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(Archive) DOL AMROTH: News and Views

Tags: Silmir,  Lominzil,  Alkhaszor

Short Summary: Tavern conversations with Silmir, Lominzil, and a disgruntled veteran.
Date (real-life): 2014-02-17
Scene Location: Dol Amroth
Dol Amroth: The Golden Kraken Inn - Tavern

The Kraken's tavern is not as large as the Common room on the other side of the Inn's entryway--nor is it as cleanly kept. Nearly circular, the room shares with its western counterpart the dark-fibred wood structure, black lebethron beams arching up to melt into the shadows of the ceiling. At their apex hangs a small, rather dingy chandelier suspended by a chain of black wrought iron, directly above a rather battered table. A small hearth is set in the northern end of the room, and on the southern wall is a horseshoe-shaped bar, behind which stands the hulking bartender. 

The room is fairly sparsely populated during daylight hours...a few die-hard drunks lounge around at the bar and at various tables, and in the shadows at the edge of the room eyes glitter as they focus on you. Oddly enough, this is one of the few places in Dol Amroth that is safer at night...


The air of the humble Golden Kraken, haunt of landward sailor and noontide drunk, is warm and malted with the aroma of ale. Barrels outnumber patrons at this hour, and the ox-like barkeep dries glasses idly, his back to the bar.

Here, balanced on a three legged stool, a young man drinks in the company of his papers. Despite the sunny day, his black hair is damp and plastered back, as if recently drenched.

A battered scabbard hangs off the next seat.


[Silmir(#24455)] The man that enters the inn is welcomed by the barkeeper as he turns around, as a friend not seen for a long time. Silmir removes the winged helm from his head and looks around a moment before ordering some lunch. He goes to sit down, ending up near the young man and his papers.
[Alkhaszor(#1394)] 
In a dark corner of the inn nearby, a veteran of wars drinks, a patch over one eye, his black hair tangled and disheveled, his left sleeve sewn shut where that arm used to be. He hefts a chipped clay mug to his lips, sipping greedily at the ale and eyeing all those who enter.


"There is a pitcher here that needs finishing," says Lominzil, setting down quill to offer the half-drained vessel.

Below sleeved arm, his handwriting is illegible.

[Silmir(#24455)] Silmir smiles, thanking the squire. "Hard at work, I see. The captains of the Silver Ship and White Tree sent me with another letter for you to deal with." The man-at-arms pulls a sealed letter out from where it had been hidden under his tabard, setting it on the table next to Lominzil's quill.

[Alkhaszor(#1394)] 
"Catch the fiends yet?" the veteran growls under his breath at the two soldiers at the bar. Yet he doesn't wait for an answer, but stares into his mug, setting it down with an irritated thump. "More."
 
 
"I should think," says the damp man mildly, "they would find Hir Menelglir to deal with it all. I am a little busy."

Still, he opens the letter, his expression hidden by the passing of the fluff-armed barkeep, who gives the veteran his due.

"Happy news," notes the Squire.

[Silmir(#24455)] Silmir shrugs. "I was told to get it to the Swan Knights. You are but the first of their number I found." He peeks up over the letter, curious as to what happy news is spoken of, but doesn't pry over much. He sits again as the barkeeper brings his order along with the veteran's ale. "What fiends are we meant to catch?" he asks curiously, looking over to the old man.

[Alkhaszor(#1394)] 
"Happy?" the veteran speaks again. "What is to be happy about? The fiends--those who roam the land, causing havoc. When will they be finished?"

[Silmir(#24455)] "According to my commanding officer, the fiends will never be taken care of. We will die before it happens." Silmir's nose wrinkles in distaste at the mention of Indoron's melancholy and begins eating his lunch.
 
 
"Well," is all Lominzil says of the correspondence, which he tucks away.

"The scouring is underway, soldier," he answers the one-eyed man. "Though death and despair harry us, the resolve of Gondor will see it done."

[Alkhaszor(#1394)] 
 "And yet those of your number despair. What hope has Gondor?" thw veteran asks.
 
 
"A sound hope," states the Girithlin. "Do not look to the number of ships at the dock, nor the brick and mortar of our keep, nor coffers and stables and quartermasters. It is here," two fingers press lightly upon Silmir's back, where his heart might beat, "and there," pointing to the grizzled man's chest, "and here."

A curled fist crosses his own, unarmored. "And in these words," resounding.

"To speak and to be silent, to do and let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying -- from this hour henceforth until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end."

[Silmir(#24455)] Silmir nods to Lominzil. "I would that Lord Telumehtar would realize that. There is always hope as long as we yet live. He has seen many horrors, I do not doubt, though he does not speak of them." He puts down his fork, taking a drink of his tankard. "He thinks me a fool because I find hope in our people, that things can get better."

[Alkhaszor(#1394)] 
Something gleams momentarily in the veteran's eyes. He drinks from his newly refilled mug, the ale sloshing up the slides as he sets it down unsteadily. "And yet, in the end, it is men and ships and numbers that count. Heart and hope you say." He sounds bitter.
 
 
"Yes, they are needed," answers Lominzil. "They are the arms of a strong man, who may raise them up, or let them wither at his side. But it is now time to lift one's head."

[Silmir(#24455)] "Numbers do not win a battle. They help, of course, but even those outmatched may prevail as long as they do not despair." Silmir takes another bite of his fish, sighing slightly. "I do miss having fresh fish up in Minas Tirith. And the smell of the sea."

[Alkhaszor(#1394)] 
"Youth," says the veteran, with a snort. "So...tell me...what news? What great victories? Nay, what even minor triumphs?"


"I hear a new and mighty Captain marches in Gondor."

It is surely not anger in Lominzil's gaze, but a curious, distant sadness. "Perhaps you speak, soldier, because you saw Amroth in flower dashed against rocks. The answer for that -"

"Mano, my regards for this brother."

Lominzil leaves behind only coins.

[Silmir(#24455)] Silmir smiles, looking over to the old man. "I shouldn't wonder too, that babies were born, lovers were married, children chastised by their parents for stealing sweets. Small victories, too." He stands from his now empty plate and tankard, giving a bow to the old man. "I must take my leave now. Enjoy your ale, my friend."

[Alkhaszor(#1394)] 
"A new and mighty Captain." The veteran's brows furrow a moment as he watches the two men leave. Presently, he turns back to nursing his ale.

Date added: 2014-03-04 21:13:40    Hits: 76
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