Underneath the Wharf

The Isle of Tolcrist

Tolcrist, 'Isle of Blades', they named this place, for it juts out from the cold waters of the Bay of Belfalas -- not far from the shores of the fief itself, which can be seen as a thick dark line to the horizon to the north -- like an upthrust sword seeking to cleave the sea about in twain. Sharp cliffs flank the isle upon most sides, though its inner slopes are covered with grass, shrubbery, and ancient trees whose thick, gnarled limbs twist undeterred into the salty winds that they have long endured.

A harbour lies on the isle's eastern edge: a guarded haven whose sanctity is made whole by the rocky atoll and aegis of cliffs about, as well as the Gwaerenbaradi -- the twin Towers of the Wind that stand watch against all foes -- that loom above upon either side. There are quays enough for a dozen great vessels to berth, and many lesser wharfs for the ships of the fishermen and traders of Calenost: the small but oft-bustling port-town of Tolcrist.

A long road winds its way up Tolcrist's flanks, leading from the harbour and Caelenost to the great castle of Lond Annun upon the peak, which looms as a shadow of grey graced by a hundred fluttering pennants of the green and blue of the Tarikhori and the Silver Swan of Dol Amroth.

The sun reigns in the sky above, and the port of Calenost is alive with a bustle of industry and activity.

Contents:

Orchalang

Menelglir

The Ship with no Name

Obvious exits:

 Open Sea leads to Southern Coast of Belfalas.

Castle

[Arathis]

Thick, consuming bands of morning fog drape the coasts of Tolcrist, obscuring the speedy approach of a smuggler’s vessel unto that lonely isle. By some fateful zephyr, less than a full day has passed since its sudden departure from Pelargir, its billowed sails so shuttling a hull well burdened with the many wares vital for a castle’s keeping.

At the ship’s stern gathers the knight Arathis and his company, Hir Menelglir, Squire Calarion, and the Guardsman Orchalang, all cowled and cloaked as fishermen befit for a chilly voyage. Seeming to mutter to himself, he touches each man at his brow, ere grasping a rope bound to the ship’s portside railing.

“Do not fall but climb down into the waters. When beneath the wharf, heave thy bundle above thy head. There, do not speak if thou must cough, submerge thy head. When the wharf proves empty, no foot being heard upon it, we move for the coast, and from there as fishermen penetrate the township of Calenlost.

“Above all, men, remember to withhold from thy tongue the fair speech of the faithful for here, I fear, we walk among the dark.”

As the prow of their vessel first edges aside the wharf’s end, Arathis casts himself suddenly overboard, deftly lowering from his rope into the isle’s seas.

[Orchalang(#16333)]

         The Guardsman acknowledges the Captain of Gondor with but a simple nod, obviously knowing the severity and importance of this mission. As the Captain casts himself overboard so too does the Guardsman, lowering himself silently into the bitter cold water.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

Down the rope descends Menelglir, bundle shouldered, gloved hands grasping tight to the rope. He says not a word to the Herald or fellow soldiers, but nods acknowledgement.

[Arathis]

The faint plop of each man's descent registers with the Lord Isilrim, whose head momentarily shivers with his body's curglaff, ere he steadies his bundle and takes to waiting in absolute stillness.

As nigh half an hour busies the wharf above, the lord's teeth begin to lightly chatter, forcing his nose to the water's edge. For men all the while scurry, inspecting the smuggler's cargo and retrieving what they briefly may -- until, at last, a crude call emanates from the dockmaster, and the feet seem to depart elsewhere.

Looking once behind him for his fellows, Arathis then moves for the coast, his tired arms buttressing still his bundle.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

And Menelglir, in the cold water, wrinkles up his nose--as if to keep from sneezing, finally having to press his nose hard against one arm to prevent their discovery. He makes for the coast, following.

[Orchalang(#16333)]

         The water is so cold the Guardsman has to bite down on his own lip to keep from cursing aloud, using his legs to keep him afloat he holds his bundle in his arms and looks to the Captain, swimming after him almost fully submerged, his body shaking and on the verge of convulsing from the cold.

[Arathis]

Once upon land, the company’s path enjoys little hardship for they are wet as fishermen may be, and no man seems to deem their presence improper.

Striding together, they slip into one of Calenlost’s many abandoned homes, placed fortuitously at the township’s outskirts and somewhat secluded from the rest of its diminished populace.

The building is of humble make: a stone base supports a largely wooden structure, susceptible to both sea-storm and wind, patched in part with hardened earth. It is of only one level, separated into only two chambers: one for dining and one for sleeping.

Though there is a hearth, Arathis states quietly, “We shall have no fire.”

[Orchalang(#16333)]

         Nodding his head the guardsman says not a word, simply moving forward and opening the door slowly and quietly as can be done.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

"Very good, sir," Menelglir says, though as he follows the others in, wet cloak dripping and boots squeaking water, he cannot help but glance at the empty hearth. "Calarion and I did meet a fisherman and his family, still loyal to Gondor. One of the few such left on this island, they said. But their cottage is too far from here and we should not bring suspicion upon them with our presence, in any case."

[Arathis]

Arathis inspects with the push of his hand the condition of a chair by a dusty table. Once content, he folds carefully into the seat.

“It is boon to have friend among the locals, who may tell us of what the eye cannot readily see. But let us meet no other, lest they do the Pretender’s guards a similar service.

Whether we may need this fisherman, I know yet not.”

Removing his boots and laying out his wear, proceeding even until he is stark, the knight instructs simply, “Empty thy bundles and let dry thy wear. This day we rest and watch only the town.”

[Orchalang(#16333)]

         The Guardsman begins to strip off his clothing, wringing things out in the corner as he hangs them from the wall to dry, standing in nothing but what the vala were so gracious enough to gift him with he shivers a bit and begins to lay out his gear that was in the bundle. Unwrapping the cloak he reveals that his gear is held in the stomach of some animal, a large animal, a bear perhaps. Though still wet, they are more damp then anything else.

         Looking about he rubs his hands together for warmth and says "When we are done here this island should be razed to the ground."

[Menelglir(#17324)]

First one boot, then the other, the water drained on the floor, then Menelglir strips of the rest of his clothing, laying out gear and clothes as best he can. He glances to Orchalang. "By the Valar! What is -that-?" He is looking at the stomach-bag, of course.

[Arathis]

“Thou judge as if a god,” remarks Arathis to the Guardsman, settling his blade calmly atop the table. “From sunken Forostar came once these people by the aegis of these cliffs, many a Corsair has tumbled to over-drink the sea and, aye, even the claims of black Castamir were once here rebuffed.

“Let it not be so, Orchalang. Though I have sent word to the Marshall and Captain-General ere our departure, and even now the warriors of Gondor must ready at our backs, let not our little crimson stain Belfalas’s noble Bay.

“For it is Nature these dark men wish to befoul. Should we be her hands, we would rob them of their victual, and let them rightly rot.”

[Orchalang(#16333)]

         Nodding his head the Guardsman says "I speak as a man who wishes for justice my Captain.." pausing for a moment to rub his shoulders and shake off some of the cold he continues "Forgive my quickness to anger in these foul times." Looking to the Silver Knight he says "The stomach of a bear, keeps your supplies dry and makes them not so heavy in the water."

[Menelglir(#17324)]

"That is one trick I would like to learn. If ever we return safely home from this place," Menelglir says.

"But once there were good folk on this isle, as the fisherfolk we met told us. For their sake, it must not be razed. Tis not Numenor, and as the Herald says, we are not the Valar."

"And the TArikhor? What of them--this isle is of their family, no? Sour, all?"

[Arathis]

The Lord Isilrim heeds momentarily the contents of his bundle, handling a bird-mask in the form of an eagle and a royalist tabard -- the token thereupon of the kingdom’s rightful White Tree, its branches however corrupted with the occupying silhouette of a kingfisher. Contempt courses acutely through him, and his nose flares:

“Such rubbish has long been unnecessary to enter Lond Annun, keep of the Tarikhor, whose men have oft served as knights to the Imrazor.

“I know not what darkness has befallen the house since Tarlanc’s demise, but, alas, I shall render unkind judgment upon it, if I must.”

[Orchalang(#16333)]

         Feeling his barely damp clothes the Guardsman begin to redress, shivering a bit from the cold, as he looks at the tabard and the mask he shakes his head a bit and then places the tabard over his shoulder. Lowering himself to the ground he leans against the wall and looks the mask over, the thing appears to resemble that of a chicken, a cock.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

In Menelglir's gear, the mask of a sparrow. He turns it over in his hands, looking at it, setting it on his face, then taking it off. The tabard is laid out to dry. "A strange device that they have resorted to. Is there such distrust amongst the supporters of this so-called King that they hide, even from each other? Cowards, the lot of them. They have not the moral strength to stand even for their own convictions."

[Arathis]

"Aye, cowards," repeats Arathis, discarding the tabard and mask aside, "who mean only to gain by another's loss.

"Our blades be their judges, as too, here amidst the dark's den, our wits.

"Tomorrow I enter the keep. For now, men, find strength in rest and the truth of thy oaths."

Yet stark, the Dunadan then forsakes his companions, departing into the house's deeper chamber.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

"Into the Keep, Hir? Should not the Guardsman or myself make the first attempt, lest you fail or there is some trap?" Menelglir says. "The Admiral is already taken....."

[Orchalang(#16333)]

         Setting the mask down the Guardsman says "If we have need of someone to enter and learn what we can send me Captain, we cannot afford to lose any of us, though least of all you. It is your plan, Gondor can scarcely afford to lose one of her Captains."

[Arathis]

Arathis looks plainly upon his fellows. "Ye mistake me, if ye believe me timid before my enemy."

With these final words, the knight retreats to rest.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

Menelglir waits until the Herald has left, then shakes his head to the Guardsman. "He will not change his mind." Scowling, he finds a relatively warm corner to sit in while he waits for his clothing to dry.