz, walking beside his new owner and not even turning his head on him, he dreamt of Alandriel’s flaming red hair, floating in the wind, on a ship which he could not clearly see – she was turning to him and saying a few words, lost in the wind, wind of the sea clearly. Behind the ranger, the sea was rising, and a wave, touching the boat, leaping over the rail, reached his feet, still bar. Panicking, Tibodom tried to jump high enough to avoid the wave’s touch, but almost fell, when a friendly, but firm hand held him back. Kalinel had stood beside him, grinning now and the hobbit felt once more confident and grateful for having found such a memorable friend among his travelling companions. First the corsair smiled, but then opened his mouth widely and out of it came a huge sound of thunder, whereas his eyes flashed suddenly with lightning, flaming in the air, threatening our little master Took. Tibodom ducked, held his arm high to protect his lovely features. But then he heard his name called:

“Master Hobbit. Master Took.”

Brunir was standing at the door of his tiny little cupboard, knocking with all his strength. And in his hand he held a candle, with a flame flickering in the darkness of the windowless room. Tibodom pinched his eyes and grumbled in surprise.

“What is it, Sir…”
unable to remember the name (which the Inn-keeper must have told after he had tried the brandy, just to excuse the unwitty little fellow), the hobbit did not know how to finish his sentence.

“All my apologies, Master Took, but the guests have been complaining, about the noise in the room, and when I came myself, I listened at the door, and was not sure that you were alone…”

Tibodom turned his glance to the left and to the right, knowing perfectly well he was alone, and that anyway, the room was too small for another person, even if it would have been another hobbit.

“I don’t know what keeps your guests awake, but it was not me.”

“Well, Master Took, it is impressive, that you can make such noise only in sleeping, but I fear your snoring has troubled the night of my other guests.”

“Oh” said Tibo, blushing. In all his years in the Shire never anybody had been complaining about his snoring… even when he had fallen asleep on the tables of the Green Dragon. And what if Daisy Cotton had been just as disturbed as his neighbours for one night? No – the hobbit decided to put that nasty thought aside – the big folk was just too weird.

“I shall try then to sleep no more.”

Closing the door, the hobbit scratched his head under the heavy, brown curls. Could it be that spending a night next door to him was indeed such a trial? Then, how could he avoid embarrassing the fellowship that would accompany the lady Alandriel?

While he was trying to turn around this absorbing problem in his mind, his eyelids already closed again, and unable to avoid it, slumber caught him inevitably. Yet, no other complaints about Master Took’s nocturnal activities reached the Inn-keeper’s ears this very night, and maybe this indicates that the rest of Tibodom’s night was as dream- as eventless, so that in the morning he would be ready for a hazardous adventure – after a good breakfast, which goes with saying, of course.

Posted: Sat Jul 17, 2004 11:51 am

"I would like to meet all of you again here at noon tomorrow and then, Master Kalin, I will give you my answer. As I attempted to say earlier, it's too dark a night for important decisions. I am weary. You all had long journeys also and need to think on what has been said."

The red haired wench raised her slender body off the seat and sauntered away towards the stairs. Kalin el Dineen smiled at her as she went, watching the sway of her hips as she made her way up the stairs. He watched her give a coy glance over her shoulder at the group, catching his eye in passing. Should he follow, he asked himself. No, let the lady wait.

Sighing heavily he sat back and winked at Tibo, who was yawning deeply.

“Ahh, you are right master Hobbit. It has been a long day, I should turn in myself.” He stood, unsteadily, and looked over at the serving maid but she was busy. Shrugging, he thought about his bed, and other matters.

“I will go and find my room as well Mr Kalin. I think I am in the one next to you, but it is a bit of a maze upstairs apparently. Reminds me of the Great Smial at Tuckborough….” The pirate smiled at his short companion and, as he hefted his chest onto his shoulder, he made his way upstairs after the Halfling.

His room was small, and shaped like the elf letter Tinco (like a P). The floor was stone, and the window overlooked the back of the inn where the streets were silent. The bed was better than most and the cupboard was large, but there was something about the room that did not look right. He shook his head and tried to concentrate, but he was tired and had much to do before he slept. He locked the door and turned to the night’s work.

He placed his chest on the bed and opened it. He reached to the package kept wrapped in waterproof leather and unwound the string that bound it. He sifted through the contents before pulling out a gold ring, a plain clay bowl and a small bag. Grimacing, he wrapped up the rest of the items and sealed it in the chest again, moving the heavy container against the base of the door.

He took a bottle of rum, pulling the cork out with his teeth and taking a swig. Then he spilled a circle of the liquid around him on the floor. He took some powder from the pouch and sprinkled it in odd geometric shapes through the spilled rum. He wrapped a silk cloth around his eyes so he could see nothing.

Then he started to mutter under his breath the names of the Loa, whispering them into the clay bowl. The air in the room gave a little shudder, then a shake, then a stench like a charnel house. Then the room was silent, except for the sound of breathing.

“You should not have brought me”, said a voice as cold as the deepest sea.

“I need your assistance, I have a great need” said Kalin, his voice gagging on the foul air.

“What do I gain from your need? Where is my motive Hougan?” The air in the room moved, as something walked past him pushing the table against the wall and slamming the chest into the door.

“I ask for wisdom Ogun, I will share what you learn with you. It will be yours, and this trifle.” Kalin held himself within the circle; the only safe place for him.

“A ring stolen from a thief by another, that is no gain.” He could feel fetid breath wash against him, as the room shuddered and the cupboard door slammed.

“Look again Ogun, finger is still in the ring, for that I am worthy”, Kalin smiled, he had won, he had bound the Lao. The room stopped shaking, he could tell that whatever was with him no longer moved about the room but started at the pirate. Under the silk eye covering, Kalin el Dineen clenched his eyes tightly shut.

“I will find you your wisdom, I know what you would know. Do not summon me again to these cold lands of yours Hougan. Next time I will not be so kind. Your burden is great Speaker to the wind, and your journey will be harsh. That which you will face, we will not, for she will steal our souls. But break her, and your burden to us is paid. That is all I can say for now, I will bring you wisdom when you need it. I go”. The widow flew open, letting the cold night into the room, and Kalin took deep breaths of the clean air.

There was a knock at the door, insistent.

“Master Dineen, this is Brûnir. Can you keep the noise down in there. People have been complaining” said the landlord from the corridor. Kalin rolled his eyes and moved the chest away from the door and opened it. The burly innkeeper looked in suspiciously but saw nothing strange. The split rum and powder was gone, and the clay pot on the table was just a clay pot.

“I was just thinking about calling you Master Brûnir. You see it’s not me making that noise, it’s the Halfling who was drinking so much tonight. Me thinks he is either a heavy sleeper, or he has company if you take my drift. If you can get him to be quiet, I would appreciate it. I needs me sleep meself”. The Pirate beamed a tired grin at the man.

“Oh I am sorry sir, I must have been confused about where the noise is coming from. It has been a long day, I will bid you goodnight.” With that the man moved next door to bang on the hobbit’s door.

Kalin closed his and sat back. He placed the clay pot back in its hiding place and taking off his boots lay down for the night with a long pull of rum.

“That could have gone better” he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

Posted: Thu Jul 22, 2004 3:59 am

Growing weary with the talk of ships and supplies, Legyviel took out a small dagger and lazily began playing with it. The beautifully worked metal caught the light as it was tossed up, and flashing, was caught deftly by its owner. Legyviel’s thoughts were full of dark images, and she began brooding, toying with the idea of killing the bard. The three riders joined them and introductions were made, but the elf hardly listened. Eventually, the others retired, some stretching and lingering a while in the warm common room before going to bed, others going straight upstairs. Legyviel remained seated, throwing the blade faster and higher, watching it flash and simmer hypnotically in the air as it danced to her will. Her game slowed when someone called her name and she looked up. Tanith was watching the blade as she spoke.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” she said, almost hesitantly. Legyviel raised her eyebrows in question, so she continued. “If you haven’t already hired a room, would you like to share one with me?” she asked. The dagger stopped flying abruptly, the point balanced precariously on the tip of Legyviel’s finger. She looked up and the coldness in her eyes almost froze Tanith.

“I have a room,” she lied, her voice icy. Tanith said no more, simply nodded and left. Legyviel looked moodily after her, knowing she would regret her rudeness later but not caring at the moment. Dark thoughts concerning the bard plagued her, and to add to that, her vanity and pride was stung that a mere human thought that she, an elf, would consider sharing a room with her. Tucking the blade away, she rose suddenly and gracefully and stalked over to Brûnir the innkeeper. The smile on his face faded when he looked up and saw the elf glowering down at him. When she remained silent and unforthcoming, he asked if he could help her.

“I need a room,” she replied, too irritated to even pretend she thought him little more than dust beneath her boot. Brûnir’s face lit up at the prospect of money, his tone changing immediately.

“Of course, of course, milady. The best room, of course, I have the key right here….” He said in an oily voice, rummaging under the counter. Once the matter of a room had been settled, and Legyviel had pocketed her key, she felt she had been in the vicinity of the sleazy innkeeper for much too long and turned to leave, but she stopped at the foot of the stairs, remembering once more the bard. She realised, suddenly, that her mind had made itself up long ago, and found herself standing before Brûnir again. The innkeeper was starting to look annoyed, but the elf regarded him haughtily.

“I need you to tell me…where the bard who was playing tonight lodges,” she said softly, icily, slipping coin onto the counter. Brûnir snatched up the money and regarded her with thinly veiled suspicion.

“That wench-” he growled, then caught the look on Legyviel’s face and changed his tone. “Begging your pardon, milady, but she’s either gone on her way or is sleeping in the taproom,” he oozed.

The corridor leading to the taproom was dimly lit and sullen-looking, but the lack of proper light hardly affected the elf’s sharp eyesight. A dagger glinted in her hand once more, yet it was a different blade to the one she had been playing with previously. This knife was smaller, sharper, smoother. It was a dagger made for killing.

The bard’s door was unlocked, Legyviel found when she tried the knob- a fact that immediately made her suspicious. She entered the room nonetheless. A beam of moonlight fell across the floor, illuminating the pallet where the bard slumbered. The room was silent, heavy with the scent of sleep. Sleep… or something worse.

Legyviel walked noiselessly over to the pallet, and crouched beside the bard. Her knife had disappeared, for she sensed something was amiss. There was a stillness, a silence in the air, and suddenly she realised what it was. She could not hear the bard breathing. Warily, she slid out her knife again, but by the time she touched the bard’s cold forehead, she knew there would be no need for it. The bard was dead, and someone had cheated the elf of her revenge. Legyviel’s hand curled into a fist and she turned away, but something caught her eye. Something amber, glinting at the bard’s throat. It was like no pendant she had ever seen, and she reached out a hand to touch it….

Her head snapped up suddenly as she heard voices. They were far away yet, but approaching fast. She rose and walked softly to the door, listening intently. The voices were talking in hushed tones, but the language she recognised easily- the two were Haradrim.

A hiss of distaste escaped the elf’s mouth, and she heard the voices falter. Cursing herself, she opened the door a crack and looked out. The men stood at the opposite end of the hall, dressed as serving lads and looking very happy about something. She may have recognised the language, but Legyviel’s did not know what the words meant, thus felt even more frustrated. She was willing to bet her purse, though, that they wee up to no good. Knowing she’d have to move fast to get away without being noticed, the elf opened the door further and slid through and down the hall, slipping from shadow to shadow on wings of night.

She passed a hassled-looking Brûnir on the stairs but ignored him. Steeping gracefully down the wide upper hallway, it was not long before she reached Alandriel’s room. Something red glistened on the carpet just outside the ranger’s door, and looking closer, Legyviel found it to be blood. She frowned, remembered the slight droop she had noticed in Alandriel’s shoulder earlier, but put it out of her mind for the moment. Instead, she knocked once, found the door unlocked and entered without waiting for a reply. From her desk, Alandriel looked up in surprise.

“The door was unlocked,” Legyviel explained. She passed a hand wearily over her face and collapsed into a nearby chair. Alandriel frowned as she walked over to shut the door.

“You look flushed,” she remarked. Legyviel made a face that would have been a grimace on someone less dignified.

“Don’t ask. Call it an ill-fated expedition,” she said. Alandriel’s brows rose in interest, but she didn’t press the subject, instead handing Legyviel a glass of wine. The elf accepted it gratefully, took a sip and felt her melancholy mood abate ever so slightly. Feeling the tension from her shoulders loosen, she settled back in her chair and surveyed the ranger over the rim of her glass.

“Alandriel, why are we here?” she asked suddenly and softly. Alandriel’s eyes strayed to the window, and she spoke slowly, as if the effort of speech left her exhausted.

“I already told you,” she said. Legyviel shrugged.

“My thoughts were wandering. Tell me again,” she said. Alandriel sighed again and walked over to the window. She knew what Legyviel really wanted to hear, and hated confirming her fears.

“It’s just that…you should have seen their faces, Legyviel. It wasn’t just that they didn’t remember any of it…their faces were blank, devoid of any emotion or hope. It chilled me to look at them,” she said. Legyviel stood and removed her cloak, suddenly feeling a lot older than her 5000 years. Her silver-blue hair glinted in the light, as she walked over to the scroll Alandriel had been poring over. The heading caught her eye, and one long finger reached out and gently touched the map.

“It has only been a few years since I left that place…twenty at the most. Could so much have changed in such a short span of time?” she murmured. From across the room, she felt more than saw Alandriel’s smile.

“To one who is immortal, no doubt it feels but a minute; to us humans, however…. twenty years can be a long time,” she said. Legyviel sighed, and turned away from the words that were pulling at her heartstrings.

“Nonetheless…I said it before, and I will say it again. I would be glad to accompany you on this quest,” she said.

“Thank you,” Alandriel smiled tiredly, and quickly stifled a yawn apologetically. “It’s been a long day…” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. Legyviel watched her worriedly, and noticed once more that one of her shoulders was drooping a little. It wasn’t bleeding, but that didn’t mean the injury might not be serious.

“What happened to you there?” she asked, remembering the splash of blood on the carpet and pointing to the drooped shoulder. Alandriel paused mid-stretch and looked at it.

“Just a small wound…nothing too bad, but I’ll just have to be careful using that arm for a while,” she said. Legyviel wasn’t convinced, and very aware that they were both keeping a number of secrets from each other. Unspoken words hung in the air as she strode to the chair and picked up her cloak. Alandriel began to wrestle off her boots, but looked up, pausing with one boot in her hand, when she saw that the elf intended to leave.

“Legyviel, wait,” she said. Legyviel froze, not liking the tone of her voice. “Earlier in the common room…something happened to you. What was it?” this she said in a low voice, so softly that only the sharp ears of an elf could have heard her. Legyviel’s jaw clenched as she thought of the dark woman and her enchanted knight, then of the bard lying dead with a strange stone pulsing at her throat. Somehow, she did not want to burden Alandriel with her thoughts. Perhaps later I will tell her, but not right now she thought.

“You’re right, it has been a long night. It’s time I left you to your sleep,” she said, turning away. Instinctively, the ranger knew she was not to be questioned further.

“You have left me with much food for thought, Khelekwen. Good Night,” she said. Legyviel smiled slightly, but remembered something before she left.

“Oh, and I thought you might want to know… I heard two Haradrim talking together earlier on in the inn. I think they’re up to no good,” she said. Alandriel’s face hardened.

“What did they say?”

“I do not know. The southern lands hold no interest for me, and I have met few of its people, much less learnt their language. I did however, catch the phrase Lodnoca Dah - Vatra Vetar. Mean anything to you?” from the frown on Alandriel’s face, it evidently did. Knowing the ranger would probably like to think over what she had learnt on her own, Legyviel bid her goodnight, goodbye and left to find her own room.

Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2004 1:46 pm

From the moment Arunakhôr took a turn at the nearest junction he glimpsed behind him, the corner of his mouth pulled up, revealing a crooked grin. No one, not least that she-elf, had followed him. A few steps further he walked, and the darkness of the alley consumed him. There it was that a small shadow suddenly drew near.

A soft breeze touched his jaw before something -with a strong grip for a being of so little weight- came to rest on his shoulder. The Corsair turned his gaze towards his companion and held out his hand in which a small pouch seconds later was dropped. It was neither heavy nor held a content that jingled the way coins did, but that elf would not have insisted so desperately to get her possession back if it did not hold something of value. Arunakhôr only hoped that its value would be beyond of what was defined as ‘sentimental’, for that alone would not do to pay for his new sail. And neither would the content of only one pouch.

“Good work Azrubêl,” he grinned while they took off to take more booty.

~~~~~

They had come, day after day.

The first time had been about a week ago, maybe even longer… Days went by so fast, especially in winter, and they all seemed the same when you were down here. So it had to be more than a week ago, yes.

At first they hadn’t seemed differently from any other patron. They had a few drinks, ate some stew. He couldn’t really remember if they had shown interest in Mím, the waitress every one of his customers preferred most. Probably not, he concluded with a shrug, for even then they already had been very focussed. Whispering as they sat close together, looking at each other from under their dark brows. Always the same table they chose: the one in the corner towards the street-side. Most evenings there had been two of them, on occasion even four.

Tonight, only one was present. One whom he hadn’t seen before, but this was nothing unusual. He wondered how many of them actually were around.

One… Maybe it was a sign they would leave the city soon? He didn’t know for sure, but he surely hoped for it. From all the dark souls that had chosen his pub ever since he had bought it, he liked them the least. Maybe it was the way they had approached him, the second time they had come. Maybe it was the way they had persuaded him to keep his ears open, to inform them when any news of interest had come his way. And a very strange sort of ‘interest’ they nurtured.

No, he did not like them. He looked down at his hand, a bandage still around it, courtesy of the one he liked least of all and who luckily had only come once. One who was marked with a scar running down his cheek. Involuntarily he shuddered.
He wondered if they had been showing the same attitude all around the Grey Havens. Yet somehow he already knew the answer to that question. Their questions would not find answers in any of the finer establishments of the city. He looked up again and swallowed, wondering if the one whom he had bought this pub from -the one he had worked for as a waiter for many years- had faced the same kind of threats in his time.

Towelling his glasses, Umarth overlooked the crowd from behind his bar. It was a busy night. A few of the regulars were still missing, but he knew they would show up at one point. And maybe a few strangers would too… Who could tell who would be driven into the darker places of Mithlond on a night like this, when the fury of the elements seemed to have been unleashed for eternity…

~~~~~

While the Corsair entered his cabin the floorboards under his feet swayed reassuringly with the swelling of the waves that powerfully crashed against the pier. He took off his soaked cloak and lit an oil lamp, its light immediately casting eerie shadows on the walls and the man’s tired countenance. With frozen hands he emptied his pockets, displaying the content of several pouches and some loose jewellery and coins on the oaken table where the dim light lit them up. Azrubël’s curious eyes gave them a closer look, yet he soon lost interest and took off to dispatch a biscuit and get some sleep.

With his fingers lingering over the different shiny trinkets and coins of varied size, age and value, Arunakhôr realised he had been extremely lucky tonight.

The storm wind had forced open some windows of houses and one of them had led to the major part of the wealth displayed in front of him. There were bracelets, brooches, rings, necklaces…
He held a couple of the trinkets up to subject them a closer examination: gold and silver, decorated with gemstones that sparkled enchantingly despite the sparse light. Their hues brought back memories of the sights he treasured: the blood red colour of the sky at the moment the sun sank into the sea, the amber-coloured sultry eyes of the veiled dancer whose moves he fully had enjoyed during his short stop in Umbar. The milky ice caps near the Gap of Tears, a blue-green glow accentuating its roughness…
One pendant in particular was given more attention than the others, although he did not pick it up. Its form and its elegance pointed to the fact that elven hands had forged it. Exclusive it truly was, its value indeed going beyond the sentimental side just as he had hoped. And in his mind, he already calculated what profit it would yield if he sold it on the Haradraic black market.
He realised all too well he would not be able to trade any of the jewellery in this city, unlike the coins for those didn’t bear the name of any owner and therefore could be spent whenever, wherever.

Quickly he counted his loot, divided it anew over the different pouches and hid it safely. His ship counted many small compartments that he used to keep his treasures invisible to prying eyes. Rarely was there much to be found on board these days. Even today’s loot was pale in comparison to what had been taken in on the High Days of his raiding existence. But keeping the current circumstances in mind, he realised all too well he had pocketed more than he could have hoped for. Enough even to allow him a good meal, and to splice the main brace. And who was to tell what else could cross his path that would be worth some forking out…

His feet soon took to the narrow streets that surrounded the harbour, to a part of the city he had not yet visited since his arrival. Many an Inn and tavern were located here, to feed the hungry yet less fortunate traveller, to harbour the wicked, the wakeful, the lone wolf…

Tonight -thanks to the weather- the Inns he passed were filled to the hilt with people having loud conversations, sharing stories over a glass. Some even over something they dared to call rum.

He wondered if they ever had tasted a shot of real rum, his personal favourite being the amber-coloured variety: its fragrance like burned sugar; smooth and sweet when it at first caressed your palate, then heated your throat to soon set your inside on fire.
No, in these regions he would not find any kind of rum that came even close to the quality they made in Umbar -there was only so much luck a man could have during one evening.

With these thoughts occupying his mind, Arunakhôr looked up at the signs above the doors he passed until he recognised one of which the letters had almost faded: ‘Libertine’. He stopped dead in his tracks, surprised to find this old rat hole still being part of Mithlond. For a moment he lingered, doubted whether he should enter or not. If the place were -if only for a small percentage- like he had known it, he still would fit in perfectly.

He quickly disappeared through a door that desperately needed a fresh coat of paint. His cloak -heavy with the absorbed rain- brushed over the steps while he steadily descended the steep stairs, the light at the bottom being his guide.

He arrived in a gloomy room: a basement with little fresh air but for two small windows near the ceiling, which provided the gathered crowd with oxygen. The air was thick with smoke and a mixture of fragrances, coming from pipe weed, candles, the crackling fireplace, incense and food.
The Grey Havens’ uninvited visitors and unwelcome guests were not numerous, and Arunakhôr surely could have picked out a more decent place to spend his evening now that he was provided with sufficient cash. Little he ever did was without reason though, so grounds for this choice of accommodation were there. Recollections of what had transpired earlier today were the trigger that finally had driven -almost lured- him in here.

Apart from a different staff also the room had a changed appearance, but not drastically. The walls were still of plaster though a cover of light tinged paint -its true colour distorted in the sparse light- now had been applied. Dark solid beams still supported the ceiling, and a large fireplace at one end still stood opposite the bar, although the latter had been replaced. As had the furniture and some other minor details.

The fire crackled peacefully and cast a warm glow that was much appreciated with this cold weather. All tables directly surrounding the fireplace had already been taken. Candles stood on each of them, pinned in the neck of empty bottles, the little flames dancing playfully on weathered, grim faces -some preferring no more than the company of their glass- and youthful adventurers with few scruples.

Arunakhôr overlooked the crowd that had chosen this place as a temporary refuge without paying much obvious attention to any of them, making an exception for the barkeeper and one of the waitresses -the youngest. It was a pity her eyes had already lost their youthful sparkle after witnessing long days with too little light and too many unfriendly faces, surviving on little wages that on a good day were supplied with meagre tips. But even despite her clouded eyes she surely was a pretty thing. Nice curves covered by a simple dress -yet one with a plunging neckline. Blond curly hair that teasingly brushed against her bosoms while she moved.

He pulled his gaze away and chose his table with care: chair against the wall, immediate look out over all the comings and goings near the entrance and over the major part of the room. Draping his cloak over the back of a chair he wiped the dripping water from his face, and watched as the waitress walked into his direction. He disappeared into the shade near the wall as he leaned back, yet the light of the candle on his table still reflected in his dark eyes.

“What would you want to drink, sir?” she asked while she wiped the table with quick strokes of a moist cloth.

“What do ye serve, lass?” He looked at her, one elbow in a nonchalant way resting on the back of the chair next to his.

“We have wine, ale, mead, eggnog, liquor… Or would you want some food?” One short moment she turned her head in his direction.

“Food, yes… food would be perfect,” he nodded hungrily.

“We serve stew. And there still is some soup. It is good soup,” she continued while she at last looked him in the eye. Smiled even, while she readjusted her position so she could reach the far end of the table with her cloth, improving his view unquestionably.

If this were another city he probably would guess right by saying this wench tried to make an extra income by allowing some of the customers a few hours of pleasure. But he quickly reminded himself of the fact that this was Mithlond, the City of Chastity…
Then again, this grotto already broke every unwritten rule Mithlond valued highly. And for the first time since his entrance he now realised the air here not only held the fragrances he at first had recognised. There also was mingled in something else: a delightful sweetish pungent scent. Something he hadn’t smelled in a while, still it felt like it only had been yesterday. A shiver ran down his spine and he shook his head to shake the feeling off.

He decided to go for both soup and stew, hungry as he was, and even would be brave enough to try out their rum. He followed the wench’s elegant moves while she walked back and saw how the barkeeper took a bottle from one of the shelves. Barkeepers had an interesting profession: drinks were always close at hand, but even better than that was the fact they were a city’s eyes and ears. Little went on they hadn’t heard about, even if it were no more than a few words whispered, meant for other ears.
Pouring a crystal clear liquid in a glass he noticed the man looking back at him for longer than the momentary glance, and without looking around Arunakhôr felt the bartender wasn’t the only one who was assessing the newest arrival.

Shortly after Arunakhôr was served with a glass of white rum. He sniffed at it, and then took a careful sip. He had tasted worse, was his relieved conclusion while he savoured his drink with his eyes closed. Sitting back, while his clothes slowly dried, he listened to the hissing sounds that came from the kitchen and the murmur of words in numerous dialects all around.

The glass in his hand was held only centimetres under his nose so that the sweet fragrance of the drink would mask the scent he certainly had recognised. He knew his own weakness all too well. It would not be a good moment to fall back into that old habit -and there was really no need for it either.
Hellish slavery it was as he already had experienced several times. But ever since his first contact he had discovered it was the only way to deal with his occasional pain.

He ate his meal in silence, enjoying it to the fullest. A hearty meal it was, the finest stew he had tasted in years -the only stew he had eaten in years. And afterwards, a few more glasses of rum became his.

“So what brings you to the Grey Havens, sailor?” a voice suddenly asked. When he looked up Arunakhôr noticed the barkeeper standing next to his table, holding the bottle to refill his glass.

“Bad weather.” ‘And bad luck,” he silently mused, thinking back to why it was he had to leave the Grey Havens more rapidly than he ever had intended. “No matter how big and strong y’r ship is, the Sea, she always wins…”

“How are things in the South?”

“Warmer than here,” came the answer. A grin appeared on the Corsair’s face, though the look in his eyes was one of natural distrust. “How are things in the North?”

The barkeeper, who had been corking the bottle, halted his moves for a split second. Yet then he quickly continued. “It is winter… Not much news from the north reaches us this time of year.”

The Corsair noticed there was a slight shiver in the man’s voice. “I meant the Grey Havens, actually,” Arunakhôr responded. “Although, now that ye mention it… I met a strange woman today, with an unusual request. She wants to go north…” The bottle almost slid from the man’s hand, but maybe that was only because he seemed to have injured it, going by the bandage. “Way north even, from what I understood. So what little news does reach the Grey Havens these days, it must be int’resting enough to convince one to brave ice and cold…” He pushed a spare chair away from the table with his boot. “Why don’t ye pour y’rself a glass and fill me in… The drink’s on me.”

The barkeeper quickly responded: “I’m sorry… It’s a busy night for me as you can see. No time for that kind of socialising I’m afraid.”

“No problem, I understand… completely even… Just one more thing,” Arunakhôr added quickly. “I would like to buy some of that special brand of pipe weed.”

“It’s not-“ The man swallowed the rest of his words. Of course a man who had been around -and which sailor hadn’t- would know about these things. How else would he have recognised the faint scent in this mixture of bouquets?
The barkeeper mumbled a price, the Corsair nodded, and a few minutes later a small pouch was exchanged for some coins -they covered the costs for both food and excesses. “Nice doing business with you.”

“Like wise,” Arunakhôr grinned while he took to his feet. He picked up his cloak and made way to the exit. Squeezing in between a few people he bumped into the pretty waitress.

“Will you come again? Tomorrow? Maybe I’ll then have more time…” she asked with a hopeful glance in her eyes, accentuated by a wink.

He grinned, looked at her as if her request charmed him. He knew better though. She probably asked most of the patrons this very same question. “If y’ll have more time tomorrow, ye can count me in lassie.” A lie -he had no intention to come back here tomorrow, or anytime soon. Not before a decade had come in which her fine bones -and those of the rest of this generation present- would be covered with dust and dirt. A pity, he mused, but over the years he had learned to live with it. Smiling at her, he then nodded to the barkeeper who was towelling some glasses.

“What will your next port be, sailor?” he asked.

“Any way the winds blows,” Arunakhôr answered, talking louder now to make himself understandable over the hum for his words had to cover some distance. “Maybe I’ll end up north…” He grinned and shrugged. “Who’s to say, aye?” Turning around he swiftly ascended the stairs.

The damp air welcomed him back while the door shut behind him. For the time being it had stopped raining, but forceful blasts of wind still tortured the Grey Havens. They seemed to chase the ghosts of the city, disturbing them from their deathless slumber. Flashes of lightning occasionally lit up the dark sky. It was not over yet.

Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2004 2:12 pm

Heavy were his footsteps as they took him back to the harbour, echoing coldly on the wet cobblestones. His hand tapped the pocket that held the pouch while he hummed a tune unknown in these regions. His stomach was filled and his blood contained a certain degree of alcohol, he would be able to pay his debt and still would not be left empty handed. And a few sunrises from now the reason for a hasty departure from Mithlond would be nothing but a silly memory. So yes, he was content. Yet above all else he was tired and longed for the comfort of his simple bed.

He already could distinguish dark contours of ships’ masts in the distance when another flash of lightning lit up the sky for a few seconds. A narrow strip of the harbour’s landscape, as it loomed at the end of the street.

His steps echoed… on the street, in his head. Echoes bouncing back between the houses... left, right… Out of rhythm, like someone with no sense for metre was reading a poem out loud.

That was the moment he realised something was amiss. Yet the realisation came too late.

Cold metal touched his throat and in a reflex he wanted to move back. Yet he instantly bumped into someone. Reaching for his cutlass the blade immediately pressed against his throat with more pressure, almost cutting the skin, while a strong hand grabbed his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a low voice suddenly said, the words being hissed close to his ear.

No need to ask out loud about the ‘whom’: the thick accent was hard to miss. ‘…until it was too late; until they were about to slice one's throat…’ So their and his business got mixed up after all…

“What want ye?” Arunakhôr asked, feeling his Adam’s apple scrape against the blade’s edge while he spoke. His eyes slowly turned towards the direction of the man yet he still could not see him. He had to be standing directly behind him.

One, as far as he could tell. He would be able to handle one.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em. And don’t get any ideas. They wouldn’t improve your situation… or your health.”

“Y’re making a big mistake,” Arunakhôr hissed while he slowly moved his hands away from his body. He felt his cloak being pulled back and the weight attached to his heavy leather sheath being removed.

“Is that so?” A short snigger followed. “I think it is you who could be making the mistake here.”

“It touches me deeply to hear y’r so worried about me welfare… What want ye?” the Corsair asked again, now stressing each word.

“To come to an agreement with you,” another one spoke, the sound of his footsteps indicating he was walking up to them.

Two… he still could handle two, yet he would have to be more careful now.

The face opposite his was that of a young man, thirty at the most -the face in the corner. The cutlass pointing at him -the point touching his chest if only softly- was his own.

“About?” A superfluous question that was, for the possible reasons for this encounter were limited. Yet timing was everything in situations like these. As was restraining the temptation to react on impulse with two blades being after his life.

“That woman you mentioned to the barkeep… It would be wise not to get involved.”

“Threat’nin’ me?”

“Warning you.”

“Well, ye can consider me warned. Now get moving.”

“You’re not really in the position to give the orders, are you?” The man standing behind him chuckled.

Another voice suddenly cut in: “Maybe you should be a little clearer… He does seem to be of the obstinate kind…”

Three.

Arunakhôr felt the one who stood behind him shift weight. Maybe it was no more than the turning of his head, but the effect was palpable in the changing pressure on his shoulder, in the position of the dagger’s edge still pressing against his throat.

“… A sailor, I see… He knows her?”

“He mentioned her. Apparently she has asked him to take her north. And north is where he seems to want to go.”

How strange the changes of one’s fate could be. Arunakhôr had entered that pub merely with the intention to find out what went on in the north that Alandriel wanted to go there right now.
The fact that they knew he had mentioned the redhead there at all meant only one thing…
Maybe he still could improve his situation if he told them his mention to go north had been in jest. That would be no more than the truth. It was winter! Did they know nothing about sailing, or the northern waters? About the dangers such a passing would hold? Did they take him for a fool who was only out to breathe the smell of adventure, would take on any kind of job?
Trying to explain would be of little use though. There was no reason for them to believe him. And he felt like justifying neither his actions nor intentions. Not to them -even not under the current circumstances. Not to any body!

“Is it now?” The man took a step forward, and in the light cast from a street lantern part of his face became visible: the part that was marred with a scar. His gaze was piercing and determined. A man not to underestimate. “Well, he indeed will be going somewhere. But it will not be north… We can not afford another mistake. Deal with him. Then come to the Seven Stars. We have to finish this once and for all.” He looked at Arunakhôr one last time before he turned and disappeared in the shadows of night.

“So… it’s just us again, aye?”

He wanted to look over his shoulder to finally see the face of him who still kept that blade pressed against his throat. Yet a hard and painful poke in his kidneys interfered with his intention and the pressure of the hand still on his shoulder increased, pushing him down until he sat on his knees. The dagger was removed. But that improvement was short lived for the cutlass came to rest on his shoulder, the fine blade slightly trembling. A hand grabbed to get a hold on his hair hidden under the soaked head wrap and pulled it back with force.

“Ye men really want to make it a messy ending, aye?”

“Nothing personal against you. But we have to protect the essence.”

“How nice for you…” Arunakhôr grinned momentarily, but it was an uncomfortable grin to mask what he really felt. He clenched his teeth for the grip that made sure his head would remain steady was so firm he feared the roots of his hair would snap. His heart pounded rapidly and his muscles trembled. He experienced fear. Not for himself, but for them. “Tell me… Ever seen y’r precious Malkôra?” he managed to get out.

“No, but-“

“Has he ever spoken to ye? Told ye he would return one day?”

“No.”

“So ye follow one ye’ve never seen, f’r reasons that as well could be lies?” He now laughed out loud while he lowered his hands so slowly that no attention was drawn to the movement. “Ye fools! At least I sold me soul for one I had seen. For one whose words I had heard with my own ears. And even-“

“Silence!” the man standing behind him suddenly yelled, kicking him in the kidneys once more. “Your fate is decided.”

“Indeed, the choice is made… Do it quickly.” He looked at the young man who looked down at him, who now swung the cutlass back.

Yes, the words spoken with contempt for Morgoth and for their blind faith had irritated him. Some flames - especially this one - were hard to extinguish. He could see it in his eyes, in the way he grimaced while he wielded the sword forward again. He recognised his younger self in him…

It all happened in a flash. His hand grabbed quickly and got a hold on the soft leather-strapped handle of his knife that had been hidden in his boot. With force he threw his arm behind him, the point of the knife digging deep into flesh. A scream followed and the grip on his head diminished the same moment he let himself drop on his side, dodging the lethal touch of the blade just in time.

There were even flames that never died, even if there was no sign to prove otherwise. Not extinguished, but smouldering in secret.
It didn’t take much to make seemingly sleeping volcanoes spit fire again. Destroying whatever crossed their path. That was he: a totally different story than these Bauderain even though their roots were as dark and seated as his were.

Arunakhôr rolled over quickly and got to his feet while he heard Haradraic curses being spoken, accompanied by laboured breathing. Snapping his head up he noticed a man bending over, pressing his hands hard on his thigh. His younger companion asked if he would be alright and a nod followed. For a moment he shifted his hand and the Corsair noted the pulsating pressure with which the blood gushed between the man’s fingers.

“One down… now it’s just ye ‘n me, ” Arunakhôr mumbled, walking up to the young Bauderain while he threw his cloak away with a resolute movement. “Don’t look at me like that, y’r friend won’t last long anymore,” he continued with a nod in the direction of the now wavering Southron. “Hey, I asked if ye wanted a messy ending, and ye agreed. Nothin’ personal, ya know…” The mocking tone in his voice was hard to miss, and neither was the deadly seriousness in his eyes. Yes, he had feared for them -and rightly so.

Always so close was the one he was born to be. So very close… Despite everything, he never had been able to convince himself that even that part was one he could gain control over. A part he could bury for good.

He bent and snatched his knife that lay deserted on the wet cobblestones, blood marring its surface. Straightening himself up again he looked anew at the young man, insecurity now clearly visible in his eyes. But there was also the anger. Yes, he could have been him…

Blind faith, poisoned by words that would lead to a life without honour, a life wasted. Part of him dead, the other part wanting to die. In the end, that was the only truth. The rest, the fact that he tried to pay for his mistakes -that he already had paid greatly for them… He tightened the grip on his knife. No, the rest didn’t matter. Not now. Tomorrow maybe -hopefully- again, but not tonight…

Swiftly he dodged away for the strike of the razor-sharp cutlass that was accompanied by a roar. There was the ringing when his knife touched the other weapon. There was a sting of pain, and the anger -his anger. The clanging of steel as his knife hit the cobblestones once more. The wrestling over the cutlass which he won. The ringing of steel against steel anew, for the Bauderain quickly had unsheathed his own sword. A fierce swordfight followed, like one he had fought many times.
At first he let the Bauderain with the impression he still could win. Playing with him like a cat with a mouse, wearing him out and then… killing him without a blink.

There was a scream, moaning… Sobbing… Laboured breathing: his, and the one of the young man he looked down upon -who looked back with a pleading look in his eyes. A plea to end the pain. And so he did, with one quick move of the knife his fingers had found once again in the struggle. Then there was…

Silence. Minutes of silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Arunakhôr rolled over on his back and kept laying still on the cold ground. His breathing finally slowed down to a more normal pace. Now the realisation came. As did the pain, but that was a feeling he tried to block. The downpour had started again -he wondered for how long already. He turned his head to look at the body next to his, the dark eyes looking back at him without seeing anything. Not ever again would those eyes see anything.

He pushed himself up until he sat. A couple of metres away the other man lay. Slowly the Corsair clambered to his feet, gazed at the face finally revealed. He searched for his heartbeat, but there was none. Then he touched his own throbbing head, and felt a small jet of blood dripped from his brow.

Again he looked down at the corpses, especially the one of the youngest man. His mangled body…

He snorted. He had warned them! He had said they were making a mistake. Now they paid the price. But still he could not stop gazing into those dead eyes for the man had died an honourable death…

Searching his pockets Arunakhôr dug up a silver coin. Not part of his recent loot this coin was, but one of only a few still in his possession. Coins of old -the vague form of a snake on its surface- that he saved to honour a worthy opponent, like the one lying in front of him. To honour a tradition of old. The Corsair crouched and opened the young man’s mouth and placed the coin under his tongue. Pushing his jaw shut again he whispered the words that accompanied the rite of death as he knew it.

“From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea…”

Words to accompany the soul of the dead to the River of No Return, which had to be crossed on the journey from the realm of the living to eternity. And only this coin would guarantee a safe passing. It was unlikely this dead man held the same view considering life, death and all there was in between. It even was not engraved in stone the Corsair believed everything connected to the ritual. Yet this was as the woman who had given birth to him had taught it to him, in what seemed to be another life. And there was already little enough connected to death, or life, that he honored.

His hand rested on his pouch. There was a time when it had been much heavier, filled with coins with a surface much less dull than that of the ones still remaining. There had been a long time he hadn’t touched that pouch, even though many an opponent had been worthy of the honour. These days, even though he could not bring himself to kneel for any deity, this ritual was the only one he could bring himself to somewhat believe in.

Death was something he was not afraid of. Some days the thought of dying even equalled salvation, entering his final homeport to never sail again. That homeport was still out of reach though, and beyond what could be seen. First, debts still would have to be paid. For how long he did not know.
His hand held the pouch in a tighter grasp… only a few coins left.

The last one he would never place under one’s tongue for it was meant to secure his own crossing. He had found peace with the idea that neither white shores -whiter than he had ever seen- nor a vast green land would be waiting for him at the other side. There was no need to hope for a different outcome: only the netherworld would welcome him. But even that would be better than remaining a restless soul, dwelling between this realm and the one that was kept by the dead.

A sting of pain tormenting his skull and a throbbing pain in his side brought him back to what just had transpired. He pressed his hand against his side and felt a sticky fluid, now noticing it already had stained part of his shirt crimson. He ripped his head wrap from his head and pressed it hard against the wound.

He would have to leave this spot, and soon, before someone ran into the scene and raised the alarm. His fingers quickly searched the young man's pockets for something worth to claim, a trophy -in vain. Until he noticed the necklace, smeared with blood. Pulling, he ripped it loose and tucked it in his pocket. Shaking a sudden feeling of nausea off he tried to focus on whatever else, as long as it wasn't connected to the here and now, to him. But it was hard, not to say impossible…

Remnants of the conversation soon resounded in his head: ‘warning you… finish … once and for all… Seven stars… ‘

Seven stars…… Alandriel!

He snapped his head up for he now remembered the words the redhead had spoken: ‘you can find me at the Inn, the House of the Seven Stars…’

A curse followed. He had no idea what would be happening at the Seven Stars but he did know that not much good could come from it. There was still the one with the scarred face. And who knew how many others as well!

He rolled his eyes and sighed. Without giving it all much more thought -tomorrow there would be time to think, and rethink- he grabbed for his weapons and cloak and took off as fast as his body allowed. Not towards the harbour, but in the opposite direction. As long as he could remember the Seven Stars had been part of Mithlond. Never had he set foot in the Inn, but he remembered its location well enough to find it back even at a night like this one, with the ice-cold wind almost blinding him.

Through the maze of streets he proceeded, skimming the walls, until he recognized the lane with the imposing buildings. He crossed after making sure his moves would be unseen. Not much further he had to walk before he recognised the weathered wooden sign depicting seven stars, swinging wildly in the rhythm of the wind. The Inn at the other side of the street seemed to be completely shut off from the outside world with all shutters on the downstairs level closed. He knew there would be no possibility for him to break one of the shutters: they still seemed to be of the old make, which meant the wood was strong. Very strong.

The Corsair crouched and pressed his back against the brick wall. He let his head rest as well, his eyes closed while his hand pressed even harder against the blood soaked part of his shirt. No sign of the Bauderain yet, but that could change quickly. He had to get in, had to warn her… But how?

Opening his eyes again the vision of the windows on the first level caught his attention. Behind one of them he noticed a shadowy outline.

And then he got an idea…

Posted: Wed Aug 4, 2004 9:37 am

The woman in the room faltered and stood against the bed, clutching her shoulder. The long lustrous copper waterfall of hair looked bedraggled, the strands joined by sweat and grime. But she was attentive, and her voyeurs continued to watch in silence.

She gently raised her cloak over her head; leaving the penannular brooch in place was easier than trying to release it. She gave a grunt as the cloak was heaved onto the bed and she stood up, letting the relief baptise her face. Then she looked at the broken arrow that stuck out of her shoulder.

Din could see her grimace, and start as she gently moved the arrow. With a sharp cry her eyes rolled up in their sockets and she collapsed against the bed.

“What is happening?” whispered Jae.

“It appears that our patron is hurt. I can heal some wounds, but I will need your assistance Jaeniver. I do hope you are not too squeamish” he smiled as he released the catch on the hidden door.

“I let you kiss me didn’t I” She replied, remembering to glare at the Avari as he stepped into the room.

Alandriel woke at the first footstep on the stone floor. She rolled and made to draw a knife, as cascades of fire ripped down her arm and she cried out again, only to find herself in strong arms. “Do not worry Ranger of Anor. I will make sure you are well….” Was all she heard as night enveloped.

Din laid Alandriel down and started to loosen her shirt, when Jae snorted behind him.
“I need to see the wound,” smiled Din. “Now be useful and heat me some water on the fire.” He reached into his pouch and dug out a small wrap of yellow powder which he scattered about the arrow, then took out two goose feathers. Cutting the quills to make two small straws he slid these onto the metal barbs of the arrow and waited for Jae to return with hot water. When it arrived, he dropped clothes into it and took hold of Jae, guiding her to sit on the ranger.
“When I pull this out, she will wake and be in a great deal of pain. Do not let her get up, whatever you do.” Said Din, looking into Jae’s eyes. She nodded, and spread her weight on the ranger as Dindraug took hold of the arrow and pulled.

The night was rent by a scream and a crash, heard over the quiet talk in the taproom. Kalin looked up, and knew trouble was about to be unleashed on the inn. Turning to Tanith he whispered “You’d better loosen that pigsticker of yours, I think we may be in for trouble”. He saw Brunir, the barkeeper, slink behind his bar and take something from hiding.

“I said, do not let her move” said Din rubbing his chin where the glaring ranger had punched him.

“You would have been better to wake me Dindraug. I would not have let your partner hit the floor so hard” laughed Alandriel, clutching one of the hot rags to her wound. It smarted, and the rag was stained red, but she was at least feeling more human now.

“I am not his partner” snapped Jae, causing other two to look at her and laugh. She sat cross-legged on a pile of blanket and transposed mattress, clutching a second rag to her own bruised head.

“Then I will meet you as a friend Jaeniver”, said the ranger, holding out her hand. Jae looked at her and smiled, and accepted the gesture.

“I still want to know how you managed to enter my room unannounced Dindraug. The stories about you do you no justice.”

“No, they would not” smiled Din. He made no gesture to Jae but a brief flick of the eye but Alandriel caught it. “But for stories, I would know how you came about this?” he said, holding out the pendant she had taken from the dead Harradrim earlier that night. She looked at him anew. She had not seen him take the necklace out of her pouch. Then her eyes widened as she saw another in his hand. “We have been skirmishing with southerners all night, and an elf has been killed. Now I find their mark in your pocket. Strange, would you not say?”

“Your meaning, Dindraug. It is not clear?” she looked at him, then looked at the window. Din followed her look and sank back into the shadows.

“My meaning is plain Ranger. I was summoned to this city, to this house with no reason given-” As he spoke, Din crept in the dark of the room around to the window “- and now I find you in the possession of the Serpent’s Star. That would be a strange object to own, unless you are in league with them. Jae, she is about to strike.” Jae lurched across the room, not knowing what was happening as Alandriel rolled over the bed and grabbed at her sword, drawing it. Din rushed to the window, and flung it open grabbing the robed form who had been clinging to the side of the building and dragging it into the room.

“Haradrim!” snarled Din throwing the man against the floor and drawing his knife.

“That’s the son of a whore who stole my purse” shouted Jae, pulling her own blade.

“Arunknor!” said Alandriel, rushing into the fray. Causing Din and Jae to stop and look at her.

“You know this assassin?” hissed Din………

Posted: Fri Aug 13, 2004 12:24 pm

Hilda wiped her hand along the last of the surfaces, brushing the last specks of dried crust into a waiting bin. It would be fed to the pigs in the morning she thought, a smile crossing her face. She looked at Brûnir with some fondness as he fussed with the barrels, closing the taps finally for the night and taking his treasured taps and wrapping them in a towel he would take upstairs. He always laughed about his guests sneaking down in the night.

She wiped her hands on her apron and placed the last of her precious knives in the sheath she wore by her side.

“Time for sleep I think” said Brûnir, wiping his long hands down his apron. He sighed deeply; it had been a long day and night, what with noisy Hobbits wrecking his rooms and wayward Elves. He frowned at that memory. There was something about that Elf, and all who had known Alandriel. Good for the coffers they may be, but bad for the inn’s reputation.

“What is it my sweet” said Hilda undoing her apron and placing it on the side as she walked up to him, smiling as she gazed at him sadly.

“It has been a long day, and I think it will be a long night, though all I want to do is sleep.” He looked around the kitchen and sighed. “I will have to ask that Alandriel and her friends to leave tomorrow. They are too much trouble, even though we could do with the coin.”

“There, there my love” smiled Hilda as she put her arms around her fat barkeep and pulled his head down to her shoulder. “It will all be alright soon”.

He heard her scream before he felt the back of his head smashed with something heavy.



Kalin fell out of his bed with a crash. He had been dreaming of a red-haired dancer; a shimmering diaphanous image that danced across the room towards him amidst waves of jasmine.

“Dance my brave warrior?” she had crooned, her voice thick with accent and mystery. He just smiled at her and reached out to her delicate and inviting hand-

And fell.

Cursing he stood, and looked at the ruins of the bedside table and the wine that had spilled from his cup and splashed across his coat. At least his shirt had escaped, that still clung to his body soaked with sweat where he had been tossing and turning all night.

He sat up, and crossed to a bowl of water on the floor that the visitor had left untouched. Dipping his head he reared back, sending a spray across the room.

“I can sleep no more, I would be better treating that pretty to a visit” he muttered to himself. He dropped his sopping shirt into the bowl and swirled it round. He reached into his chest and pulled out a muslin bag filled with herbs which he brushed across his body, the sweat smell filling the room and drowning out the stale man smell. All the time he hummed a ditty he had learned long ago in the harbours of Umbar.



The Innkeeper lay across the kitchen floor, his breathing shallow but regular.

“That was well done my dear,” said Boymanee, looking down at his mistress’s handiwork. “A clean blow, no lasting harm but he will not rouse before dawn. We can use him again.” He smiled at the woman, and squeezed her tightly against him, kissing her passionately before letting her go.

“Is that all I get?” she pouted.

“For now.” Said the thief, slapping her gently on the rump. “For now get to someplace safe. There are southern murderers around. They have been told only to kill the Ranger and her friends, but they have already done enough murder tonight; we will have to go into hiding.”

“But it’s what the Mistress wants” she said, smiling coldly.

“It is her will,” he said. He turned and looked out into the courtyard, motioning the black-clothed Haradrim into the inn and pointing to the commons. Then he turned and as soft as winter snow he ran up the servants’ stairs to meet his fellow thieves.

Hilda watched him go as she stepped back to let the dozen Southerners past. She smiled again, feeling the bulge of the purse Brûnir had taken that night. Then she looked down at her lover, and lovingly plunged the knife in deep.



Kalin pulled his shirt from the water and wrung it out gently, before draping the silk on his limber frame. He gazed at his reflection in a broken shard of mirror, cleaned a small piece of trapped meat from his teeth and he smiled. Finally Kalin took a gold medallion from his chest, picked up his knife and slipped it into his belt as he walked out into the corridor.

It was quiet; the only noise was the padding of feet on the bare wood. Kalin stopped, and turned.

The man before him was dressed in black, his face covered by a course cloth that left only his startled eyes uncovered. He clutched a curved blade in his right hand and in his left he held a hooked pick.

He looked terrified when he realised he did not recognise Kalin, and they stared at each other down the length of the thieves’ weapons. The man’s eyes widened slightly and Kalin smiled.

Kalin turned quickly, drawing his own blade and stabbing the second man who had crept up behind him. He caught him under the spleen and turned to slam the body into his other would-be assassin.

The men cried out as they fell in an untidy heap. One thief threw his pick at Kalin which missed and slammed into the wall, rousing a call from along the corridor. Kalin looked up and saw more men, armed with clubs and knives. Moving quickly he stabbed his assailant who was trying to get up from the floor, and picked up the man’s blade.

“AWAKE!” he bellowed, as the killers closed in……