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Post by Durburz on Mar 27, 2007 23:48:41 GMT
Ridge above the road south of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347
"Private Saakaf, what's going on down there now?" Corporal Durbûrz whispered. The two orc spies had been observing the scene down below for some time. Protected from both the sun and scrutiny by the dense covering of fir trees, their observation spot was on a rocky ledge high above the road. The rest of the company was lying in wait farther down the road.
"Quite a disruption, Corporal, and I don't know what to make of it. Anytime the enemy wales the bloomin' daylights out of their own kind, is a good day for us," Saakaf chortled as he turned to Corporal Durbûrz, the obvious glee and sadistic pleasure heavy in his voice. "Maybe they'll kill him. What do you think?" He was almost panting in his excitement.
"Don't count on it, Saakaf," Durbûrz growled. "That Tark who fled from the Princess' main party is probably a thief. Though they might rough him up a bit, I doubt they'll kill him, if they can help it. You know what fools Tarks are."
"Getting more interesting, Corporal. A soldier has just smashed the runaway's face into the ground, and is now bootin' him in the ribs. This is rich!" Saakaf gurggled excitedly and then moved closer to the edge of the cliff. He was silent for some minutes. "Aww, looks like the scuffle's over, Corporal," he groaned in disappointment.
"Saakaf, have you guzzled up all the draught? If you have, I'll break in your skull, you mangy little scum!" Durbûrz snarled, angry that there would probably be no fighting that day.
"No, sir!" Saakaf felt a prickle of fear ice down his spine, but he forced himself not to show his apprehension. "Here it is! I have hardly drunk any at all! Saving it for you, sir!" His lips drawing back from his fangs in a hideous grin, Saakaf handed the flask to his superior.
"Good, you little snot!" Durbûrz guzzled down the drink, some of the liquid running down the corners of his mouth and dripping on his leather armor. "What is happening now?"
"The Princess just rode up. Ooo! Ain't she a pretty sight to see in all her finery! Her all royal and everything, riding on her side saddle, a splendid mantle trailin' down her horse's flanks and back and almost dragging the ground. OO, indeed! She is a beauty!" His voice was low, rank with lust. "When we kidnap her and deliver her to His Majesty, they'll be golden coins jingling in our pockets!"
"Saakaf, I don't know you manage to do it, but you get more stupid every day! Don't you know? We ain't going to be the ones to present her! It'll be the Hillmen chieftain who gets all the credit, while we do the dirty work! That's the way it's always been, the way it always will be! When will you ever learn?"
"Sorry, sir," Saakaf mumbled. "You can't blame me for thinkin' can you?"
"That's your problem, you don't think, Saakaf! Your mind is full of smut and nothing else! What are they doing now, you lout?" Durbûrz tossed down another hefty swallow of draught.
"I'm thinkin' the lady's wantin' to kill him, but her captain is not taking to the idea too well," Saakaf replied moodily. "What a rare plaything she would make," he thought, cursing his luck that the princess was so far above him and unobtainable. "She's a strong willed creature who wouldn't quail a bit at the sight of blood! She should have been born an orc!"
Corporal Dubûrz glanced at the sunlight filtering through the fir branches above them. "Curse this sun! At least we have good cover here, but still that light hurts my eyes! Daytime work is not my cup of tea! What are they doing now?"
"Corporal, it ain't like we're going to turn into stone when the sun hits us!" Saakaf said, trying to lessen the tension between the two of them.
"Shut up! Your humor is not appreciated. Maybe you don't really need your tongue! While you still have it in your mouth, just tell me what's going on," Corporal Durbûrz growled. The orc draught was not doing much to sweeten his mood, no matter how much he drank, but it wouldn't do any harm to drink some more, he thought.
"Well, the captain has talked her out of killing him, that's for sure. Now one of the wagon drivers is havin' his say."
"I'm going to take a look for myself." Durbûrz slid closer to the edge of the cliff and peered down to the road below.
"What do you make of it, Corporal?" Saakaf ventured cautiously.
"It's a botched job, and I have a feeling that Broggha's man blundered someway and got himself caught!"
"What do you mean? What about the signal?" Saakaf asked, puzzled.
"You fool! Can't you get anything through your thick skull? I don't think there is going to be any signal! Besides that, there are far too many soldiers for our number to go against. Saakaf, here's what I want you to do. Report back to Captain Ashûk and tell him that if I'm not mistaken, Broggha's agent has been captured, and we need new orders. After you have reported, join up with me south along the ridge, where I will be keeping the Princess' party under observation."
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Caelen
Member
Young lady of Dunedain descent, Callon's sister (Rian's character)
Posts: 73
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Post by Caelen on Mar 28, 2007 20:34:54 GMT
Cameth Brin Palace, Nov. 2
"Good-bye, Arinya, I'll see you later," said Caelen too politely and too hastily, quickly bowing her head in a respectful farewell gesture and moving towards the door. But Caelen's golden tresses and soulful eyes were wasted on the current inhabitant of the room.
"Caelen," said Arinya, softly but firmly. Caelen stopped and bit her lip, reminded suddenly of her mother.
Arinya waited in silence until Caelen turned her head and looked at her, her eyes large and pleading. Arinya tried to remain straight-faced but couldn't; Caelen reminded her of a young pup who has stolen a goodie off of the table and is trying to escape with it.
Arinya sighed. "Come, Caelen, you know I'm your friend," she began. Caelen nodded her head hesitantly, tracing a line on the floor with her toe. "I just want you to slow down a bit and see more than your side of this," Arinya said persuasively, crossing over to Caelen and brushing back a stray strand of hair from her friend's face in an affectionate gesture.
Caelen looked out of the window with a little sigh, then looked back at Arinya, this time with a more reasonable expression on her face. She waited for Arinya to continue.
"I didn't stop you from telling Daurendil, because he is the prince, and I know it will get out eventually, and he'll be a good person to have on your side," said Arinya slowly. "Yet I don't think you should just tell everyone now. As I said, you should think about more than just yourself - and your brother has sacrificed a lot for you, Caelen. I don't think you should so thoughtlessly abandon what he did for your protection without his knowledge and assent."
Caelen's face assumed a puzzled look; these were new thoughts for her. She was used to people taking care of her, and as the much loved and petted youngest child of the family, she hadn't been taught to consider others as much as perhaps she should have. She looked back on the last month with new eyes and suddenly saw things that she had taken for granted as they truly were - sacrifices on Callon's part out of love for her. She remembered him putting his body between her and the robbers on the road; him telling her to flee as that terrible man held a knife to his throat; him looking with longing eyes at the circle of Eryndil's men talking and laughing quietly around the fire as he settled down next to her with an extra cloak in case she got cold.
"You're right, Arinya," she whispered, her head lowered. "I'm just terribly selfish, I know ..."
"And this last thing he did - it may not have been the wisest thing, but it was done out of love and concern for you. And he is of the age where he might want to start looking for a wife - or at least enjoy the company of young women - and what he did for you kills all possibility of that."
Arinya was right. Caelen remembered that new expression she had seen on her brother's face just a few months ago, when his best friend's sister passed by ... how he had stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes lingering on her, his mouth softening ... and yet he chose to leave their home to protect Caelen.
"You're right, Arinya - I'll go tell the prince that I cannot go riding with him," said Caelen sadly.
"I don't think you need to do that - I think you can go, and I think you should have fun - I know you love to ride, and I think it will be good for you! All I was trying to do was to get you back, because the person pushing their way past me out of the door was not the person I knew and liked."
Caelen smiled sweetly at Arinya, and then wrapped her arms around her in a warm embrace, ending in a friendly kiss.
"If you can take more advice ..." began Arinya.
"Yes, please!" answered Caelen humbly.
"I think perhaps you might want to casually mention that you were mistaken about the pregnancy, as opposed to feigning a miscarriage, because otherwise people will say that your riding caused the miscarriage, and that might be unpleasant for you."
"My mother rode all the time when she was pregnant with us, but I see what you mean," said Caelen thoughtfully. "Thank you - I'll mention that. It's been hard enough pretending to be married when I'm not, but the pregnant thing ... ugh!" she shuddered. "I just ... that was just too strange!"
Arinya smiled. "Well, you had to get "unpregnant" very soon, anyway, or people would be wondering why you're keeping your nice figure for so long, so I think it might as well be now. But please, keep up the "marriage", at least until your brother gets back and you two can discuss it, ok?"
"I will," said Caelen seriously. "And thank you, Arinya!"
"And remember, too, that means acting as if you are "unavailable". I must say that the prince looked at you rather favorably, but you must respond to him - and the other men - as a happily married woman would respond, not as an unmarried young girl would. You don't want to bring censure on your brother for his immodest wife!"
Caelen smiled and put her hands on either side of Arinya's face, looking straight into her eyes. "I will be prim and proper and respectful, I promise," she said firmly. "And I will make my brother proud of me!"
And I will RIDE again!!!! she thought joyfully to herself as she ran lightly down the hall to her quarters to change.
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Callon
Member
Dunedain male, brother to Caelen (Rian's character)
Posts: 25
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Post by Callon on Mar 28, 2007 22:11:15 GMT
Why do you call him a thief and a murderer? What proof do you have?
Callon took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He realized it was his word against the Hillman's, and if he wasn't careful, the man might escape justice again. Callon was a young man, but one who was used to dealing with large, unruly animals - he knew how to keep his head. He tore his eyes off of the Hillman and spoke to the Captain, lifting his head up proudly and speaking in a clear, firm voice.
"I call him 'thief' because he stole from me. I call him 'murderer' because I heard his plans to kill me and my ... wife." Callon couldn't help the slight pause before the word "wife" - it was so unnatural to say that! - but hoped it went by unnoticed. He put it behind himself and continued. "And I heard him speak with the other brigands about killing and stealing from other unfortunate travellers." He then gave a brief account of what had happened to them on the road.
Callon noticed that the sentiment of the men seemed to be on his side and was encouraged. Algeirr noticed it too, and grew more alarmed. Men were murmuring quietly and giving each other "I told you so! That's a Hillman!" looks. Captain Merendil noticed it, too.
"Quiet!" he snapped angrily, and the men grew silent again. Turning to Callon, he asked, "Is that all? Your word against his?"
"I can describe the knife that he used to do this to me," said Callon, and pointed to the still-healing scar on his neck.
Captain Merendil's left eyebrow rose as Callon turned to face Algeirr. He spoke softly and with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"And my 'proof' is back in Cameth Brin - Eryndil, the king's man that rescued us from this ... this coward, is there now, asked by the King himself to be his personal counselor."
Algeirr's heart sank into his (stolen) boots.
Suddenly Callon could stand it no more. He turned back to Captain Merendil. "Please, sir, please - just let me fight him in a fair fight! He doesn't know what fair is - he attacked us, unprovoked, seven to two - and one of the two a girl!"
He whipped back around to face Algeirr. "Have you moved up to attacking grandmothers yet, you coward, or are they too hard for you?" he taunted. "Maybe you could handle a grandmother if it was 10 to 1, and you had a knife and she didn't!" Algeirr was furious, but his life depended on keeping his temper.
"Captain, what is this ..." he started, but Callon cut him off. "Fight me here and now, you coward!" Callon yelled at the man he hated. "I don't have any girls with me to protect now. Can you handle a fair fight?" he taunted, aching to get his hands on the man that had hurt his sister. He made a movement towards Algeirr, but was firmly held back by Captain Merendil's nephew.
"Be quiet, young man!" the Captain said sternly. "You are not helping your cause!" But he knew that this was not true - attacking women was something that the soldiers despised, and they respected Callon for wanting revenge for his wife's sake.
"I'm sorry, sir, but if your wife had been abused as mine was, you would want to do the same thing!" said Callon, forcing himself to calm down again.
Captain Merendil gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, and then turned to Algeirr. "And what do you have to say for yourself? We are listening," he said, forcing himself to put aside his feelings, which lay entirely with the young wagon-driver.
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Algeirr
Member
Hillman, former mercenary and brigand, Broggha's spy. Played by Gordis
Posts: 10
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Post by Algeirr on Mar 29, 2007 11:28:14 GMT
Algeirr willed his hands and his voice not to shake, and replied trying to sound persuasive.
"I see now that this young man is not mad as I have thought, but was greatly wronged indeed. I understand his hurt feelings. But I have nothing to do with this crime. I am no brigand, but a honest merchant. I have settled in Tanoth Brin recently, but I came from the East, from Dol Aglardin, not from the North. Gudhrun, the keeper of "The Sword of Elendil", knows me well and can vouch for me. I am not responsible for the deeds of some murderer who may look remotely like me. Be reasonable - this man is mistaken."
Callon started to protest, but Captain Merendil stopped him. "It looks like we shall have to bind this man Algeirr and take him back to Cameth Brin with us - for regular trial. We shall have Eryndil's testimony decide the matter." He nodded to Callon "When we return, you shall testify again in front of the King's judges".
Gimilbeth, who was getting progressively bored and impatient to go on, was not at all satisfied with the Captain's ruling. The Hillman spy - he should not be left alive! Who knows, how much he had already gleaned about Nauremir's business?! And then the driver, Callon, the only one who had never met Nauremir before - she needed him on the journey East and was not going to let him return to Cameth Brin with the soldiers. She glared at Merendil.
"I see you tend to believe this liar, Captain" she hissed. Then she continued, her clear voice carrying on to the whole company "Let me make a small prophesy - once back in Cameth Brin, Broggha will connive to let his man go free, brigand and murderer as he is - just like his Chieftain. Now is the last opportunity for a fair trial. I suggest to ask the driver to describe the knife the other used to wound him and then search the thief to find it."
Algeirr visibly paled and felt cold sweat trickle down his spine. It was not his knife he was worried about. He had lost the knife the very day he cut Callon's throat with it - he was never able to find the small weapon when Eryndil's man scattered his gear in the forest. But there was something far more damning to be found in his pockets than the knife....
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Gimilbeth
Member
Eldest daughter of King Tarnendur, also called the Witch of Cameth Brin
Posts: 51
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Post by Gimilbeth on Apr 3, 2007 16:50:22 GMT
On the road South of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347
"Sooo.. Gimilbeth drawled, "What did this knife look like, driver?"
Callon balled his fists, willing himself to stay calm. He thought back to that awful day less than a month ago, and saw again the knife in the brigand's hand cutting slowly across his own neck, the same knife later marring the soft white skin of Caelen... He gulped and replied. "The dagger is of rather poor workmanship, double-edged, about a foot long. It has an ornate wooden handle, the pommel is shaped in the likeness of a snarling wolf's head - the fangs stained red by some dye."
"Search the brigand," ordered Gimilbeth. The ring of steel in her voice was now unmistakable. Her eyes were on Merendil, a clear message in their icy depths: "Don't you dare hinder me!"
Without awaiting Merendil's confirmation, several soldiers rushed to Algeirr. Desperate now, he started fighting back, but was soon subdued, his face once again pushed into the dirt. Judging by the Hillman's reaction, everyone fully expected to find the dagger straight away, but the knife Algeirr carried had a simple metal handle, and was shorter than the one described.
Gimilbeth frowned. "Search him further!" The small pile of Algeirr's possessions on the ground was growing, but nothing interesting appeared. "Let me go - I have nothing more!" came Algeirr's muffled plea. Merendil raised his hand to give further orders, when one of the soldiers kneeling by Algeirr suddenly exclaimed, "Sweet Eru!" There in his outstretched hand a pile of green stones set in gold glittered, light reflecting in millions facets.
Gimilbeth spurred her horse forward, nearly trampling the prostrate Algeirr. "Give that to me, now!" she hissed. Snatching the necklace from the soldier she raised it high for everyone to see.
"Behold Elessya the Green!" she exclaimed, "...the very necklace that my ancestor Numendil, Lord of Andunie, received as a gift from the Elven King Gil-Galad - ages ago when Numenor still ruled the world. What is the most precious heirloom of the House of Dauremir doing in the dirty Hillman's pocket?" The men around watched, gaping in awe.
Eyes flashing, Gimilbeth rose in her stirrups. "This man is a thief!" she cried pointing at Algeirr. "Hang him!"
Merendil shrugged his shoulders, defeated. "I guess the evidence is sufficient now..." he muttered. He gave short orders to the soldiers.
"Accursed witch! You will end your life swinging on a branch as well!" Aldgeirr growled shaking his fist at Gimilbeth.
"I doubt it," she replied sweetly, unperturbed, for she knew his words were empty.
Soon the company moved on leaving the still convulsing body hanged by the neck from a branch of a giant pine by the road.
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Post by Saakaf on Apr 6, 2007 0:43:52 GMT
Ridge above the road south of Cameth Brin, November 2nd
Private Saakaf was more than a little apprehensive as he trotted along the ridge to the rendezvous with the rest of the company. He felt fear biting like a snake bitter and harsh deep in his guts. Something had gone wrong, terribly wrong, and he was not quite certain how he could explain it all to Captain Ashûk.
"Ashûk won't like this," he grumbled as he arrived at the edge of a grove of young firs. A fire had destroyed the old growth a few years back, and now the new trees were thick and bushy. Pushing his way through the last of the branches, he walked out into a small clearing. The ridge narrowed into a bony spine here, the ground on both sides falling away into steep ravines, jumbled boulders and dense groves.
Smelling the air, he stopped by a large spruce whose top had been blasted out by lightning during some storm in the past. The night wind blowing from the northwest put him downwind from the company. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils wrinkling at the reek of filthy bodies blending with the aroma of wood smoke, earth and trees. He could even recognize the individual smells of a number of the men in the company. He knew the scent of Captain Ashûk all too well.
"I wonder if any of us have had a bath since we were born... or even then," he chuckled. Saakaf never remembered taking one in his whole life anyway. He would not spend much time in reflection about that, though, for he was rapidly approaching the picket post. Even though he and the picket were in the same clan, of the same blood, and had known each other almost since they were whelps, still he had to stand at attention and give the password. Ashûk wouldn't stand for sloppy discipline. With a grunt and a nod, the orderly waved him ahead.
"Saakaf," the captain recognized his salute with a nod, "what news?"
"Sir, I don't know what to make of it..."
"Don't try to make anything of it! Just tell me what happened!"
"Sir," Saakaf stood so stiffly at attention that it looked like his spine had turned into an iron rod, "first of all sir, Princess Gimilbeth's escort is far too large for this company of only two hundred to attack with any hope of success."
"Rotten news! Anything else?" Captain Ashûk growled.
"Corporal Durbûrz bids me tell you that it is his opinion that the spy who was to give the signal for our attack is no more." Cringing, Saakaf watched the captain's eyes narrow, his jaw set as his face began to build to that thundercloud of anger which could erupt into a killing fury.
"Saakaf, what are you talking about!" the captain snarled.
"Sir, it's like this... Durbûrz saw a man take off running, but the soldiers soon caught up with him and brought him back to the main party. There was quite a bit of arguing back and forth about what to do with him. Princess Gimilbeth demanded that he be executed, but her captain of the guard was urging her to go easy on him. All that changed when he was searched and one of the soldiers found an emerald necklace upon him. From all the excitement about the discovery, the jewelry must be worth a king's ransom!"
"Hmmmm..." Captain Ashûk listened intently as he reached a hand into the neck of his tunic and scratched his fleas. "Things are getting sweeter all the time. A necklace, you say, and very valuable? The North might be happy about this. Maybe it's some rare treasure from that sunken island where everyone says His Majesty was born!"
"Captain Ashûk, you really think that's true? He is THAT old!" Saakaf's beady eyes had popped open wide and he gaped at his superior officer.
"Saakaf, you simpleton! How would I know? A mere captain of a company of orcs is not taken into His Majesty's confidences! Don't ever ask me such a stupid question like that again." Captain Ashûk's beefy hand darted out and slapped Saakaf's helmet so hard that the orc was knocked to one side.
His ears still ringing, Saakaf gulped and righted himself. "No, no, sir, no sir, never again! Accept my apologies!"
"Saakaf, you are never going to rise above the rank of private. You will spend the rest of your wretched days cleaning stinking latrines! Appropriate, don't you think, for an idiot like you?" Captain Ashûk leered at him.
"Oh, yes, sir, oh yes! Very appropriate, sir!" Private Sakaaf resisted the urge to clutch his head and groan. His skull felt as though it was going to explode at any moment. He tried to think of something more pleasant to drive the pain from his head. Fresh manflesh, well-beaten to make the blood rise close to the surface, red and sumptuous... A female orc as lusty as he was. Rich booty, gold and silver... Tark halls and keeps belching up with flames and black smoke, then burning to ash... Nothing was working. His head was still throbbing as though someone were pounding him over the head. His old comforts didn't seem to help tonight. Then he put his mind to thinking about the most beautiful and wondrous thing he had ever seen in all his life.
The image of Princess Gimilbeth flashed through his mind. She was riding her magnificent horse with the caparisons streaming out behind it like banners floating off a standard. "She is magic," he thought as he felt his heart skip a beat. Her proud voice commanding her men, her face haughty and beautiful, her dark hair like the wing of a raven... He smiled in spite of the pain. "I must be in love," he thought, "in love for the first time in ever all my life! How can I endure this agony until I see her again!"
Captain Ashûk's bellow brought him back from his dazed reverie. "What else do you have to report? What happened to the man?"
"The princess ordered him hanged, and the last time I saw him, his corpse was swinging from a branch."
"This changes everything," the captain spat out through clenched teeth. "The company just has to follow the princess' entourage until we see a good opening. Then we hit them!" He rubbed his warty chin and laughed maliciously.
"I can follow her forever," Saakaf thought dreamily, "to the ends of the earth!"
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Post by Odaragariel of Mitheithel on Apr 6, 2007 4:12:33 GMT
Near the Palace Stables, Nov 2
Amantir and Tarniel exchanged bemused glances. They were not the only ones. Odare's bodyguards had stared openly; Sarador, passing by, had given a double-take; the entire hunting party were either staring or laughing quietly. Odare ignored them all, and concentrated on stroking her horse.
In an act of defiance that even she could not explain, she had not worn a single jewel on her. She had dug through her closet, and flung out numerous velvet and silken dresses, before finding a simple blue dress embroidered in black. She suspected a maid had accidentally misplaced one of Tarniel's dresses with hers; she wore it anyway. Her hair was in a tight bun. Her arms and neck were bare; without her customary ornaments, she looked almost indecently naked - one felt she should put on at least a ring on her hand; but she had been thorough - she had even stripped off the ribbons on her shoes.
If her objective had been to get Daurendil's attention, she certainly got it. The prince was escorting Caelen out of the palace, being very attentive to her, right upto the moment he reached them. He did not recognise her at first.
"Amantir, where's Odare? I don't want us to delay too long." he asked, slightly impatient. "Its only a hunting trip, she needn't spend so much time fussing over jewels..." he muttered.
"You're the one who delayed." she glared at him, and mounted her horse. Others followed suit. Daurendil gaped.
"What have you done to your face?" he asked, awed.
She ignored him, and turned instead to Amantir and Tarniel, saying "Race you to the old fort! Whoever reaches last is an orc!"
With a cry of encouragement to her horse, she was off. Her two friends did not delay either - and seeing them set off, the rest followed. Shaking his head and muttering, Daurendil mounted his horse as well. He took a moment to look for his fair Caelen, but she had not waited for him.
In fact, she was near the front, fast catching up to the trio at the front. After all her impatience to ride, it was hard to resist the invitation to race. They broke through the crowd near the market - Odare upset a wheelbarrow of apples on her flight - it was enough to catch Amantir off-guard and his horse skidded to the side; Tarniel slowed her horse down and picked her way safely but Caelen took her horse on a graceful leap that cleared the wheelbarrow, its annoyed owner and the apples all in one. Odare spared one look behind her, grinning, and Caelen smiled back, urging her horse on. A horrified look replaced the grin; suddenly she really wanted to win the race.
The fort was coming in view now, and she had the lead, but they were almost neck to neck. In a sudden burst of speed, Caelen crossed her, her beautiful hair fanning out behind her. A strand smacked Odare right across the eyes. Blinded, and in sudden pain, she lost control for a few precious moments; enough for Caelen to gallop the last few yards and reach the fort. She drew her horse in, flushing with success and Odare, reaching her a split-second later, was already devising ways to have Caelen's hair chopped off strand by strand. It was just not fair that hair alone should determine one's success in life - or in a race. Or that Caelen should turn out to be a horsewoman. She fought the desire to pout.
"That was a good race," said Caelen, still slightly out of breath.
Odare grudgingly conceded the point, and then the two of them in silence waited for the others. The real race was over, though; and it was clear that, whatever the outcome, Daurendil would be the one who ended up as the orc.
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Post by Durburz on Apr 7, 2007 6:11:42 GMT
Ridge above the road south of Cameth Brin, November 2, 1347
After Private Saakaf had lumbered off along the top of the ridge, Durbûrz lay flat on the edge of the cliff and observed the road below him. In the past few minutes, the scene had become infinitely more interesting. His eyes lit up with a gleaming malice as the prisoner was escorted to the hanging tree. With each step Algierr took, the orc breathed harder. Durbûrz could scarcely bear the anticipation. His muscles were tense and straining with the urge to make his own kill. He dug his clawed fingernails into the shallow soil. When the noose was placed around the prisoner's neck, Durbûrz was panting in long, ragged gasps. The body dropped! When Algierr's neck hit the end of the rope, low snarls and growls erupted out of the orc's throat.
"Saakaf will hate himself when he finds out that he missed out on all of the sport," he chuckled to himself. Mind still transfixed, he watched the twitching corpse swing slowly from the tree branch. "Fresh meat," he licked his lips. That night when things settled down, Corporal Durbûrz would creep to the floor of the valley, cut the corpse free and make off with it. He would have his fill and then hide the body beneath a rock cairn. He could always get the remainder later, and none of the rest of the company needed to know. Only a fool shared when he didn't have to do so. It had been a good day, but the night showed promise of being even better.
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Gimilbeth
Member
Eldest daughter of King Tarnendur, also called the Witch of Cameth Brin
Posts: 51
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Post by Gimilbeth on Apr 7, 2007 9:02:56 GMT
On the road to Brochenridge, November 3, 1347
The next day of the journey proved uneventful. After a miserable night spent in an old, draughty watchtower, the travelers completed their crossing of the dangerous Trollshaws. Thankfully, not a single troll was sighted, and, actually, very few of other creatures as well, if any. Captain Merendil seemed uneasy because of the absence of game and the silence of birds and kept his soldiers on the alert. The road constantly climbed up and down the steep ridges running across their way. The journey was tiring for the horses, and the wagons needed a great deal of help to be able to negotiate the steep climbs.
Gimilbeth rode at the head of the procession, flanked now by her two devoted knights, Elvegil and Gwindor. The latter only recently recovered from his wounds (an elegant way to describe the bruises from the vulgar beating he received at the hands of some Hillmen at the memorable feast). Elvegil was most entertaining, however, telling funny stories about common acquaintances back in Cameth Brin. Captain Merendil kept morose distance: he was still sulking after yesterday's confrontation and avoided Gimilbeth.
"Well, enough of this silliness!" Gimilbeth said, still laughing. She smiled and waved her knights away. The story about Curugil was quite funny, but it was undignified and far beneath her to shake from laughter while riding in state at the head of a hundred fighting men. The knights bowed and fell back.
Gimilbeth opened an embroidered pouch on her belt and took out the emerald necklace. She frowned remembering the day when Tarnendur, beaming like a fool, presented this last heirloom of the drowned Numenor to his dearest Tarniel - for her tenth birthday no less...Such stupidity... A wave of frustration washed over Gimilbeth again. Why give such a thing to the silly pup when he had an elder daughter? Elessya should have been Gimilbeth's by right! Tarniel was evidently still too small to appreciate it - how could she lent the priceless treasure to Odaragariel, as if it were no more than a kerchief! And now Oddie lost it - and neither the King, nor Gimilbeth were told about it.
What to do with it now? Ask Merendil to take it back to Tarniel? - or to Tarnendur? The King would be angry, sure, but then he would simply return the necklace to Tarniel, maybe with some mild reproaches. Nothing to gain here.
What if she sends the treasure to Odaragariel directly? The princess would be grateful, perhaps one day Gimilbeth might ask for a service in return...
Or, better still...perhaps she could keep the necklace until her return to Cameth Brin? There was this green velvet dress in her trunk and the turquoises she wore with it were not exactly matching. Hmm...
Her interesting thoughts were interrupted by the returning scout.
"My Captain, My Lady, Brochenridge is in sight" he announced to Merendil and Gimilbeth. "They have opened the gate and a company of guards is riding down to meet us."
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Post by Merendil on Apr 8, 2007 3:08:18 GMT
November 3, 1347 - afternoon, nearing Brochenridge from the North.
Merendil sniffed the air and slowly shifted his head from side-to-side. But he hadn't smelled it yet today - that awful scent he had just faintly detected the day before.
"Orcs," he thought to himself. "Wonder how many and how far... or how close."
He had first noticed it about the time that whole affair came up with the man they hung. No mistake about it - after several decades of campaigning, that was ONE smell he would never forget. Didn't seem like anyone else noticed it though. Couldn't smell it - or else too intent on carrying out an execution for some lowly scoundrel. "Poor blighter," thought Merendil further - not for his hanging, but for what would likely happen to him after. Why couldn't they have just kept going and settled that affair up later?
But - it hadn't cost them their lives. Leastwise not yet - and they were awful close to Brochenridge now. Why - the very fact that the Orcs were upwind meant they were after something else.
Or else in large enough force that they didn't care.
No need to alarm Her Highness - but he was extra sharp with his men in the 24 hours since. On his way back he'd set to scouring the woods. Maybe bring some of the boys from Brochenridge that far back with him. He wondered if there'd be anything left of the dead man's corpse.
The King would have to know - and soon! Along with the whole Council. The borders would need better watching, and a sweep of the countryside might be in order. Oh - and winter comin' and all! Merendil shook his head and muttered to himself.
- - - - - - - -
His forward scout came into view around a bend up ahead, galloping back toward them. "Eru," thought Merendil, "is something after him?"
But before he could even begin to get his men ordered up into a defensive posture, the scout yelled out, "My Captain, My Lady, Brochenridge is in sight! They have opened the gate and a company of guards is riding down to meet us."
"Rookie!" said Merendil, just barely under his breath, and the man next to him chuckled just a little bit louder.
He motioned for the scout to fall in at the rear, and the party continued on their path. This particular path had settled into one of the deep valleys running more or less northeast to southwest. They were making about due south now, but the bend to the right up ahead, which the scout had just come around, would get them right in line with the ridges above and the valley below.
He had been to all the sights of this land, and seen them many times, but this was one he always liked watching for.
Slowly they rounded the bend, crossing a small bridge over a brook down below them, and the fortress came at last into view on their left side. High on the south range it was - where there was a gap, or break in the ridge. Nestled into that gap was the bulwark of Brochenridge. Once home to the Kings of Rhudaur - but now a noble mansion and a way-station - but a formidable one at that. To cross the mountains to the south, you had to go through Brochenridge - and none had been able to go through it by force.
Their own errand led them on westward though, so if they entered Brochenridge from the north, they would also leave it from the north the next day - following their road toward the Last Bridge.
The oncoming riders were almost to them now - they had come through the small town that lay at the fortress's feet, right in the path of the Valley Road. There was an inn there that was his usual stopping-over place. But tonight - it would be a special treat to stay up in the fortress!
He looked around himself once more. "Safer too," his thought continued - then looking around at his men and those in his charge, "for all of us."
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