Whatever happened to the Suleiman?

The Cutter

The inside of the common room is covered with darkly stained wood. The floor that is covered with well worn, hard wood tables and chairs also holds a soft glaze of sand. The air is thick with the smell of the salt water coming off of the bay mixed in with the smell of the kitchen and the food that is being prepared behind those doors. The walls are decorated with various assortments of fishing gear, including a length of cargo net that decorates the wall behind the long bar that stands opposite the entry portal. The front of the bar itself is decorated by what looks to be a side board from a ship with the name The Cutter etched in blue.

The tavern is always filled with travellers and citizens of the city of corsairs and on occasion they are entertained by an occasional bard or soothsayers. A small stage rests near the west wall next to a large fire place that rests embedded into the wall. A door stands at the eastern side of the bar and a large and well muscled bouncer sits on a barstool next to the door. In a rear corner of the tavern is a very popular craps table.

Table code is in effect here. Type thelp for table commands.

The Cutter is almost totally empty at this time of night.

Obvious exits:
Private Dining Room and Out

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Trewsday, Day 13 of September.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 22:55:32 MDT on Thu Apr 16 2009.
IC year: 3046

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    Bars and pubs, notoriously, are smoky. They are also notoriously dark, as if no one wants anyone else to see them drinking. Night or day, a pub always looks the same, smells the same...except for the crowds. For those barflies that never seem to leave, they can always tell the night for the influx of patrons, especially here in the Cutter, and especially an influx of Corsairs, returned from long trips on the sea, or done from a long day of ship maintenance. Right now, its night, and the Cutter is full, and noisy. The barman and barmaids are hard at work keeping mugs filled and keeping the peace in what way they can. Its not an easy job, as Corsairs are notoriously rowdy.

Amidst so many patrons, what is one more? This one has been here before, and has done little either to attract attention or disturb the peace. Barjad, who edges his way through the crowd (keeping his distance from the western hearth) has loosened the ends of the keffiyeh that most commonly conceal his face from view, but the freed cloth still hangs forward to shadow his features from all but a direct stare. The mug he holds is still more than half-full, and he is no more than sipping at it.

His head is tilted slightly - perhaps he is listening threads of conversation? A sidestep to avoid a tray-laden barmaid brings him closer to Aramar, among others, and he eyes the big man speculatively.

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    "...Gonna be a new age, they says," says one man to another, fully in his cups. "...Shouldna let them Gondos go. Just ain't right..." another thread slips in and out of the stream of jumbled words. "...And then the fire jumped the roof to the next house, and I just knew..." On and on the conversations mingle, word after word. "rounded the bend and there they were, two heavy raiders...found my girl sleeping with...got me another boy now! That'll be four...no lord o mine...just not how it used to be during the blockade - and before...pickled herring fell right into the drink! But that didn't matter, as it were picked in brine anyway! We just fished them all out..." The words and conversations flow and conjoin and divorce again, seemingly at random.

Barjad's tilted head turns slightly, as he tries to pinpoint the speaker who had mentioned the blockade, marking this one out. He begins to move in that direction, only to be halted by Aramar's grunted challenge. He snorts and shrugs, and after a moment places a single copper piece on the table. "Why not? I have nothing to lose except coin."

As he sits himself down, placing his mug on the board out of harm's way, he queries softly, "Who is that one, do you know?" His jerked head indicates the mourner of blockades he falls silent then, brow furrowed, as he applies pressure on the veteran's hand.

[Aramar(#23703)] Pushing his drink off to the side, Aramar clears a space before himself on the table. Slamming his elbow down onto the sticky surface and craning his neck to either side, he flexes his fingers a few times and awaits Barjad's arm. "C'mon, then! Hurry up an' lose yer money, so I can be getting back to my drinkin'."

Barjad offers his arm, and the struggle begins!

Aramar and Barjad grit their teeth and grunt as each attempts to gain the upper hand...

Aramar begins to turn red in the face, his left eye bugging out...

[Aramar(#23703)] ...Barjad slams Aramar's hand down against the table, eliciting a grunt of disbelief. Muttering and swearing, the big corsair draws Barjad's winnings out of his purse, unceremoniously depositing the coins upon the table. Before long, he has returned once again to his ale-soaked solitude.

Aramar +gives you 2 Copper Pennies.

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    "That's Achjan." Aramar says, wiping his brow with a cloth. It does nothing to reduce the flush that has come to his face. He gives a begrudging nod to the winner of the match, and returns to his ale once again.

Half-hid beneath the shadow of the loosened keffiyeh, torn lips curve upward in a one-sided smile. Barjad grunts softly, a small sound of satisfaction, ignoring the sweat beading his brow. "It was a good .. contest," he offers his response then, as he receives his answer, nods and pushes one of the coppers quietly back across the table, murmuring, "One for one. That is fair."

Armed with a name, he shoulders his way back through the crowd to where Achjan holds court. "Ah, life was simpler a few years back," he comments quietly when there is a break in the rambling speech. "And richer. It must be thirsty work, remembering."

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    "Simpler, no. Richer, yes." The man tips back his ale, quaffing back the very last of the dregs. "More." he demands of the passing barmaid. "Sir, I can't," she responds. "Your tab is too high. Pay it down." Achjan growls and makes a lunging grab for the (in his opinion) tart barmaid. But he's too drunk to pose much of a threat, and she neatly sidesteps his grope all the while seeming to be working obliviously. "Well I mean yes, it was simple. Blockade against Umbar. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out. But not simple."

Again Barjad's ruined face curves in that one-sided grimace that passes for a smile, this time as he watches the barmaid's neat evasion. Turning to her, he requests calmly, "I'll have another, please." The hand not already holding a mug opens to show a few coppers.

Once she's on her way, he turns to his new companion. "Of course. Some things go in, but not out. Or out but not in. Goods, people ... even whole ships. Is that not simple?" He pauses. "I find I am not so thirsty, after all. Perhaps an ale might be traded, for the right information?"

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    "No no...the plan was to starve Umbar into submission. Get that Lord Ajnabi to buckle. No goods go in, nothing comes out. 'Cept our families, maybe. And no raids to Gondor by ship." Achjan's gaze drops enviously to the earthen mug of ale, now offered him in exchange...for what? "What sort of information?" he asks warily.

Barjad watches the other man, and chuckles. "The plan, yes. The wise man knows that not everything is planned. What of the Ruby that sits in the harbour right now? I've heard a man brag of how she came in. As certain other ships ... slipped out."

He pauses, having received his new mug, and swirls its contents gently for Achjan to see, before murmuring, "I wish to know what became of some of the Seaward ships. I find it hard to remember these things." His tone is mild (though as nasal as ever), the words carefully enunciated and presumably forethought.

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    As the ale swirls and swishes in the mug, Achjan's eyes follow it almost mesmerized, as some might look at a dancing woman's hips sway. "Well what Seaward ships would that be? There's been a few." He licks his lips subconsciously.

There have," Barjad agrees mildly, keeping his own gaze away from that mesmerizing mug and focusing instead on Achjan's words and movements. "I will not ask you of the Aganallo. Things do ... disappear, sometimes, after all. But what of the Suleiman? Can you speak of her?"

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    "Oh, everyone knows that..." the surly Corsair says, leaning forward with his meaty paw snaking out suddenly to swipe the alluring mug from the hands of the conversant, before his admission devalues the trade too much. "It's at the bottom of the Bay of Umbar, in pieces. Lots o' them lost that day."

A soft noise akin to a growl comes from Barjad's throat as the mug is taken, but he allows it - for now. "Nice and simple, eh? But you said it yourself. Nothing is simple. What really happened that day, Achjan?" As he uses the man's name for the first time, he leans in a little closer, and the arm that was previously burdened by a mug is now free, ready to grab or twist.

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    Achjan is so intent on the drink in his hand, he fails to notice the use of his name...when no introductions were made. He swirls it once, the quaffs down a few gulps. This seems to improve his mood. "They was betrayed. Turned on. Ships of Black and mercenary ships hired by Ajnabi, they say." He leans in a little to speak in conspiritorial tones. "They was getting ready for some glorious raid on the Gondor ships up North, and they was out in the bay, waiting. The best ships of Seaward, 'cludin the Suleiman. But just when they was gettin ready to weigh anchor, they was rammed! Surprised. I saw it, from the docks. Heard the wood groan and snap like thunder, heard the water boil greed-like." He takes another deep drink. "They hit the best ships, and the crew was in the water. Some of them they saved, some of them they killed. Course, the other lesser ships came to their rescue, and to counterattack. But they weren't enough. No one went raiding that day. I don't know which was worse." He adds, a haunted look in his eye. "To see such fine ships sinking in our own bay, or to see one tower betray another like that."

Barjad listens to the tale in silence, seemingly taking it at face value. "It is the way of things," he says at last. "Tower has fought Tower before, and will do so again." He is quiet a little, but then asks, frowning a little, "But your ship did not sink. What happened to you then?"

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    "I was on the dock. I wasn't part of either tower then, I was Farside. And I wasn't going out that day." He looks intently at Barjad now. "Well of course Tower has fought tower hefore, but they usually came out pretty even. That just about broke Seaward in twain. I mean, you don't have to have a vested interest to appreaciate someone else's tragedy. Seaward used to be the main force of the fleet. And the Sulieman was the flagship. All I could think of was how there wouldn't be any big battles up north anymore, you know? Course...it was a good time for Farside to step up and become the new power on the sea. But that didna happen." He starts to take another gulp, but finds he finished off his ale with the last.

Barjad's brows draw together somewhat. "You will find that Seaward is far from broken," comes his curt response, awkwardness of speech little disguising his hostility. He pauses, waiting until the other has finished his ale. "But you were wrong. There has been battle, and battle will happen again." Briefly his lips twist in a half-smile. "Farside has ships. Seaward has ships. Join one. If it is Seaward, let me know." That said, he turns away from the other and begins to merge back into the crowd before he can be asked for any more ales.

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Daytime on Sterday, Day 1 of October.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 18:17:38 MDT on Wed Apr 22 2009.
IC year: 3046

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    Early morning in Umbar is warm and salty in the Common Lounge of Seaward. The shutters over the great windows have just been cracked, and the salty breeze that wafts in is yet cool when it is from the sea, but the air from the city it brings in with it is already warm. The smells and the warm and cool air eddy about at will.

The hall is half dark, as the sun sits in the east, and only the light blue western sky lights the room indirectly. And in this room, a cold breakfast is being served for those who wander in. Bread and honey, butter, cold cuts, cheese, and ale or wine or whatever is good for starting the day. For Eruphel, it is wine, and she sips it while curled up on some of the low cushioned seats, studying a piece of paper and pondering, with a piece of sharpened and wrapped charcoal.

One of those who wanders in Barjad, one hand raised to knuckle at his eyes. The keffiyeh he habitually wears hangs loosely about his face today, and when his hand drops away it can be seen that he is yawning. At the sight of Eruphel, however, he straightens and turns his steps toward her, stopping a respectful distance away. "Lady," he begins in soft, nasal tones. "I had hoped to find you. There is something you should hear." He stiffens at those final words, watching the Regent warily.

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    Eruphel reaches for a rolled cold cut, and nibbles at it as she looks up at the Corsair. "Hmm? What is it, Barjad?" she asks, popping the rest of the food into her mouth and chewing it down quickly.

Barjad's hesitation is clear after a few moments, though, he sighs and states carefully, "It is about the Suleiman. You asked me to find out where she had gone. I have had a story from one man, and others have said similar things."

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    The Lady Regent sets aside the paper she'd been holding, along with the charcoal marker, and changes her seated position to lean heavily on her right elbow. "And what have you heard?" she asks, her voice betraying the suspicion of ill tidings she senses from the man.

Barjad regards the papers with a lift of one eyebrow, but at Eruphel's tone he looks away, focusing on the woman instead. His voice, when it comes, is soft. "The Suleiman is here - beneath the sea. Seaward ships were making ready to raid, when they were attacked, were-" his brows furrow as the speech pauses, then hesitantly he offers a word, his tone rising in doubtful query "rammed? Is that the word? Those who attacked, some were hired, but," another pause, this one nothing to do with language difficulties, "others were ships of Black. Or so men say."

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    Eruphel's mouth hangs open for a bit, horror and sorrow written more deeply on her face with every word. A cry catches in her throat as Barjad reports that the Suleiman was rammed, and she clenches her jaw, and her hands ball into fists as her eyes unfocus to allow the scene to play across her vision as described. "Ships of Black." She says with a fell tone. "Would that we had captured that scorpion Ajnabi, so that we could make his death long and painful." she says, her voice so wrought with emotion that she can barely speak except with gravelly words. A long silence passes, before she speaks again. "The Torath lost with my father...the Suleiman drowned in blood and betrayal...here, you said? And the rest of the fleet...I imagine they were all in the fray as well, since you said they were making ready to raid?"

Barjad watches Eruphel's reactions in silence, though at the mention of Ajnabi a look that might almost be pity comes into his eyes. The final question brings a shake of the head. "The ... the teller of the story said it was the strongest ships that did sink. The- the less ones? - survived." The sheen of pity in his gaze returns, and he adds gently, "Lady, I know nothing of working the wood - but can not men build more ships?"

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    Eruphel rises from the cushions, and walks stiffly to the open windows, to gaze out on the sea, and to one side, the harbor. "You don't understand. It was the pride of Seaward and the backbone of the fleet." she says, her eyes fixed on the vast horizon. She pauses and raises her left hand over her head to lean her elbow against the window, leaving her hand free to play with her dark hair in some sort of comforting way, lifting a lock then letting it drop, then smooting it, to repeat the whole thing again. "Is there nothing left?" she asks, her voice tight and on the verge of breaking, tears brimming in her eyes. Somehow, it doesn't sound like she's talking about ships. Or at least, not just ships.

Barjad's eyes narrow a little as he focuses on Eruphel's back. "No, I do not understand," he repeats, simply. "The Suleiman was not flagship when I served here. For a new lord there should be a new ship, a new start. Choose any ship, and name it yours. And," he pauses, the slow, nasal tones hardening a little, "t here is something left. There are men and women who give their oath to Seaward, to you. Use them."

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    Eruphel turns her head to hide her face against her arm as she listens, her face bitter but schooled into discipline. "Perhaps /Lord Lomanakh/ named a new flagship," Eruphel says, spitting out the name of the former Seaward Lord with derision, "To establish himself as the new Lord and to erase evidence of his predecessors. He never understood such things as Corsair honor or tradition...not when I knew him. But before him, the Suleiman was the flagship out of tradition. Not just out of respect for former Seaward Lords, but because it was the /best/ ship." She sighs, and then turns around, her eyes and nose tinged with red, and her lips fat and red with emotion. Her voice turns resolute. "But you are right. Ships are made of wood, and more can be built. We will build more, and we will find blueprints of the Suleimann to work from." She sighs. "I just wanted to capture more of my own past, to cherish it."

Barjad twitches slightly as Eruphel speaks, and when she turns he carefully averts his gaze a little. "There may be drawings in the library?" he suggests hesitantly. "I know little of the writings of Umbar, but I can read the Common. And I can learn. I will look, if it is your wish?" He makes of that a question.

A pause, then. "I should go," he states at last. "The day is for work, not talk. But .. one thing I will say. The past should be a lesson we learn from, not a rope to bind us. In my own past, I made many mistakes. But when my time came to lead, I learned. I did not make the mistakes again." Ending what is for him an unusually long and carefully enunciated speech, he bows his head and awaits dismissal.

[Eruphel(#20109)]
    "I am here to restore Seaward to its former glory, and perhaps in the process recapture...something. I did not think it too much to ask that /something/ around here not be in need of fixing. Mazrakhor went north to Harondor to raid for lumber, because it makes for better ships. We shall do the same." she says, then storms out of the room. The question of the blueprints is either ignored or forgotten.

Barjad raises an eyebrow at Eruphel's abrupt departure, though he keeps his face turned away. He gives her plenty of time to get clear before he, too, exits the room to go about his duties.