7 Fourth Age: Eye of the Wind [MP]

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7 Fourth Age: Eye of the Wind [MP]; [ Invite ]
Topic Started: 27 Jan 2009, 05:27 PM (389 Views)
Deleted User	27 Jan 2009, 05:27 PM Post #1
Deleted User	Erchirion had departed from Edoras seven days ago, and Minas Tirith four days after that. Standing now on the rebuilt docks of Osgiliath, the Prince of Dol Amroth could scarcely believe how much had been accomplished in three days time. His ship, Lanthir, had been refitted and provisioned, his men recalled from their shore leave, and a mission planned to retrieve massive quantities of uraes. “Bellion,” Erchirion said to his friend and first officer. “Send the volunteers to the quarterdeck. And prepare to weigh anchor.” Bellion’s booming voice echoed the Captain Prince. The commands followed in quick succession. Prepare to weigh anchor! … Man the capstone! … Heave! But Erchirion barely heard them. The crew was loyal, and Bellion was capable. Instead, he looked up to the sky. His heart filled with pride as he saw the banner of Dol Amroth flapping above the topsails. “Welcome aboard,” Erchirion said, as the volunteers gathered around. “Lanthir is the flagship of the fleet—100 crew, with twenty ballistae and catapults. There’s not a ship of Umbar or Harad that can catch her with a wind at her sails.” The Prince cleared his throat and motioned to the map held down by paperweights on four corners. The lands of southern Gondor, Umbar, and Harad were carefully detailed. Erchirion began by placing his finger on Osgiliath and Anduin, tracing it down to the Bay of Belfalas, around Harondor, and to the mouth of Harnen. “This is our route. It is both swifter and safer than traveling by road, for surely after nine months of this disease, the Haradrim expect us to come to them for uraes. Here, at the mouth of the River Harnen, there is a Southron city of sizable numbers. One part of us will go to the Prince of the City to purchase the herb. But we will not wait for their reply. A second part will travel up Harnen on boats to gather the herb where it is most plentiful some fifteen leagues inland. The remaining third will stay aboard Lanthir to guard the ship.” Erchirion stood up straight again and looked around the group of volunteers, as if he was measuring each of them and anticipating their reply. “You know the plan now. So tell me which party you will go with. Will you be the bait in a Haradrim city? Or will you risk capture and death to gather the herb? Or would you stay aboard Lanthir and wait?”
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Deleted User	28 Jan 2009, 02:10 AM Post #2
Deleted User	"But my lord, there could be danger. It would do us no service if you were to die," said the Prince's aide, Haldir. The man stood near the door addressing his liege as if they were just commoners out on the street. The pair had known one another since they were children, and grew up together. "Nonsense. I have three sons, and one of them needs more men," replied Imrahil as he tied the leather straps on his bracers. His clothes were unadorned a simple, but they were clean. Knowing that he could not talk Imrahil out of anything, he signed. Conceding his defeat he asked, "Aye my lord. Will there be anything else?" "No, Haldir. That's all. Thank you," he said as he tightened the straps of his belt. He nodded to Haldir as he left the room. Imrahil wore little armor; just lacquered leather with few details. His tunic was of a soft gray-blue like his trousers, and the tunic covered most of the armor. But, it was his blade that was the most telling. He adjusted his sword, positioning it more comfortably on his hip. The blade, Drathoriel, was a vicious weapon. It was a saber, strait for the most part save for the bend at the tip. The handle was silver, simple, with a cross guard adorned with only basic patterns, but it was the blade itself that was so unusual. Upon it was etched the figure of a wolf, viciously striking towards the end of the sword. It ran down half the length of the blade on either side, and its eyes sparkled ruby red. Running a hand through his hair to sooth his nerves he gazed at himself in the mirror. In the reflection he easily spotted the marks of nobility, and he shook his head. So he pulled a heavy black cloak over his shoulders, and pulled the hood up to conceal himself and the blade upon his hip. Then, without pause, he stepped into a passage behind one of his book shelves, and descended into a hallway that few knew. It led to the streets below behind the palace in Dol Amroth, and down to the docks. Before Imrahil could reach the landing, however, the Lanthir had arrived. He chose not to present himself openly to his son yet, and stayed a row back as he boarded the ship aside many others and listened to the plan. There was no easy way around the situation, he felt. If they were to be denied or worse, if they were to be discovered, it could cause problems between Dol Amroth and Haradrim. However, while he wanted to reprimand Erchirion for such a dangerous act, it was not Imrahil's place to do so. This was a matter more important than a few harsh feelings between men - it was about the survival of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. They needed the herb, and there was no way around the fact. So, when asked where everyone would venture to, the hooded prince again waited until many others had spoken. "I'll go to the City, Captain," he said calmly, sure that he find better use of his reputation and silver tongue amongst nobles rather than hauling equipment.
Deleted User


Deleted User	28 Jan 2009, 02:52 PM Post #3
Deleted User	The air felt pleasant against the Healer’s pale face as he boarded Lanthir – the ship of Prince Erchirion. It had only been three days since the discovery of the cure and everything had been quite hectic in the Houses of Healing. Therefore, it was an Éolýstan with dark circles under his eyes who followed the other volunteers onboard. As they embarked, he watched Captain’s face, noticing a fresh scar and he remembered the Prince’s fight against the treacherous Elf at the New Year’s Day celebration. The white sails of the ship flapped in the wind above their heads and Éolýstan let the mild breeze cool his face. He felt slightly nervous, his hands shaking a little. It was a long time since he had been on a ship and the feeling of the rolling deck was nothing but a distant memory. In spite of this, he had signed up for participating in the mission as soon as the departure had been announced. They needed Healers to travel with them on the quest and he knew the importance of collecting the herb – it could mean the salvation of hundreds, possibly thousands. The end of the plague. He gathered around the Prince along with the other volunteers. Erchirion’s words about the ship being able to outrun any Haradrim or Umbarian ship that might cross their way calmed his mind a little. There was always a risk of running into some Corsairs, he thought. He followed the Prince’s finger with the eyes as he traced it down the map. It seemed like a good idea to go by water. Sure, the Haradrim would expect them to come to them and search for cure once they had identified it. Especially after nine months – unless they had forgot about it which was, of course, not very likely. Éolýstan was no great warrior, truth to be told, so when the Prince asked whit which party they would go, he figured that he would not be of much use should they be attacked. He didn’t even carry a sword with him; only a staff and a small knife which was only used for purposes concerning his professions. A deep voice rose behind him somewhere, announcing that its owner desired to venture to the City in order to negotiate with the Prince there. Éolýstan, too, thought that that assignment fitted him better than any of the others and therefore he spoke out as well: “I should like to go to the Haradrim city as well, should you need more men to travel into the city and speak our case for the Prince. Else, I shall gladly help collecting the herb, though I do carry neither sword nor shield.”
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Deleted User	29 Jan 2009, 05:21 PM Post #4
Deleted User	The pitching of the vessel sent Arran skidding from left to right. Sturdy dwarf legs though he had, they were made for climbing up mountains and trekking down mineshafts, not picking a path across a wooden deck of a ship at sea. Dwarves hated the water, and Arran was no exception. The further from the dockyard they sailed, the more keenly he felt the rolling of the water. It jostled his stomach, and only the stoutness of his race kept him from retching over the side. But here he found himself, nonetheless. There had been a call for volunteers to represent the dwarf race in the Gondorian’s mission into Harad. However the dwarves might attempt to remove themselves from the world of the other races of Middle-earth, they all shared the same air. The same foul breath that had struck men had made its way into the halls of the dwarves. Orrin had volunteered first, and Arran had agreed to come with his brother. The Gondorian Prince who led this mission, Erchirion, laid out his plan in full. Arran was faced with a dilemma. He must stay aboard this blasted ship and be tossed about at sea, venture into a city of enemies to sue for aid, or take even smaller boats into dangerous territory. There was no good option, not for a dwarf. Arran looked over at his brother, so alike him in appearance, yet opposite in personality. Arran remained silent in thought, and Orrin taking the cue from his elder brother, did likewise. Two men spoke first, both offering to enter the city. When it was his turn to speak, Arran stood from his place. It scarcely made him taller, but he stood erect with pride and spoke in a booming voice. “You present us with three options that displease us, Prince. Ships and boats and smooth talk are not the way of dwarves. I will not speak for my brother, but it seems to me that if there is to be any chance of combat, a dwarf would serve best taking the river to retrieve the herbs. Therefore, I will go up River Harnen with my axes in hand.” Orrin was quick to signal his agreement. “Aye, that is where I will go as well.”
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Deleted User	4 Feb 2009, 02:29 PM Post #5
Deleted User	When the first man volunteered his services in the Haradrim city, Erchirion did a double take. He knew that voice like he knew his own. Looking at the cloaked figure now, he saw the posture and bearing of his father. Erchirion averted his eyes quickly, lest the mixture of confusion and fury send signals to the others. He was not happy that his father had joined this mission, nor come aboard his ship, without first telling him. It put Erchirion in a difficult position. He was assigned leader of his mission by Elessar, but was now second ranking in authority. And, generally, he did not like superiors on his ship. It was his haven from the demands of court, and that freedom diminished greatly when he was answerable to anyone. All the same, Erchirion could not deny the welling of gratitude towards his father. Without his presence in the city, Erchirion would have been obliged to go there himself. Aware of his poor diplomatic skills, he could not imagine his chances of surviving in the Haradrim palace any greater than when he went into battle. “King Elessar requests you lead the diplomatic party into the city,” Erchirion said evenly. The next man, the Healer who had tended his wounds in Ithilien, also volunteered to enter the city. “Good, Eolystan. They will not suspect the second part of our plan if our Healer is among them to explain the gravity of the situation at home.” The dwarves agreed to come up the river in the boats, but not before insulting his plan in at least three different ways. That was the manner of dwarves, or so Erchirion had been told. He was not a patient man, however. His hands formed two fists around the quarterdeck railing. “It is good that you’ve come to answer, Master Dwarf,” Erchirion snapped, “else were might have arrived in Harad before you were finished critiquing the strategy of your betters.” Erchirion caught a warning look from Bellion, who had paused in his conversation with the Master. The Prince turned away, but the message had been clear. Raising the ire of a dwarf was a dangerous game, especially when they were needed later. “I will lead the boats up River Harnen and gather the uraes. My first officer, Bellion, will remain on Lanthir. Should I not return, he will assume command and return you safely to Gondor.” Erchirion pointed again to the map, tracing the Harnen. “We will need three days. Those of you going into the city must play their diplomatic game for that long. If they trade the uraes immediately, they will not allow you to remain in their country. If they refuse the trade altogether, they will be suspicious that you have given up so soon. Success means we will fool them twice—once by taking the herb ourselves, twice by timing the negotiations to our benefit.”
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Deleted User	13 Feb 2009, 10:20 PM Post #6
Deleted User	So, the hooded man was to be his companion and leader in the Haradrim city. That was good. Éolýstan just hoped that this stranger was more talented in the field of battle than he was, should it come to any physical confrontations with the Haradrim guards. The Healer did have his staff, but it was not much use against the sharp blade of a warrior. ” … They will not suspect the second part of our plan if our Healer is among them to explain the gravity of the situation at home.” Éolýstan nodded acceptingly to this. That was true. It could, however, also turn out to be a drawback, should one of those going up river end up getting severely hurt. Then he would be many leagues away. Deciding to air this detail, he opened his mouth and spoke: "I trust that some of you possess certain skills when it comes to the art of healing, am I right? Else, it could be a minor problem, seeing that the risk of any of you - "He motioned to those who had expressed a wish to go up the River Harnen. " - getting injured is significantly bigger than that of us who are going into the Capital." He looked around at the faces that surrounded him with slightly cocked eyebrows whilst waiting for an answer to his question. He did, however, expect that it would be affirmative considering that most travelers had some basic knowledge on the subject. A deep, husky voice rose, causing Éolýstan to glance at its source – a dwarf whose name he did not know. He had embarked the ship with this fellow and he too seemed slightly uneasy standing on the deck of the vessel. When the dwarf began to criticize the Prince's strategy, Éolýstan looked at Erchirion through the corner of his eyes. He had heard about the Gondorian's bad temper and he feared that the dwarf's words might push some of the wrong buttons (how medieval). When noticing the poison that filled the Prince's words and observing how he clinched his fists, the Healer found that his suspicion was confirmed. Luckily, it seemed that the Prince of Dol Amroth regained control of himself and thus they were able to press on. Unlike the dwarf, Éolýstan was quite contented with the strategy that was presented to them and therefore he made no attempt to protest. He merely nodded his head to show his agreement. It would be a challenge, going into the city, but it was worth a try since it could mean the salvation of thousands.
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Deleted User	16 Feb 2009, 02:23 PM Post #7
Deleted User	Arran bristled at the Prince’s condescending tone, but it was Orrin who leapt from his seat in protest. It was this typical personality, like Orrin’s, that caused the dwarves so much grief in the past. Yes, Arran preferred solitude, but not for the reasons his family and race did. He placed a hand on Orrin’s shoulder, but felt no need to verbally calm him. “Yes, Prince Erchirion, it is good I came to my answer else you would be up River Harnen alone,” Arran replied. Although his voice was gruff, his tone was not prickly. He was stating, simply as he could, how fortune the men were to have dwarf friends among them. Arran’s beard twitched in a friendly smile as the Healer expressed his worry that someone might be injured. What different cultures men and dwarves came from, yet how similar they truly were. The man, Eolystan, reminded Arran of men like Hardir and Gaelon from Dale, his friends and companions in arms. “There is no need to fear, lad,” Arran spoke. “Soldiers are well accustomed to battlefield remedies. Dwarves are sturdy folk and nothing less than a fatal blow could keep us down. You have nothing to fear on our behalf, Healer. You have the friendship of Arran and Orrin, sons of Barren, for your concern.” The sons of Barren gave bows in unison to the Healer. From the corner of his eye, Arran could see his brother was not pleased at his friendship being given to a man. Arran, though, had long since ceased to care. King Dain had given Arran’s friendship to the Men of Dale in the War of the Ring, and unwilling as Arran had been, the King’s decision had made him a better dwarf.
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Deleted User	16 Feb 2009, 02:37 PM Post #8
Deleted User	Those damned dwarves refused to shut their mouths and keep silent! It was the curse of their race—and the frustration of all others—that they simply had to have the last word. Erchirion was a stubborn man, and one who did not like to lose any fight, verbal or otherwise. He made to give a response to Arran’s insolence, but another voice interrupted. “Two points to windward!” Bellion called. “Get her into the current, Master Pelanir!” Erchirion’s eyes slid over to his first officer. Bellion was only two feet from the Master of the Ship, and the wind was not so high that his voice would be lost. His dear old friend was quickly approaching the line no one crossed with the Prince. Yet he had broken the tension of the moment by diverting it. “Yes, Eolystan, many of my men have some basic Healing abilities. What is more, Arran is … right.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “I will take only seasoned warriors, and we will hold up well enough with the Healing skills we have. What is more, with boats, transport of any grievous injuries will be far easier than on foot or horseback.” Erchirion lifted the paperweights from the map and allowed it to curl up into a scroll. He handed it off to a young midshipman, who immediately dashed down to the Captain’s cabin where the papers were stored away from the damaging spray of the water. “Are there any other questions or concerns which we can address now? If not, then I suggest you make yourself as comfortable as possible on a ship. It will not be long now until we reach the Anduin delta.”
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Deleted User	23 Feb 2009, 02:50 PM Post #9
Deleted User	Arran’s chest swelled with pride when the Prince admitted him to be correct. Dwarves knew what they spoke about, or else did not speak at all. Unlike the race of men. Orrin looked smug and superior, but Arran managed to keep a more neutral expression, knowing how touchy noblemen could be about their prides—worse than dwarf women, they were. “Comfortable on a ship,” Arran scoffed, moving off from the quarterdeck. He did not find stairs particularly challenging, coming from mines with mile after mile of rising and falling stone stairs. But the steps leading down from the deck were bobbing and jostling with the waves. Either the dwarf’s foot slammed down on the wooden plank or didn’t reach far enough. “I’d be more comfortable running along the shore with shoes too small and pack too heavy.” It was no good to sit in one place, however. Arran had found moving around kept his stomach from growing sick. Best to keep his mind off the physical side effects of the choppy water. Instead, he prowled up and down the main deck inspecting the catapults and ballistae. Dwarves had war machines, many of which Arran had designed, but none quite like these. They were specially crafted for use at sea. He knelt down to examine the oversized bolts fixing the metal to the wooden deck, and then stood up to follow the line of the trigger mechanism. If it had been built by dwarf hands, he would have called it ingenious. “These ballistae follow the mechanics of a compound bow, yes? Smaller and quicker to load, but more powerful. I assume the range is quite a bit longer than one would guess too.” The catapults were too standard to require any comment from Arran. Dwarves did not praise or inquire about average machines.
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Deleted User	23 Feb 2009, 11:31 PM Post #10
Deleted User	Dwarves were very peculiar creatures indeed. At first, Éolýstan had mistaken Arran’s apparent contempt for the Prince Erchirion for a general dislike of the human race. This assumption was however put to shame when the Dwarf, who had just presented himself as Arran son of Barren, addressed the Healer in a very kind way in both voice and manner. Perhaps mere respect was the key to unlock the box that held the kindness of a Dwarf. Something that the Prince seemed to have a hard time grasping, seeing that he apparently had to fight an internal war in order to let the whole thing go. His stubbornness had to be about the same size as the one the Dwarves were known for. Luckily, the whole scene was interrupted by the voice of the first officer, giving instructions to the Lanthir’s crew and perhaps trying to loosen the tension he too had felt filling the air. Turning towards the two Dwarves, the Healer returned their synchronic bow whilst speaking in a mild and kind voice. “That is an honour I will repay by giving to you my friendship as well, Master Arran and Master Orrin, sons of Barren. I am glad to have you as my travel companions on this quest.” Raising his head a little, Éolýstan too noticed that the other brother, the one called Orrin, seemed somewhat lesser content with the whole situation, but he had decided to address both of the Dwarves, for he did not wish to come across as neither impolite nor disrespectful. Éolýstan raised his eyebrow a little when hearing that the Prince did in fact confess that there had been some truth to Arran’s words. Now, that would be something that would please the two Dwarves very much! “Very well, Your Highness,” he said slowly. “Then I shall not fret when I go into the Haradrim Capitol. At least not over that. I’m sure other worries will come.” How could they not? It was, after all, a dangerous journey into that unknown, far-away land. When he had no more questions to ask at moment, he merely shook his head when the Prince posed his question. A smile broke on his lips when he heard Arran’s scoffer, for he basically shared his thoughts on the matter. Comfortable on a ship. That was quite hard to imagine. His legs were at least longer, meaning that he did not have to struggle as much when moving over the deck in order to find a place to stand where he would not be in the way. Going under deck was something that he did not intent to do, for in spite of the uneasiness that he felt onboard the ship, he was also quite curious and intrigued. Watching the land of Gondor glide past his eyes like that would probably be exiting. He looked at Arran through the corner of his eyes when he asked about the nature of the ballistae. This was, however, something that Éolýstan knew nothing about so he did not even attempt to come up with an answer, trusting that other people would do much better at the job. Instead, he redirected his eyes towards the passing landscapes. He enjoyed the feeling of the wind against his face. It was utterly refreshing. Was it the delta he could see out in the distance? Oh, he hoped that it was. Seeing the sea was something he had looked forward to very much.
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