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| 17. Wind-Singers Volume III.I: The Final Quest; Ivordir and Daerfalas journey into Gondor to face the Enemy and find tidings of Guldrambor | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM (4,123 Views) | |
| Ivordir | Sep 12 2015, 07:00 PM Post #321 |
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Chapter CCXXXIII: Malnoron's Pride Malnoron laughed to himself as he sat alone in his gloomy manse, "Even Ballithor can no longer stop me.... I shall double the strength of my men, and ensnare him if need be......... feigning to be his ally will function accordingly, for now........" There was a knock at the door. "Enter." A servant handed him a note, "I am proud to call you friend, Lord Malnoron of the Golden Wing. Even a Silver Swan has need of thee. Is Ivordir dead yet? Or have you forgotten our agreement.... no matter. Things are moving slowly in Dol Amroth. Our Prince is concerning himself with minor matters. The Osgiliath front is apparently holding-well. And there are little signs of activity to the south, aside from several skirmishes by small ragged corsair miniature-fleets. Imrahil has commissioned more ships to protect our harbor from further incursions. He was away from the City, initially, and it was an embarrassment for minor lords such as I, when the Enemy attacked. It took me great strides to rebuild my subtle influence. Our men's proud defense of our City was enough to keep me at least partially in favor. Send me word concerning the current status of my son. It is my hope that he is either dead, if he was still a coward, so that my estate may pass to one of my stronger sons, or it is my other potential hope that my son has found his true manhood, and that he is -worthy- of my House, sitting in your Manor. Either way, it makes no difference to me. My allies in Minas Tirith shall become your allies. One day soon, we shall meet, perhaps in Linhir, to discuss our current plans. Until we meet again." The letter was signed in Ballithor's name, scratched across the parchment. Lord Malnoron smiled, "Excellent. You may stay in our pleasant servants' quarters until I have penned my reply." The servant bowed and left the chamber, guided by other servants. Malnoron grinned wider, "And so it shall be..... I shall have allies, I shall sway them in secrecy to my cause, and then, I shall have you killed, brave Silver Swan." Edited by Ivordir, Sep 12 2015, 07:00 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 12 2015, 07:57 PM Post #322 |
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Chapter CCXXXIV: Tidings of the East As Ivordir conversed with Fingaereth, back north in Tumladen, the sound of soft feet was heard on the balcony behind them. There stood Melimir's Spy-Master. As he removed his hood, Ivordir gazed into the eyes of the Southern Dunadan, "You...... hail from Ithilien." The Dunadan nodded, "I should finally introduce myself. I am called Mithon. I hail from Emyn Arnen. I have heard that our Company is making for that region. May I ask why?" Ivordir's eyes blazed in shock, "How long have you listened to us?" Mithon laughed, "For far too long. Listen............ if it be of any consolation to you, we Ithilien Rangers also have trouble making love to Ladies.........." Fingaereth tried and failed to stifle a chuckle. Mithon winked at her, "You seem to be on the mend, Captain. Though why we are to call you Captain remains a mystery to me. Captain, as a title, is reserved to the Steward's sons. We lost contact with Captain Boromir ever since he rode north, to mysterious lands....... and what of these legends that you speak of, and these strange cloaks of yours, flowing in the wind? I will admit, I somehow believe you.... but I know not how. I suppose that you are also wondering how a ranger such as me came to be in Lady Melimir's service, rather than with my kindred in the wilderness, serving Captain Faramir. I will tell you......... she is our principle source, among other principle sources, of learning of the varying politics of the southern fiefdoms......... our Steward wants eyes and ears everywhere.......... he is very wise, and I am inclined to agree with him. I then send my knowledge through my brother-rangers, who relay it across the river, to our lieutenants. I am not the only one. This knowledge is carefully entrusted with our Captain, who then relays it to our Steward. Sadly, for those less experienced in the wilderness, or prone to accident, many letters are lost. But even the most despicable of nobles, no matter how minor, would know better than to openly assassinate a Ranger of Ithilien. For we rangers are keen to varying types of poisons, and crafts of subterfuge..... as well as masters of herb-lore...... we know their ways, and we maintain our Watch. We hold the eastern lands safe for a time, till an Enemy foray arrives, and then we ensure that the Enemy's plans are utterly disrupted. But there's something a-foul brewin' in the Morgul Vale....... there is always somethin' foul brewin,' but now even the birds are fleeing from easternmost trees............... Mark ye, Ivordir.... there's a storm comin'." Ivordir nodded, "I thank you for your honesty.......... tell me, how much of my hidden Quest has reached the Steward's ears?" Mithon shook his head, "None of it. I have not yet gained the opportunity to speak with my brethren.........." Ivordir nodded, "And must he learn of this?" Mithon laughed, "I can see that fear in your eyes. Many are the friends I have gained in Pelargir..... some, of whom, have bled in Lady Melimir's service. But my true loyalty lies with Captain Faramir. Why.... should I conceal this from him?" Ivordir nodded, "Because............. he might not agree well with this knowledge....... he......" Mithon smiled, "Very well then. Put your fears at ease. My allies are far from here, in any case." He pulled his left-glove off his hand, grasping a fold of the fabric, and his eyes were stunned. He felt a feeling he had never felt before. Mithon bowed, "I...... am inclined to believe what I have heard. These are no ordinary cloaks..... I admit that I doubted you at first..... but I can feel it now......... you will have to tell me of Arnor, someday.... and of the Dunedain, if you have met any among the Northmen..........As I said earlier, put your fears at ease. You look as majestic as a King. We do not know how our Steward would react to this................................................. but as for myself, from what I have heard and seen, I believe that even Captain Faramir would have kept your secrets hidden from his Lord-Father............... though I'll spare him, even from that test. He is a valiant man." Ivordir smiled, "If it be pleasing to you, Sir-Ranger...... for you seem honorable and valiant yourself.......... tell me something. Shall I order everyone to refrain from referring to me as 'Captain'?" Mithon laughed gently, and he was still young, though at least 10-15 years older than Ivordir, "Not until we reach my allies. You would not want to confuse my brethren, after all. If maintaining the title in order to ensure loyalty is necessary, then do so, for it is true in the sense that this is the role that you must play before them. Even so........." Ivordir smiled and nodded, "I understand." Mithon smirked, "Now do me a favor........ continue to stand as you were. Let me see that vision of the glory of Numenor of old.... in you once more..............." A gust of wind billowed Ivordir's cloaks behind him, streaming beyond the balcony, as the moon and starlight seemed ever brighter. Fingaereth had stood there silently, knowing that this was beyond her province of conversation. But even she was moved, as she, too, saw in Ivordir a vision of the glory that she herself had heard from her parents' tales. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 12 2015, 08:23 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 13 2015, 12:31 AM Post #323 |
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Chapter CCXXXV: Glossel "NEVER! ABSOLUTELY NOT!" She had stammered a day earlier. "You always disgusted me, you Dwarf!" "Say that again, and I'll toss your favorite dress in the river." "GET OUT!" Fingaereth had then returned to her manor up the road, muttering to herself about Glossel's stubborn-streak. That shrew. That vile shrew. She's always hated me. Oh what to do about her.... And when Fingaereth spoke with Ivordir, she thought to herself: There are now two self-pitying people in the world whom are secretly longing for love......... But tonight, Glossel was having dreams that stirred her sleep. Ivordir was standing in the moonlight as Mithon and Fingaereth stood gazing at him in awe and wonder. Glossel was sleep-walking, pacing around the room. She opened her eyes, but believed she was still dreaming. She stared to see a figure standing, not too far away, in the distance atop her rival's balcony. She gazed and caught hints of beauty as his cloaks swayed and billowed in the breeze. She felt her heart pounding. She felt her heart throbbing. She stared at him for what seemed an eternity, how the wind blew and flipped his hair, how he stood there in his majesty. When she realized what she was doing, she turned away and scowled, "No..... Glossel..... every man is a trap to slavery..... stay away from him...... you are powerful right now, my dear. Your refusal of marriage lends you power....." She yawned, returned to her bed, and fell asleep not long thereafter. |
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| Ivordir | Sep 13 2015, 03:58 PM Post #324 |
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Chapter CCXXXVI: Queen of Beauty She woke with a startle. She had only been asleep for minutes. She put-on her silky night-dress and robes, stepping barefoot into the cold hallway. She felt drawn, as if some force, greater than herself, was propelling her forward. It was inexplicable to her. She processed as if by instinct. As she walked forward, she felt haunted by her past. Her lord-father was of great prestige, and wealth, and it was the duty of the Lords of Tumladen to ensure that the Vale remained a place of safety and refuge, well-governed and well-protected. When Glossel was a little girl, she had been invited with her parents to see the new baby in the manor across the street from their own. They had been visiting friends across the Vale. It was a journey of an hour to cross the Vale, but to Glossel, it took forever. When they finally beheld the crib in the ballroom, she scowled in disdain, and her lord-father publicly spanked her in humiliation for doing so. Glossel had scowled at the Dwarf-girl babe, repulsed by her appearance. When they were older, Glossel came with her friends, to mock Colhel and her sister. They were playing by a pleasant spring in the sunlight nigh a grove of fir-trees, along one of the tiny inlets of the Sirith. After Fingaereth had been caked in mud, Colhel had flung it at Glossel, resulting in a bloody fight, clawing at each others' hair and necks, to the point that a traveling soldier, en route to one of his posts, had to disperse the fight. Glossel was spanked again, and forced to remain in her chambers for a week. Colhel and Fingaereth were permitted to roam free. Glossel had been an avid collector of pretty quartz and other stones. When Colhel and Fingaereth walked by her windows, Glossel opened them, as a bombardment made the sisters flee. In time, their lord-fathers agreed that the girls should stay away from each other, until they grew and became more self-disciplined. When Fingaereth formally entered into her young womanhood, Glossel sent her a letter, a cruel parchment, congratulating her on her "half-growth," proclaiming that no man would ever want her, and good riddance, as she should despise the ways of men. Glossel had gazed on Colhel with a deep-seated envy. She despised Colhel for having and then rejecting so many promising suitors, many of whom wanted little to do with Glossel. And so Glossel retreated into the depths of her shrew-ish ways, bringing much pain and ache to her parents and to her brothers, fancying herself as strong as any man, as a "Queen of Beauty." She exalted Queen Beruthiel, the Black Numenorean, who had been set adrift into the tides of myth with all her cats. She personified her, believing that the Queen was secretly watching her, having imaginary conversations with her. She contrived her revenge. She would force Fingaereth to despise men, as she, Glossel, despised men, to help chase all the men away from Colhel. And she took to wearing flamboyant clothes. Fingaereth, perceptive as ever, had known precisely what Glossel's true goals were, for she overheard her muttering them to herself, while Fingaereth had listened from a bush. She also found it suspicious that the young woman who had ever despised her, and even attempting to kill her sister, would suddenly be interested in becoming her friend. At times, even Fingaereth wondered, deep inside her heart, why she had ever went near Glossel again. But Fingaereth decided, She does not have to be this way........ I can change her, or I will never be rid of her, even when we are old and grey....... But Colhel was frightened for her sister, ever watchful. Fingaereth was very clever. She waited for Colhel to fall asleep. Then she would cross the balcony alone. She would climb down the stairs, for their Quarter was generally deemed safe, and most threats were quelled at the locked main-gate that opened into the Quarter. Their balcony door was not locked. She would tap at the window, and Glossel would lift her inside. There, braziers hanging from the ceilings would blaze aflame. And Fingaereth would pretend to obey Glossel's words, seeking for her weak points. And so she beheld Glossel in all her ravishing beauty, in her long, billowing, cloaks of silk and velvet. This was how she came to know many of her secrets. But she knew, deep inside her heart, that hidden beneath Glossel's claims of friendship and devotion, were fangs, waiting to bite into the marrow of everything she loved and cared for. But, on one dark evening, she learned the truth: Glossel was in desperate need of someone to love, even if she never knew it. And when Fingaereth had followed Ivordir, perceptively breaking-down his barriers, she spoke of her. And now, Mithon was bidding them goodnight, and returning to his chambers, thanking Ivordir for proving to him that the glory of old Numenor had never truly died. Glossel ascended the stairs, reaching the balcony. |
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| Ivordir | Sep 13 2015, 04:47 PM Post #325 |
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Chapter CCXXXVII: Self-Pity's Death Glossel glared at Fingaereth, "Ah, I knew you would be her stalking again, my little love....... you wretched urchin!" Ivordir turned, "Leave her alone." Glossel laughed, "So you have finally found a suitor, have you!" Ivordir glared at her, "I said, enough." Fingaereth balked, "Do you think I am surprised? I always knew this was what you really are, Glossel. The mud-caked wretch who tried to kill me and my sister." Glossel maniacally smiled, "Shall we finish it then? If you truly knew, why did you come to me at all?" "Because I had hope for you. I still do.............but I tell you that your precious 'Queen Ber-u-thiel' was a disgusting traitor. She deserved what she got. What will you obtain this night? Go, run back to your manor and hide like you always do." As Glossel moved to strike her, Fingaereth nodded to Ivordir, who charged and overpowered Glossel, making her vanish inside his cloaks against his chest. The form beneath the cloaks screamed and struggled, and wept, shouting, "You frauds! You fakes! You foul, phony men, you oppressive pigs!!!" And as she fought and wept and warred within herself against herself, her imagination took her back to when she had fought Colhel, nearly to the death. But then, she realized, that the hands who held her were tender. They did not force themselves on her, save to protect her from herself. They did not attempt to violate her, neither her life, and nor her dignity. And this only made her burn and seethe and scream all the more. But then her head pressed into the soft, cold, smooth gold of his cloak even more deeply. She felt overwhelmed by pity, sorrow, and grief, overwhelm her. She wept bitterly and sobbed, and all Fingaereth could do as she looked on, was to sob and smile. Sobbing, Glossel fell restfully onto Ivordir, who had braced himself. She wanted to punch him, but she felt too tired. She saw her entire mental fabric rent asunder, in a matter of minutes. She felt lost and alone in the shadows of her un-knowing. She felt as if she was blind, completely, unable to articulate her overwhelming breadth of surging emotions that poured into each other and splashed as if the foam and surf of the surging river far beneath them. She felt unworthy, terrified of the thought of gazing upward toward his eyes. But he partially stepped back, lifting her chin. Glossel and his woman had fused into one, the woman of his dreams. And as he gazed down at her, having heard her story, he knew the significance of what had occurred against his chest. He felt sorry for the poor creature, but he knew the Lady would rise from her ashes. He also felt very ashamed at himself, for all the needless grief he had put himself through, and he wondered how many had died because of his poor-decision making because of his self-pity. He stared at her now, feeling her equal, that he had suffered from many of the same faults as she did. He, too, had exalted figures from legends and conversed with them within his mind. He, too, had spurned many people through his solitude. And he then saw himself as worse, remembering all who had died, because of his mistakes, because of his self-pity. There were all those partly sleepless nights he never told anyone about, not even Daerfalas. There were all those hidden moments, when he should have thought of the Company, but instead, thought only of himself. Blood had stained his hands. It horrified him. But he stared down at her, gazing into her watery eyes. He tried to smile, staring at her watery eyes. She kissed him, staring at his watery eyes. Fingaereth was weeping jovially, for her years of pain, stalking at her from across the street, were finally at an end. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 13 2015, 06:06 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 13 2015, 07:53 PM Post #326 |
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Chapter CCXXXVIII: Fragments Glossel wandered in a dream-like state back to her chambers. Her scattered memories flew throughout her shattered mind. She had tried to grasp, her longing for revenge for years, revenge against her pleasant neighbors, for outdoing the influence of her own House. Long had she ruminated in solitude. Her mother had tried to teach her. Glossel had feigned obedience. Neither mother nor father nor her brothers knew what to do. She had even pushed her brothers away from her, staying away from them, because they reminded her of the world that she had come to detest: the world of men that vastly surrounded her. Her discordant household was on the verge of collapse, and so, she isolated herself in her chambers, accepting food and drink from her servants, who, too, had come to fear her. She had remained in her self-imposed exile for the past several years, as she wove her webs, plotting against Colhel, while feigning Fingaereth's friendship. But now it was over, she had lost all of it in seconds, her once-vast walls of self-imposed misery, self-pity, and cruelty toward the world around her. She felt isolated and alone in the chill of night. She gathered her silks and velvet, pressing herself against them, and fell asleep for what remained of the night. |
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| Ivordir | Sep 13 2015, 08:15 PM Post #327 |
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Chapter CCXXXIX: Dawn of Sanity The sunlight flew through her open windows. She opened her eyes to see her parents and her brothers. And there stood Ivordir, clad in a velvet-blue robe. Fingaereth and Colhel were staring at her as well. Colhel was frowning in her self-evident distaste. Glossel gazed at Colhel in terror, so she re-set her eyes on Ivordir. Ivordir smiled, "Do not fear for your daughter, my Lord." Her lord-father grinned, "We had been hoping for something like this for years.......... but even I could not believe it when I first heard....." Her mother blinked, "Are you certain that you want to..." Her lord-father hushed his wife, "Please..... she is perfectly well now, from what I can see...." One of the brothers rolled his eyes, "She still looks crazed to me...." Glossel stood, "Why you..... how dare you....." Ivordir laughed, "She seems definitively well, now." "Well! If I have ever been wooed by such a........." Ivordir turned to the others, "We should have some time alone together....... it would appear....." The lord-father nodded in haste, "I agree. Whatever you are doing, it is having a positive effect on her, my lord. Please excuse us." Everyone filed out of the room, save Ivordir and Glossel. Fingaereth winked at him as she was the last one to slip out the door. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 14 2015, 09:07 AM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 14 2015, 09:32 AM Post #328 |
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Chapter CCXL: Tamed into Equality Glossel shrank back into the deeper folds of her bed. She peered at him perceptively, "You have destroyed me...." "Have I?" Ivordir paced solemnly, gazing out the window. "Why did you despise her, or any of them? Why did you allow this to rule your life?" "Because I am a proud Lady, equal to all you men." "No one has disputed this....." She sighed, "Society does.........all the rules of refinement...........while many more are forced to labor. Why should I respect you, or anyone like you?" Ivordir kept silent. She railed on, "I have lived for too long hearing about the ways of the proper 'Lady!'" Ivordir smirked, "Have you ever disguised yourself as a soldier?" She flipped her hair in a flourish, "No..............its too muddy and dirty out there." Ivordir's smirk widened. Glossel sighed, "And now we are betrothed, I suppose.........and you will dominate me for the rest of my life. Shall I grovel for you?" She was seething. "No.................." "No.................?" Ivordir shook his head, "I am not that kind of Lord........though kindness has little to do with it." "Oh? Do we have a secret?" "I have slept with the woman of my dreams for the past few months. Here is the catch: she does not exist." "Ah, so you are desperate then! To seek to wed the insane shrew of Tumladen!" "Is that why you have hidden yourself in the bile of hatred?" She was stricken silent. He had caught her and she knew it. "No one ever wished to wed me...... they always wanted pretty Colhel and her wiles! And she rejected them, she did! All because of that imp of a girl! But they still pursue her......" Ivordir laughed, "They are unworthy of you then. For one of my own company is now betrothed to Colhel." Glossel stared at him widely, "How ironic! So they will be left with no one!" "See? I have brought you your revenge on a platter, just with that. But tell me.... how satisfying is it?" "Very satisfying! I know that I am supposed to feel sorry for them, but I do not." "No one is ever truly perfect.........." "Oh..... so are you saying that I am not your dream-girl, who you have slept with! Ah, you are truly desperate then. Tell me, how often did she bend and quiver before you! How often did she bow before you! How often did you manipulate her!" The words cut like scythes, "............much too often. But I shall not dare to try to do that to you............for I have learned......" "Learned WHAT?" "That you desire to be a queen of beauty............." "Oh! And do you want me to be -your- Queen of Beauty?" "There is more to beauty than looks. And besides, Fingaereth did have a valid point about you........ but I have magic. A special kind of magic." She laughed hard, "Oh, are you going to try to bewitch me now, as you did last night?" He unveiled his cloaks from his pack. She felt her heart pounding. She sat on the edge of her bed and stood, and he clasped them on her, plunging her into shock. She felt freer than the birds, suddenly, as if she all the walls of her shell had suddenly collapsed. But this time, she did not feel vulnerable. She processed around the room slowly. Ivordir's heart pounded as he watched the fabric drape down her shoulders. She wildly smiled, "I..........I feel free! What powers are these!" Ivordir laughed, "I will tell you soon. For now, please....... we all forgive you." His words cut at her like daggers, small tears streaming down her cheeks, "I........" And then she heard him say: "Fly free!" She plunged into the surge of the ecstasy that now enveloped her, -joyfulness- seizing hold of her, as she danced and spun around the room, the seams of the cloak gliding like angelic wings. Her hair flew wildly, as if she was caught in the folds of a great and gushing wind, until she felt dizzy. She sat down in the chair where she had often sat with Fingaereth, fancying herself a queen. Ivordir crawled before her on the floor, kissing the cloak, as she gazed at him in wonder. She stood, gathering her streams of gold and ruby, pressing folds against her lips and kissing them, as he beheld her truer beauty. Then she spread her wings, as their hearts were deeply throbbing. They were soon wrapped together, kissing each other deeply, and then they were resting beside each other on the bed. They hid beneath the folds as they kissed, as she shed her past like a dark and painful shroud, as if she had tossed it in the river, watching it flow and glide its way down, till it vanished beneath fluid waters. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 14 2015, 09:32 AM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 14 2015, 08:32 PM Post #329 |
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Chapter CCXLI: Malnoron's Veil Malnoron fled from the light of day, vanishing into deep cellars beneath his manor, some of which were dampened by the rivers and canals of Pelargir. He had received a visitor the night before, not long before his war with Denethon heightened to the point of murder. The visitor was clad in black, hooded and cloaked, and his servants had ushered him into the city in complete secret. The harbormasters had long since went to bed, and several of the guards had been paid-off by Malnoron. The being was awaiting him. Before him, were several young and noble lords, with fair, pale, faces. And before them stood a beautiful statue of gold, draped in silks of many colors, a crown of blazing iron upon its head. Malnoron's wife, Manadhel, was there as well. She was clad in her darker dress and robes. She had grown strange throughout the years. She was even stranger than Lady Hith. The being declared, "This thus doth we thence serve, as unto the Southrons in great Umbar, where we thus taketh thence our rest. Now thence pay homage unto our God, Melkor, Lord of the Earth." The youths all bowed, Malnoron as well. The being spoke again, "What petitions and prayers shall ye make upon our Master!" Malnoron grimly smiled, "That my son, be made High-King, subordinate only to the Great Eye." The voice spoke again, "Thy petition art heard, and thus, granted it shalt be. A sacrifice art required." Malnoron clapped his hands. His guards, loyal to him and to his cause, brought one Preston before him. He had been exchanged, on Malnoron's request, on the basis of the claim that Preston should be punished under the province of Pelargir. Ballithor, not desiring to haul a prisoner to Dol Amroth and explain himself, had agreed, not knowing the truer purpose. They dragged Preston before the statue. Preston kicked and shouted. Malnoron grimly smiled, "Preston, you have betrayed the Silver Swan. Your companions have perished. It is time for you to join them. But first, you shall bow before Melkor the Great!" The young lords, by now, had dawned their Orcish masks. Preston shouted at the top of his lungs, "Gondor will stand! The likes of all of you, of Castamir the Traitor, of Ballithor the Fraud, Baralinor the murderer of my flesh and blood! The likes of Mordor, and the Enemy, with all his fiery storms! Not even the dread of Morgul will make me bow!" They proceeded to whip him to a pulp, to the point that his back bled unceasingly, skin vanishing in a sea of red. There was an altar of stone before the statue. Malnoron grabbed Preston, dragging him with his sheer strength, despite his elder age, and then Malnoron drew his knife. Amidst every lash, Preston did not cry. He did not flinch. And he did not scream. He fell silent. But the being had relished the entire fell ritual. He flew back his hood to reveal a youthful face, dark circles under his eyes, silky cropped-hair like a boy's. But his eyes were sinister, and his tongue was deep and swift. He did not speak as to where his Black Numenorean colony had been hiding throughout the centuries. Nor did he give voice to who his superiors were. But his line and Malnoron's line had stretched back in time to a point of meeting. Amarthon had a similar appearance, though his facial features, of bones and shape, differed, and though his eyes were fairer, and though his course had turned less foul. Malnoron stood defiantly, gloating over the corpse of Preston. Then they continued with the ritual. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 15 2015, 09:37 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 15 2015, 10:01 PM Post #330 |
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Chapter CCXLII: The Tides of Sael and Gurth His name was Gurthbainor, the Beautiful Death. He had seen the sailing ships of Umbar sailing past the harbor, accustomed to black sails. He had worn black silken robes and velvet, traveled hooded and cloaked, raised in the Eye's good service. He had watched many a man fall in pits of fighting. And he was still young, a prince of shadows. He often traveled bare-chested beneath his robes, in the manner of the Southrons. He had long-since mastered his sharp-tongue. Indoctrinated, he believed completely in the divine sovereignty of Melkor. He prayed to him every night before he went to sleep. He relished his performance, after appeasing his Masters, in rituals of worship. And he was adept, when spying in Gondor, in playing the Gondorian. He was long-since trusted by the House of the Golden Wing, and by Amarthon and his brothers, who did not know his true nature. And Gurthbainor oft used the name, "Saelbainor," in his pretensions of wisdom. He had nothing to do with the Doriathrim Elf of the same name, whom Melimwe had come to know. They had nothing in common. In Gondor, when he spied with his masters, he utilized the proper dialects, hiding his true nature. And when Amarthon returned from the East, and attended his tale, he, too, was curious of this being. It was his duty, as a devoted servant of the Dark Lord of Mordor, after all. And Amarthon's cloak both entranced and repulsed him, due to mysteries that even he, Gurthbainor, could not fathom. |
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| Ivordir | Sep 15 2015, 10:08 PM Post #331 |
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Chapter CCXLIII: Prince of Darkness When Gurthbainor tasted Guldrambor's bile, he had found that it empowered him. He came to believe that Guldrambor was a great servant of Sauron and Melkor. He even came to believe that Guldrambor's prophesies were correct. He informed his masters, who commanded him to continue to serve in that capacity, and to continue to further the power of the Golden Wing in Pelargir, a power that would later aid the Corsairs of Umbar in seizing the city, in a master-stroke that would leave Minas Tirith itself naught but surrounded. The Golden Wing was not the only noble House in this equation. There were many. Gurthbainor obeyed, and in time, came to reveal his true identity to Amarthon and his brothers. And they fed each others' nefariousness. The fanaticism of his devotion grew and grew. Only the cloak remained an enigma to him. All the while, Gurthbainor labored, converting more and more young noble men of Gondor to their side. Amarthon had even amassed his own Court in secret as a result of Gurthbainor's efforts. But Gurthbainor ever sneaked away from Pelargir, to report to his masters in Umbar. And ever, he returned, as one of Malnoron's staunchest allies, in his guise of Saelbainor, Lord of the House of the Shining Sea. Amarthon had even fallen into the worship of Morgoth. He had worshiped Sauron the Great. And he had worshiped Guldrambor. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 15 2015, 10:12 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 16 2015, 01:32 PM Post #332 |
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Chapter CCXLIV: A Terrible Truth Ivordir was walking away, leaving Glossel behind for the day. And the sun was setting on the 17th of February. And the wind was blowing through the emerald-green leaves. And the air was filled with the scent of pine. And the foam in the river was surging far below. And the moon was rising in the distance to their east. Ivordir was not wearing his cloaks, for Glossel was resting in them. The vast changes in her spirit had taken their toll, wearying her. Ivordir turned to see Amarthon standing beside him, his cloak draping, pouring into mounds of silk on the marble, white, slick, smooth stone of the balcony. Amarthon bowed, "My Captain...." Ivordir gazed intently at the darkened circles beneath his eyes. Amarthon suddenly knelt before him, clutching his knees as if a suppliant. He was weeping, wetting Ivordir's boots with soft and silent tears. Ivordir gazed at him in wonder, as Amarthon's voice trickled with his tears, "I confess........ my brothers and I are traitors........ we served the Shadow in the East... and....and....we worshiped....." Ivordir remembered the olden tales of the King's Men, how Sauron had deceived most of Numenor into Morgoth-worship and human sacrifices. "Did you?" Mithon had already set an arrow to his bow, as he peered out of the shadows astride the manse. The arrow fired, bouncing off the cloak and landing softly on the folds, as if a leaf flowing on the wind. "Very well." Mithon drew his sword and approached. Ivordir turned, "What are you doing, ranger?" Mithon spat on the cold marble, "He has confessed to capital treason. He must be sentenced to death." "Not without a trial." "A trial before our Steward is not necessary. The Haradrim from the South, they did need a trial when we pressed our foray. Many a brother of mine has perished to such traitors, often before my very eyes, even in my arms, I can still see their eyes..... their terrified faces.... blood gushing down their cheeks and through their leathers........ stand aside, Ivordir. Or your quest shall fail. Not even Lady Melimir can save him now." Ivordir bowed, "It is the law, Amarthon." Amarthon nodded, "Then Gondor shall fall. I submit to you." Mithon raised his sword, "Gondor shall stand forever, so long as we who our loyal, we who have given our blood.... defend it." Amarthon closed his eyes, "It shall fall, if my voice be silenced.........." Mithon shook his head, "What mean you?" Amarthon smiled, "I shall tell you so that you may know that I was not the traitor you thought I was, that I had recanted and repented of all my vile wickedness, and my brothers also...... yea, I shall tell you. There is a plot in Pelargir to overthrow the higher lords and claim the city for the Enemy. When Gondor losses her chief port, she will become completely vulnerable to the likes of Umbar." "Thorongil defeated Umbar a long while ago." "They have not been idle." "Tell us of this plot." And Amarthon told them everything concerning Gurthbainor, the sacrifices, the screams of the victims, the hidden statues, and of his father Malnoron's treachery. Mithon nodded, "So now you have told us. You have deepened your foul confessions. What remains?" "Go now, and take my head. Go now, and let Gurthbainor win. My feigned claims to kingship are the only things keeping him in-line. If I perish, then we can no longer use such things against him. Ideally, we would want to capture him, to learn even more of his secrets, and to prepare a movement in Pelargir against my father." "You have given us no reason to trust you, other than this sudden bout of honesty. I cannot do this because I desire to..... but because it is my duty to do so." By now, his brothers had emerged, with Colhel. Colhel ran to him, "What is happening?" "I am a traitor, my love. Mithon is going to execute me for my crimes." "Traitor?! How?" "I have already told you how." "...what madness possessed you to confess?" Mithon turned to her, "And what madness, pray, bade you hold your tongue, in the midst of such danger to Gondor! Have you no loyalty, Lady!" Colhel spat at him, "I am more loyal to my country than ever. And I believe it would be worse treason, to execute him." Mithon wiped her spit from his mouth, "Shall I execute you as well?" Auravon cried-out, "You would murder us!" Mithon shouted, "You shall be next!" All Ivordir did was stand there. Rirossel had emerged as well, crying, "Fine then, you great Judge! Execute the lot of us and be done with it! For I refuse to live in such a country, that would toss its women aside like chatte, and its nobler men like dogs, tossing them for-!" Mithon shouted, "This was not some petty theft, woman! This was Morgoth-worship, the foulest crimes of the King's Men! This was loyalty to the Great Eye! This was loyalty to all that hath crushed the women and children of Ithilien, when they lay dead there, and the husbands and fathers of wives and children who fell, un-mourned, un-buried, and un-burned, on the front of Osgiliath! All those brave souls, who perished to the poisoned knives of Orcs, chewed to the bit by their gnashing teeth! You! You dare to declare Justice to me! Now, remove that cloak, you are unworthy of it." Amarthon spoke calmly, "You remove it. It is your duty." Mithon moved to touch it, but dropped his hand, for part of him was afraid. All the commotion had aroused Glossel from her sleep. She had stepped softly across the balcony. It had also aroused Fingaereth and Malfinseron, who stood in horror. Glossel passed between Mithon and Amarthon, "I believe I have a solution for you fine Lords. If this is really just fate or destiny, then let fate declare his doom. Let him try to execute himself, for if he is so honorable, then he will do so, and let him try to die on his own accord. If some higher power does indeed have plans for us, as my love has so tried to soothe me with his beguiling words, then let us see it now! Or leave me be in my misery." Amarthon stood, "I submit. Stand farther off." Auravon and Arancir, Rirossel and Colhel, were aflame with weeping, their eyes red and sad. Amarthon did not gaze at them. He went to the balcony and spread his wings, his cloak pouring majestically behind him, as the winds gushed, and the light of the sunset made his silken wings, his cloak of beauty gleam, as he bowed his head, stepping high onto the ledge, and then, after he said his final prayers within his mind, he fell, the cloak streaming o'er the balcony. Mithon gazed at it all in mortal shock as he envisioned how the gold sank, vanishing beneath the foam amidst sharper rocks. Ivordir peered over the ledge to see a startling sight. Amarthon was still alive. His cloak had caught-on the railing of the balcony. Amarthon was neither choking nor gagging. Mithon gravely sighed, "I am going to regret this. Pull him up!" They all pulled and tugged on the cloak, till Amarthon returned safely on the balcony. Tears of sorrow had turned to -joy- as they all gazed at him in disbelief. Amarthon stared at Mithon, "I do not blame you." Mithon tried to smile, "It would seem that fate has a purpose for you, after all." Amarthon bowed, "Nor should you feel guilty, or dismayed. You passed the sentence. You obeyed your honor and duty." "Your survival has exonerated your brothers as well. But I do not know whether or not it had exonerated this Gurthbainor, with whom you committed terrible crimes." "He is known as Saelbainor in the streets of Pelargir. And we were friends. Only time will tell, Mithon. Even a child, trapped by the Enemy by the virtue of his birth, may yet have hope." Mithon smiled, "I know and understand. I have seen many a dead Haradrim, and wondered the same. But I have ever known that several of them have conducted themselves honorably. I would hope that the West would pity them.... one cannot fault a man for his birth. As Faramir before me, I love neither the sword nor the spear nor the bow, but only what they protect: the last living bastion of Numenor in all her grace and majesty." There was a rush of ravishing winds approaching from the Ered Nimrais. It blew and billowed Amarthon's cloak as it gleamed, sailing in its beauty, in the light of the setting sun, fiery red and molten gold, the cloak rising in five points, as if five mountains of a star, as the rest of the fabric churned like the roaring sea in all its waves. And Mithon cried. And as he wept, he felt warm arms circling around him, and Amarthon's head pressing against his shoulder. Mithon tried to compose himself, "I name you.... Amarthandor, my brother.........." And Amarthandor smiled wide, "Gondor shall not fall...... I promise you.......but I am no King." Mithon laughed and smiled, his cheeks still wet with tears, glistening in the fiery sunlight, "Even still....... I believe that our King shall return. Maybe even, one day soon." Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 11:28 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 16 2015, 10:12 PM Post #333 |
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Chapter CCXLV: Haunted Amarthandor remained haunted by his memories, of Amarthon, and of what had transpired in between his return from Rhun and his discovery in Pelargir. His memories dogged his steps as he returned thence to his chamber. Colhel was walking beside him, still grateful for his survival, and as were his brothers. But Amarthandor remembered. It was the year of his return from Rhun. Gurthbainor had already been told what had transpired. Amarthon and Auravon were sleeping near each other. Amarthon heard a whispering sound by his ear, "Your grace......... Awaken. Come, follow me........" Amarthon moaned in his sleep, but Saelbainor shook him, "I have something to show thee......" Amarthon and Auravon both awoke and yawned. They followed the swish of Saelbainor's dark cloak as it swerved and swirled throughout the staircase, as they plunged into the cellars. Several young nobles had gathered there. Saelbainor insidiously smiled, "This is all for you. Tomorrow night, we shall make our sacrifices to Melkor....... but for now. We shall honor and venerate thee, our future High-King!" Amarthon smiled, "I thank thee, my brethren." "But first," Saelbainor added, "Do you swear fealty unto Sauron the Great?" Amarthon nodded, "I swear it." Saelbainor felt moved to amend it, to be under pain of death, but he paused. He grinned, "Then come, for we shalt bow, and worship thee, Melkor's chosen. The Great Eye gazeth upon thee with favor." The others applauded. Then Saelbainor and Auravon grabbed the side-edges of Amarthon's cloak, spreading it aloft, as they processed throughout the chamber, gold with crimson lining streaming like waterfalls, glowing molten-bright in the light of the braziers, as if the fires of Orodruin poured down his back. The others grabbed onto his cloak as well as he processed. They spread it vast and wide. They shook it so that it vibrated beautifully, ravishingly, as they plunged into a communal ecstasy, their fanaticism rising. And pride bellowed in Amarthon's heart as he spun, as they plunged into the mad reverie of their dance. And the more Amarthon toyed with them, whipping and flapping and twirling and tossing folds of his cloak, the more they followed him, ever longing for him. Amarthon turned and climbed a small set of stairs, and turned again, gathering gleaming gold unto his face, kissing it, and then he spread his silken wings as they all fell to their knees before him. He seated himself on a tall, black throne, that was perched atop the stairs. Noble youth all positioned his cloak so that it glowed most excessively, pouring in its beauty, so they could kneel before it and kiss it, swooning. And Saelbainor and Auravon stood beside him. He stood and spread his cloak again, as they all swooned as they stared, and then he descended the stairs, to begin their reverie anew. He stood triumphantly as they all buried their faces in his cloak. But on the following night, it all turned bloody. He drank more of the bile. He watched as several of his lord-father's enemies were brutally murdered. A shiver came up the cloak that chilled him to the bone. But his mind became even more crazed and deranged. Amarthandor remembered how they had plotted. Saelbainor had proclaimed, "Now, thou shalt worketh to destroyeth Dol Amroth. Our Masters expect results." Amarthon had bowed, "Yes, my friend. We shall do so." They embraced and kissed, and Saelbainor proclaimed, "I shalt miss thee. Go forth with all the blessings of Melkor and Sauron." "And Amanuiron," Amarthon added, to which Saelbainor mischievously smirked. And they took the ship to Dol Amroth. And Amarthon spoke in secret, "Soon, my brothers, we shalt slay Lord Ballithor and be rid of him. Soon, we shalt eradicate many more Houses in Dol Amroth." But Ballithor pressed them into service. And Amarthon plotted, "These men. These traitors to our Gods! We shalt take them." "How?" Auravon wondered, as they spoke out of ear-shot, whispering in their row-boat to Edhellond. "We shalt see," Amarthon replied. And when they reached Tadrent, Amarthon proclaimed in their separate room, "I have spoken with Lord Badhron. They shalt give our 'Captain' some measure of difficulty. I miss my cloak......" He peered into his sack and smothered his face with it. And when they reached Tarlang, they kept silent. And when they reached Calembel, Amarthon had begun plotting again, but their hasty departure was unexpected. In Ethring, they conversed, "....this is untenable. Saelbainor shall not be pleased....nor for that matter shall the Lords of Umbar." A drunk had wandered out of the tavern and overheard them. Amarthon tossed a dagger through his chest, and then dumped his body in the river. When they reached Linhir, they began plotting anew. Amarthon smirked at Auravon, "I shalt poison him with our bile, and lure him to our cause. We shalt ensnare them when we reach Pelargir. We shalt require Saelbainor's aid. Malgelir is a curious one, so I am feigning loyalty to his cause. He, too, intends to betray our so-called glorious 'Captain.'" And when they reached Ost Anglebed, they plotted on how Malnoron would capture them. And when they reached Pelargir, right before they intended to enlist their lord-father in their plot, they were approached by Arhbaineth and Sainion. Their world had been turned upside-down. It still haunted Amarthandor as he returned to his chamber. And, that night, when Feb. 17th turned to the 18th in Tumladen, Amarthandor dreamed a terrible dream, concerning himself and Saelbainor. He knew that Saelbainor was truly Gurthbainor. He always knew it. In his dream, they had dueled to the death... and both of them had died. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 16 2015, 10:15 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 16 2015, 10:57 PM Post #334 |
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Chapter CCXLVI: A Darker Gathering At dawn on the 18th, in Pelargir, Gurthbainor drank more of the bile. He felt transfigured. He had filled the role of Amarthon in his absence. Gurthbainor quite enjoyed it. He took to wearing ever more flamboyant and precious, billowing cloaks, several of which were woven in Umbar itself. Ever he alternated, for he did not desire to attract attention. A constant stream of vanishing citizens for sacrifices would have attracted interrogations. The youth obeyed his tasks to the letter. They were: Morchon, Limben, Caldor, Daechir, Dúon, Dochon, Gwathron, Himelon, Tinnedir, Silevren, and Ninniachon. They ranged from eighteen to twenty-three years in age. Beautiful were their raiment. They robed themselves in black and silver. Haunted were their dreams. Morchon was a merchant's son. The merchant had traded with the Umbarrim in his youth. When the Dark Lord returned to Mordor, trading ceased, his business suffered. They were forced to labor for other merchants who traded throughout Gondor, who were not reliant on the Southron trades. But Malnoron came to their aid, for Malnoron remained invested, in grave secrecy. And so it was that Gurthbainor lured Morchon unto Amarthon's cause. Limben was a cabin-boy on one of Malnoron's vessels. He loved the open sea and the sight of stars at night. And he, too, was lured by Gurthbainor. Caldor was a colder man, older than the others, yet young and in his prime. He had loved a Lady of a wealthy House. The Lady was betrothed to another. But Caldor continued to see her. Her suitor discovered the truth. Caldor was beaten to a pulp. But this suitor was of a House that Malnoron opposed. When Caldor told him, vengeance was taken upon that House. And Caldor claimed his Lady. And so it was that he was lured by Gurthbainor. Daechon was an enigma, to many in the city. He fancied himself a magician, entertaining at noble balls. But Gurthbainor promised him true power, and so it was that he was lured. Dúon was a soldier's son. His father perished on the Harondor front. He was forced to starve in the streets, and nearly perished. But Amarthon found him, and he became one of his personal servants. Eventually, he impressed Malnoron with his intelligence, to the extent that he fabricated a noble House and lineage for him, so long as he would serve in Malnoron's interests. And so it was that Gurthbainor claimed him. Dochon was heir to a Household that stretched back to the Ship-Kings. He admired and honored Castamir of old, in secret. And so it was that Gurthbainor took him beneath his wing. Gwathron was one of Amarthon's cousins. They were close as children. And so it was that Gurthbainor ensnared him. Himelon was beloved to one of the higher Ladys of the City. He was forbidden to wed her on account of his lower lineage. And so it was that Gurthbainor claimed him. Tinnedir was an envoy's son. He had seen much corruption throughout the realm of Gondor. Deprived of any hope for Gondor's restoration or glory, Gurthbainor seduced him with promises of greater power. Silevren was a noble scholar's son, who read texts concerning Numenor's glory. He exalted Ar-Pharazon's reign, before Sauron had deceived him. He, too, became weary of corruption in Gondor. And so it was that Gurthbainor deceived him. Ninniachon was the child of a noble and trader of silks. He was a Dwarf in height, but he had fine features. He often used his looks to compensate for his short stature. His father had wanted to toss him in the river, but saw how beautiful his son was, and then he decided what a novelty he might be for selling his wares. In time, the House grew as prosperous as a noble family, his father received a title from the higher lords, and they became close allies with Malnoron as traders, and in their dealings in the South. Ninniachon was the most flamboyant of them all. Yet for all his fawning and attempts at beautifying himself, no Lady would take him as her husband. He even tried giving himself a nickname, but he was not well-versed in elven tongues, when he began calling himself "Isenadin." Gurthbainor promised him everlasting beauty, and glory for his House, and an everlasting lineage of Heirs, and so, he, too, was trapped. All of them had suffered from injustices of varying sorts. All of them each longed for grievances redressed. And all of them fell prey to the false promises of Mordor. They sparkled in their raiment, traitors and sons of traitors, and precious were their dreams of power, that made their hearts soar in their believed fulfillment. And when Amarthon came, he came into their lives, the living, breathing incarnation, of all their deepest dreams. The cloak became their mirror. And in that mirror, each saw his precious prize: love, retribution, justice, fortune, beauty, power, and glory. And while Gurthbainor hid himself within his body, Saelbainor's false persona wet their cheeks and dampened their tongues, with fairest words so as to beguile all of them, to appease their fearful hearts. Few could have rivaled Saelbainor's word-craft, save several scattered across the world, and one Saruman the Wise. Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:02 AM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 18 2015, 11:15 PM Post #335 |
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Chapter CCXLVII: Deeper Shadows Then they sat in counsel in the shadows. "I only want my fortune," Morchon scowled. "When does our prize await us?" "Prizes are naught compared to power," Daechon mocked. "As long as our enemies are crushed," Caldor coldly retorted. Gwathron laughed, "We shall replace the High Council of the White City, when our Lord becomes King." "And where is he? Why has he fled from us? Why did he not return among us?" Himelon scowled. Dochon glared, "He has the right to his business." "What -business- could dare divert him from us?" Tinnedir spoke cynically. Silevren laughed, "This bickering is nonsense. He is as glorious as..." "Ar-Pharazon, we know," Ninniachon laughed. Limben merely rolled his eyes in silence, longing for the open-sea again. Dúon motioned to speak, but kept silent. Saelbainor sighed, "Enough! Thou shalt comprehend all in time..... Summons I hath received from the South. The East is preparing............. I shalt send thee where thou thus belong." He bade the chamber all meditate before Melkor's statue, with their eyes closed. He bade them to remain standing. Saelbainor walked around the room individually, his vast cloak billowing behind him. First, he wrapped himself and Morchon together, so that their lips touched beneath the folds. Morchon felt his heart pounding strangely. He heard the voice: "Receive the kiss of gold, for great wealth shall come unto thy House. Thou shalt taketh the treasures that I giveth thee, unto the White City, and hideth within the precious vaults beneath. Await the sound of wings." And Morchon whispered, "I'll obey." Then Daechon felt the silks enclose around him, with the warm clasp of wet lips: "Receive the kiss of magic. Great powers shalt come unto thee. Demonstrate them, thou shalt, before thine noble lords, in the heights of Guard." And Daechon whispered, "I'll obey." Caldor felt the onslaught of warmth upon his cold lips beneath the silks. He heard the voice: "Receive the kiss of love. Thine maiden shalt await thee in the White City. There, thou shalt dance, to all their envy." And Caldor replied warmly, "Yes, my master." Gwathron felt next the cold smoothness of silk and warmth of lips. The voice spoke gently, "Receive the kiss of blood. For thine blood art with our King thus unified. Find him, thou shalt, in the White City. Thou shalt ensureth his survival." And Gwathron nodded, "With my life, my master." And then Himelon plunged into a shadowy cloaked abyss, caressing its kiss. And the voice spoke: "Receive the kiss of triumph. For thine Lady shalt be thine. To Minas Tirith, thou shalt take her. And thou shalt dance to our design." And Himelon grimly smiled, "Yes, it shall be." Dochon felt the swish and then warm dampness. The voice declared: "Receive the kiss of glory. For Castamir's glory shalt be restored, he, thine King. In our King, shalt his glory dwelleth. Thou shalt strike down false Kings, in the Citadel of Minas Tirith." Dochon nodded, "It shall be so." Limben buried his head in the silk, within those lips. The voice spoke: "Receive the kiss of water. For the waters of the sea shalt be thine to roam. But first, unto the White City, thou shalt go. Their cisterns shalt not survive." And Limben affirmed his obedience. And then Dúon bowed his head into the folds and tender warmth. The voice spoke: "Receive the kiss of battle. For the treacherous soldiers shall not long stand. Unto the Barracks of the Company, thou shalt go, atop the seventh level." And Dúon bowed in obedience. Then Silevren, overhearing attentively, looked forward to it. He swooned as he felt the silks caress him, as the kiss controlled him. The voice declared: "Receive the kiss of knowledge. For great knowledge shalt be thine. The false histories, thou shalt burn, rewriting truth, destroying old lies." Silevren smiled, "Justice shalt finally be ours." Ninniachon was the last one. He felt the presence kneel before him, the silks sweeping around him. His body fell limp, into shock, as the silks caressed him. He could feel his own heart-beat pulse through warm lips. He swooned as the voice spoke: "Receive the kiss of beauty. For great beauty and majesty shalt be thine, for as a shining Star thou shalt be, unto our King, in pleasure. Unto the White City, thou shalt go, where thou shalt render the people unto thy beauty, unto the beauty of our King. Prepare them, thou shalt. Words, thou needst not speak." Ninniachon felt his heart pulsing as he nodded. His life felt fulfilled, pushing in the direction of his ultimate purpose. They opened their eyes, to see Gurthbainor spread his Saelbainor wings of silk, as he prepared the ritual. They all dawned their orcish masks. The guards dragged Himelon's beloved's latest suitor, a noble son like themselves, all the way to the darkened altar. No one spoke, aside from Gurthbainor uttering his ritual words. Himelon gazed in fanatic, deranged longing. And Gurthbainor drew his knife. Silence followed. Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:03 AM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 19 2015, 10:18 PM Post #336 |
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Chapter CCXLVIII: Horror The blood bled into the red-stained marble floor. The floor was stained. The altar was washed with it. But they were too enraptured...... but Ninniachon felt a sense of horror..... they all did.... even Gurthbainor himself found something amiss with the sight of blood....... but no one spoke a word. Gurthbainor led them into another chamber, while the guards cleaned-up the mess. Gurthbainor had taken-off his cloak before the stabbing. They were very meticulous, for a blood-stained cloak would arouse suspicion. Gurthbainor led them into the room with the throne, and quickly began the dance, whirling them into a frenzy. Pride swelled deeply in their hearts and spirits. They felt that nothing could conquer them. They danced the horror from their minds. And Ninniachon began to dance, revealing his purple and red silken cloak, shedding his black and silver. He spun blood-red and deep-royal in the light of the braziers. The others gazed at him, mesmerized. And then he shed that cloak, undying his knots, as gold billowed forth, streaming. Gurthbainor nodded as Ninniachon ran up to the throne and turned, hiding his face in the gold. He processed triumphantly down the stairs, waving his arms flamboyantly as the others swooned. The others prostrated themselves on the floor, so that his cloak danced and swirled and fell across their faces. Their frenzy was growing, as they gazed at him enraptured. They had all completely forgotten than an innocent man had died, brutally slaughtered on the altar. And as Ninniachon danced, they thought of the glory of Annatar in the Grand Citadel of Numenor, before the Throne of the High-King, and how he had mesmerized them with his beauty. "Receive the kiss of beauty," Ninniachon heard the words dance and spin and twirl in his head. And they all kissed his cloak. It was apparent that Ninniachon was standing-in for Amarthon, filling the void. Each one of them had already received their day of glory in his absence. Gurthbainor had ever stressed that it was important to maintain their playful games of love and reverence, so as to maintain the fury of their passion, their power, their ecstasy. Then they all began to shake Ninniachon's cloak, as they crawled behind him on their knees, as he ascended the stairs. He turned and smiled at waves of golden beauty, rising and falling like the tides of the sea, the waves growing taller and wider. He felt he could dive far and deep beneath those waves. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 19 2015, 10:55 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 20 2015, 06:39 AM Post #337 |
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Chapter CCXLIX: Ecstasy Ninniachon could see it in their eyes. He descended the stairs to about on-height with their faces, and one by one, they approached as he embraced each one, as he continuously chanted "Receive the kiss of beauty," as each received it on their lips. It was an inversion and reversion of all that was holy, for the fount of blood that bubbled from its heart, the cruel and merciless deaths of all they deemed were their foes and -worthy- of sacrifice. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Amarthon felt sick as he returned to his room in the manse in Tumladen. He had been spared, but the spirits of the past continued to haunt him, as shining eyes of sapphire, gold, and diamond, all a shade of grey, rose in his mind. He gazed into the interior of his cloak and thought he saw the blood of all his victims dripping from its folds. He wondered why he had survived his fall. "Live for them," he heard that soft, silky voice. Amarthon had been pacing in the darkened hallway in the moonlight. Coleth was now sleeping in her chamber. "Sainion?" "My wife is asleep, my friend." Sainion wiggled his shoulders in his vast cloak. "She told me everything that she had discovered......." "I should have died today, my friend......." Sainion strode up to him, his cloak billowing behind him, "Calm down, my friend.... I believe you have been spared for some higher purpose....." Amarthon shook his head, "After all those innocent lives................. they are haunting me, Sainion." "Oh I know, I know indeed...................... Oh my this is strange....... I do not know why I am feeling this sudden urge, but I suspect......" "An urge to do what?" Sainion suddenly wrapped Amarthon in his cloak, burying their heads beneath the folds. And then Amarthon felt Sainion's lips, as Sainion kissed him chastely, as Sainion spoke: "The following words have passed through my mind. Receive the kiss of compassion. Brighter that the stars, richer than gold." Then Sainion partly withdrew, as Amarthon gazed at him in shock. Amarthon gazed, blankly, "I............. there truly is a higher power................................" "As I said to Baralinor, you must live for those who have died, as every breath you take shall redeem you." They warmly embraced each other. Amarthon smiled, "Thank you, my brother........." Sainion smirked, "I do believe our wives, or future-wife, whatever the case may be.... are awaiting us." And so it was that they returned to their rooms. So ended February 18th. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 11:30 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 20 2015, 07:37 PM Post #338 |
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Chapter CCXLX: Demons of the Past As Amarthandor dreamed, he saw the East grow darkened, save for a solitary flicker. He heard strange voices, Doom and destiny, vainly inflicted, Influence shadowed, cloaked and veiled... Through Orb and shade and, stain-ed blade... He saw a precious jewel, mounted on precious stones, circling an Orb. He beheld for but flash of an instant, a court filled to the brim of the Eldar of myth and legend, one sitting on his throne, wearing a cloak not unlike his own, in streaming molten gold, with golden hair, crowned with a circlet and bound with a harp at his side. He heard the sounds of maidens screaming and blades clashing, and he beheld an Elf standing tall and proud, with flowing copper-hair, and a sword with the engraving "Macil" writ upon its hilt. He heard Oroduin erupt and a Terror approach, then all went dark. There stood Yucalwe, as he did on the cliffs of Tolfalas, his cloak, flowing in the breeze. And then, this, too, vanished. He found himself in the shadows. There he beheld innocent-blood spilt upon the altar. There stood his comrades of old, their faces veiled in shadow. And as he fled from the chamber, he found himself smelling a sea he had smelt before, as Amanuiron stood before him in all his beauty. But the voice was not that of Amanuiron when it spoke: Behold the Fallen.......and behold his only hope. He saw himself asleep, in the bed nearby. And he saw the expression on Amanuiron's face, one of sadness and pity, and then Amarthandor understood. And then he girded himself, for he could guess what was going to happen next. Amanuiron outspread his silken cloak of beauty, like vast wings, the same source of the cult of the cloaks that Amarthandor now understood afflicted both Eldar and man alike, the vast, deep, shadow of his influence upon them all, beginning with his rejection in the West so long ago. And yet he understood what had been done with those cloaks as one of their chief hopes. The Cloaks of the West were at war with the Cloaks of the East, Elven beauty against Melkor's discord. He watched as Amanuiron's gleaming cloak and robes became enveloped with light, and then they turned to shadow, as the shadows draped his true form, fell and terrible, as Amarthandor awoke from his sleep in terror. He gazed at Colhel's sweet, sleeping face, and lightly kissed her cheek, without arousing her. And he began to reflect as he calmed himself. He recalled Saelbainor's slippery attempts to faun over him. It had been a bright, sunny morning, when light streamed through the windows of Malnoron's House, and Saelbainor beckoned to Amarthon to follow him down into the cellars. As they wandered through the labyrinthine passages, they came to a deeper one, the chamber where Saelbainor would sleep. They would chastely lie side by side, the cloak wrapping them both together, as Saelbainor stroked his hair and fawned over him. Now he realized that they were all lies, that Gurthbainor was wrong. The names even confused him. Saelbainor was the lie, he often had to remind himself. Gurthbainor was the truth beneath the lie. Amarthandor never told Sainion, but he had plunged into shock upon receiving that kiss, for Gurthbainor had once kissed him, on the lips, beneath his cloak, proclaiming: "Receive the kiss of Power. For thy power and glory shalt be great." Power was now abolished by compassion, cut-down, by the Hand of a Higher Power that Amarthandor reasoned that he would never hope, nor should attempt, to comprehend. He felt relieved to know that something was combating Guldrambor's evil within him. He feared that evil. He curled-up beneath his cloak all the more tightly, in terror of that evil, as he lay there beside Colhel, reflecting on that fateful day when Malnoron announced his departure, shortly after Amarthon had rested himself alongside Gurthbainor. It was over now, but Amarthon feared Gurthbainor and what he might yet do. For he knew that Malnoron's attack on Glaniath was now no accident, and that Gurthbainor was likely behind it all. Did Gurthbainor know that Amarthon had changed, that Amarthon had wandered the streets of Pelargir, without returning to see his father? Had he been seen, on the road to the House of the Silver Fist? These questions pestered Amarthandor, who was no longer Amarthon, who had come to believe that he had changed. He had been spared from death. Amarthon, Amarthandor, Saelbainor, Gurthbainor, Amanuiron, Guldrambor.... three in six, it tortured Amarthandor's mind, he felt he was losing himself, divided between two names, he wondered if Mithon was right, that he truly was a traitor and deserved to die...... Colhel stirred beside him, speaking tiredly, "What ails you, love?" Amarthandor began to weep, but Colhel swiftly embraced him, holding him gently against her side, "Calm down.... anyone would have had nightmares after today........ I...I am grateful you are alive...." Amarthandor nodded, "As am I, love.............but I have done terr-" Colhel slapped him across the face, "Now you listen to me, love, and I am sorry that I had had to do this, but...... please understand. You are talking nonsense." "You didn't have to hit me over it..." "No, but you have been..... amiss. Where are your senses? You were miraculously spared to death, and now you are feeling suicidal AGAIN! I know that look in your eyes. I may have only known you for several days, but I know it. I have watched you carefully, love........ now, let me kiss that cheek....." She deeply kissed the cheek that she had slapped. Amarthandor quickly forgave her. Amarthandor nodded, ".......love......... you are right...... but it is hard.... and I did have dreams.... terrible ones...." Colhel sighed, "I know..... now tell me, these.... rituals, never mind who had died.... never mind any of that. It is over now......... many a soldier of Gondor has killed a foe...." "But never like....." "Enough, love....." "As you wish....." "Listen to me, love, for you are as stubborn as my sister. Now, it is clear to me that you have made some grave and terrible mistakes, but that you may yet redeem these........... and if all of us were held accountable, who could survive? Even our Steward, for sending our valiant Captain away on a farce, I wonder how many men have perished on the front as a result..... but must we blame the Steward? Nay, we must blame the Enemy for such crimes." "But, I performed such crimes, on behalf of the Enemy." "Yet far more, you may yet prevent, love. That is my point." She kissed him. "My dear....... the men who performed the deeds alongside me were..... deranged....." She kissed him even harder, ever more deeply, as he returned the kisses. She smirked, "Deranged.... let me tell you something. Tell me, did you actually ever once lay a hand on one of those victims?" "Nay." "Then you are innocent!" "No. I stood there silently, said nothing, and then got paraded around by those bloody...." "Think of it. Who must have really been responsible for this, personally? Your complicity is long since forgiven, and we are all complicit in everything, I have decided, for if Isildur of legend had never failed to vanquish our Enemy, we would not have had to fight today, and so on and so forth, love........." "You may be right.... as far as personal responsibility is concerned, it was Gurthbainor who performed the deed...." "Why did you keep this silent to the higher lords of Pelargir?" "There was no time. I had given no thought to them, I was being redeemed, if you recall, from whatever Arhbaineth or Rirossel must have told you...." "Ah, yes. Well, there is little help for it now, love. Do you fear that they will assail us here?" "I fear that they will await us, with my corrupt lord-father, at a major crossroads in eastern Lossarnarch, expecting us to make for that point." "Then we shall face it together, love." She kissed him again, and this time, long and hard, as their hearts throbbed away from all fears and terrors. And then they fell asleep. It was still the early hours of the morning, before the sunrise, on the 18th. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 22 2015, 10:45 PM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 20 2015, 08:46 PM Post #339 |
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Chapter CCXLXI: The Magician's Power While Malnoron continued gathering his allies, and distracting the noble families of the acolytes, a new gathering occurred in the cellars of his House. No sacrifices were to be made that day, on February 19th. Saelbainor concentrated all his efforts on his brethren. He began with Daechon, explaining to him that appearance alone was a type of power, as they had witnessed with Amarthon and Ninniachon Isenadin. Ninniachon preferred the later name, for when bullies in his earlier youth would mock him, they'd call him 'Little Ninni.' It was time for a demonstration. The others were instructed to observe from their seats, as they stared at the center of the room. Saelbainor processed triumphantly into the chamber, with Isenadin and Daechon at his sides. It was the longest, widest cloak they had ever seen, of black and gold, and it was longer even than that of Amarthon. The twain upheld folds of the cloak as they processed, as the others gazed at them, mesmerized. For unbeknownst to the others, on the night before, the twain alone were called to follow Saelbainor to his resting chamber. There they had beheld the cloak in all its splendor. And Gurthbainor, truly as he schemed, shed his false identity of Saelbainor. He bade them drink of the bile, which they drank deeply, as it plunged them into a dream-like state. Then as they were resting beside him on the bed, prostrated within the cloak, all three of them wrapped together, Gurthbainor bade Daechon to give Isenadin the kiss of magic, and Isenadin, in turn, gave Daechir the kiss of beauty. After they had kissed, they slowly drifted off into the realm of dreams, hiding and resting deeply in the smooth texture of the cloak in which they hid. And they had beheld a vision of Amanuiron in all his splendor. And when they awoke, they rested their heads on Gurthbainor's chest, as he fed them tales of awe and greatness. And now they stood, upholding Gurthbainor's wings. The twain grasped the tail-ends of the cloak. and made it vibrate as it vibrantly and vigorously seized control of their hearts, minds, and spirits, ensnaring them as fast as a spider in her gigantic web. The gold glowed, gleaming in the light of the braziers. Then Gurthbainor processed up the throne, and as he turned, they took their places at his side, only to vanish beneath the folds, as he gathered them closely to himself. His folds then appeared to grow wider and wider, as they returned to the center of the room. Then Gurthbainor bade them drink from the cups beside their seats. And once they were done, the dance began. And as he twirled and spun, while the twain ran around him, fanning-out the excessive folds, the cloak appeared to sparkle and glitter brighter and brighter, as if the stars themselves had fallen to rest on its already-refulgent surface. The others all applauded, as the ecstasy grew. He spun and twirled as fast as he could, the cloak billowing wider and taller. It seemed to glow before their eyes. Suddenly, the spinning ceased, the glow and glittering faded, and it was now Daechon who wore the cloak. Gurthbainor and Ninniachon had vanished. Daechon spread his arms, no one was there. He began to spin, as the folds stretched-out ever longer, flowing, and rising. When the spinning ceased, Gurthbainor had returned. And then the cloak seemed to shimmer in many colors, iridescently, dazzling their eyes. Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:05 AM.
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| Ivordir | Sep 22 2015, 10:44 PM Post #340 |
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Chapter CCXLXII: Sons of the South There was a knock on Amarthandor's door. Colhel had gone to breakfast with her sister. Amarthandor had confessed that he was still not feeling well. He had remained in his room, huddle in his cape, hiding from himself. "Enter." Abrazan surprisingly entered the room. Amarthandor blinked. "I have long watched you," Abrazan spoke. "May I come in?" Amarthandor nodded. Abrazan smirked, "I have heard much about you. I heard that you were the traitor who poisoned my father. I kept myself aloof and quiet, and I admit that I was wrathful. I also must quite admit that I thought of killing you, but that I needed to remind myself of my own words to Baralinor, and to Aegon, so as to not be a hypocrite. I must say that I am impressed. I no longer seek your life. For I can see what has become of you. You are transforming into someone far better. I believe that my father, Yucalwe, would forgive you. And so do I forgive you. May I sit down?" Amarthandor nodded. Abrazan sat down beside him on the bed. Abrazan's black and red cloak streamed behind him. Abrazan smiled, "I can speak perfect Westron. I have often practiced, daily. Do you know why?" "Because you are Haradrim?" "Westron is at times more easy for me. But I love my native tongue..... my father took me south several times, for months. We spent half of our lives down there, searching for our foe.....I tend to natively speak, when confessing deeply from my heart.... voluntarily, of course...I confess that I had erred in Linhir. I confessed too deeply to Baralinor, my true... feelings....... of brotherhood toward him, and accidentally slid from perfect Westron into half-perfect Sarajim...... and the guards heard it. Ivordir hid me, of course, and I was spared......." Amarthandor heaved a quick laugh, "Yes, I believe you. And you were looking south when you should have been looking east. How did you disguise a mythic Elf of legend in Harad and Umbar, let alone Gondor?" Abrazan grinned, "He kept his thick, black hood so that it veiled his eyes, and he bound his eyes on purpose, so that he would not see. I led him around blind, claiming that he was, which was truthful, as he temporarily was blind, and if there was a conflict in a street or in the wilderness, he would reveal himself. No one ever escaped his gaze. No one in Gondor ever knew of us, aside from the Silver Swan. I became more well-known in the city, but we kept it on the basis that I was a guest of the Silver Swan." "Quite clever.........you are a refined person......... tell me, are all the Southrons akin to...." "To whom?" "Did you not hear?" "I attended a tale or two. Are all Southrons Morgoth-Worshipers? Nay....... for I can tell you that they are in the minority. Many have been deluded by the lies of the Enemy, and some even dare worship him as a god. But not all of them. Many more still worship their ancestors, or their own gods, many of whom are rooted in what I now know are the Great Ones of the West, created by the One Who made all things through Song......... and some of our beliefs are much closer to the realities that the Eldar have come to know..... It seems that your former friends have gravely defamed our people, serving the stereotypes that I most loathe, because they are most untrue.....I remember once when my father and I found an elderly sage in a Temple in the jungles to the south of Saraj. He worshipped a god, but Yucalwe understood this god to be Irmo, one of the Valar. Then we learned that the Sage regarded the universe as having only been made by the One, and that Irmo, known as Hariki in our tongue, was among his chief servants...... a guide to our people, through our dreams...................oh how the stars gleamed brightly as we slept on the highest steps of that Temple............while the oliphaunts grazed in the distance meads......." Amarthandor kept silent. He merely kept fingering his cloak, "Many have perished before me.... and the likes of Gurthbainor, who styles himself as Saelbainor of Pelargir, and who has deceived many noble sons.......... Gurthbainor was raised and bred by a fell people in Umbar......" "We call them the Masters," Abrazan replied coldly. "They are servants of the Enemy, yes? Robed in black, their mouths veiled, their eyes covered, their countenance fell and terrible... I know of them. I have loathed them my entire life.......... but fear not. I will not force you to plunge into dark memories...... you must recover, before you may yet face them....." "You are very wise." "You are wise yourself." "Then..... please, do not leave me...... let us exchange cloaks, for now, that I may feel your father...... and that you may probe this cloak that Guldrambor once gave to me, a cloak that appears to have been reclaimed, cleansed, and purified of all evil....... by he whom your revered Sage has served........" Abrazan smiled, as Amarthandor clasped his cloak around his shoulders, while Abrazan tucked Amarthandor gently in the cloak that Yucalwe had granted to his son. Amarthandor closed his eyes. Abrazan rested on an adjacent bed. Amarthandor pressed his nose against the sweet-scented fabric, feeling the protectiveness of the Eldar as he began to sleep, "I can feel him............." Abrazan smiled. He pressed his nose against the gold, and then within, inside the crimson. He felt an ecstasy seize hold of him, but it was not the same ecstasy as that of Gurthbainor. It felt peaceful, gentle, and throbbing, but not murderous, or vicious, or treacherous. And as he rested, he uttered: "I feel the same feelings that I felt atop that Temple....... I feel the same power here.... it amazes me....... I feel pain, this blessed cloak has witnessed something terrible....... it did not consent to it.......... I believe that our Enemy has been deceived by himself....... if what I have heard is true........." Amarthandor smiled and yawned, "I am greatly relieved............and would be honored to call you 'brother'........" Abrazan laughed, "Yes, my brother........ fear not. The ruthless King who sacrificed innocent lives.......... is dead in you. Now let thy true self be born..............................." Amarthandor plunged into an ecstasy of weeping. And then, slowly, he gently fell into the arms of sleep. The sun had already arisen above the horizon. Edited by Ivordir, Sep 22 2015, 10:56 PM.
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12:43 AM Jul 11