Elendor
Buying Time
Pursued by two Gondorian ships, the Corsairs of Umbar gain time by jettisoning excess cargo
Sort Date: no date set
Location: At Sea
Weather: Storm!
Description: In the late morning, the Heledir spotted the Naloinzil on the far horizon. Or did the Naloinzil spot the Heledir? No doubt, it would depend greatly on which crew was asked. The Naloinzil and the Heledir seemed to close the distance at first, speeding recklessly toward each other. But then the Corsair raider made a turn toward a nearby archipelago, making for that at full speed, with the Gondorian ship in pursuit. But a storm on the western horizon rolled in quickly, starting with a light breeze, but turning to a full gale as the dark clouds streamed overhead, and within a couple of hours of the first sighting, both ships had lightning arcing all around. The seas which started off with a gentle chop has grown to deep swells that would make the green sailor vomit and a seasoned sailor pray for home. Still prey and predator make for the islands.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Seasoned or green, the crew of the Heledir seems intent upon their prey and not willing to be deterred by Osse's wrath. As the winds strain their sails, the crew man the ballistae as best as they can. Using the momentous heaving of the ocean to the their advantage, the gunners wait until the Amrothian ship crests the top of one watery mountain ere raining down thick bolts to the corsairs below - or at least aiming them at the storm-tossed ship.
His long hair streaming in the rain and ocean spray, the Heledir's First Mate Holds on tightly to the rigging with hand while the other is held high in signal. "FIRE!" he orders, bring his arm down quickly.
And from those same waves that birthed this struggle comes another mighty ship, at the heels of the Heledir, tall and black: The Black Swan.
The eyes of those upon it are drawn and gaunt and there is none of the enthusiastic command that comes from the other Gondorian ship. It merely closes.
Rain-soaked and shivering from a combination of excitement, fear and cold, Menelglir is helping to load one of the ballistae handing off bolt after bolt as they are sent toward the Southron ship. The White Squire is also white faced--every once in a while, in between handing off bolts, he runs to the railing, his stomach heaving, but no contents left in it. Groaning quietly, he returns to his post, his sickness momentarily forgotten as he spots the Black Swan. "Arashen! Sir!" he points toward the ship.
And the emergence of the great warship is not missed upon the deck of the Naloinzil, for many a finger is pointed toward the Black Swan, and a cry of alarm sounds from the swaying crow's nest. "Captain!" roars the lookout from high above. "We've got the same two sharks on our fins as before!"
Captain Lozir, our dashing hero, turns to follow the gaze of his lookout, and catching sight of the mighty flagship his smile tightens. Fingers clench upon the rail as his breath curses out between his lips, and wasting not a moment he cups his hands about his mouth to holler out urgent instructions.
"Hard to port!" he cries. "We've a slimmer hull, and a better helmsman than the two sea slugs behind us. Get us into those choppy waters!"
At his bidding, the Naloinzil turns toward the archipelago, the sails billowing out to catch the breeze.
The upper and lower deck of the Naloinzil is awash with remnant suds of the sea, slickening the wooden surface. And with the rolling sea, when the head of Eruphel pops up from the lower deck (and then the rest of her) its with white-knuckled holding on to the railing, and whatever else can serve as temporary support as she makes her way toward the stern. As the ship tilts and turns into the waves, the next breaking wave splashes up over the bow with frothy spittle, sliding along the deck down the slope toward the other side, only pausing to part in its passage around Eruphel's soggy leather boots.
A spectre appears at the fore of the Black Swan: a ghost of Numenor long sunk, tall and lean, his gaze a rivet of steel-hardened grey. Ulmo's tempestuous seas toss themselves upon him without respite, but his eyes are unwavering still. Here, Imrakhor, Lord of the Bragollachs, Captain of Amroth. He turns to face his Master.
"Fire," he says evenly, and so they do.
Alazne stands at the bow against the railing overlooking the Naloinzil's middeck, her shoulders tense and knuckles white as she braces against the rise and fall of the roiling sea. Her dark eyes are wild upon the horizon as the spray of an angry sea whips into her face and those of the crew, over whom she aims the occasional surveying glance.
As the Captain's voice fights against the roar of the waves to her ears, Alazne relays it to the forward crew with matched volume, or the best that can be managed.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Arashen shifts his eyes from the prey to look where the squire has pointed. A wave heaves between the Heledir and whatever has caught Menelglir's attention, but the young Knight waits patiently until the undulating waters deign to reveal the Black Swan once more. A wicked smile curves the Telpekhor's lips and he turns back to his task, a new fire in his eyes.
But evidently the ballistae missed its target and he narrows his eyes against the driving rain, watching the corsair ship as it tries to turn in the storm. "Ten degrees to port!" he calls out, then mutters. "They are insane to try a turn that tight in this weather."
"Hold," he says, glancing to the squire as he brings another bolt. "Let the Swan fire."
"Sir!" Menelglir shouts above the noise of rain and sea, acknowledging Arashen's order. "We have a chance at taking them tonight!" The White Squire shouts excitedly, the prospect of the fight overcoming his nerves at least in this instant. He shifts nervously from one foot to the next, holding the next bolt for the ballistae, but waiting for orders again.
The helmsman on the Naloinzil responds with a prompt spin of the wheel, though each turn has to be muscled against the fighting waves. The wheel turns left on and on, more and more, till the whole ship leans with the turn. The crew run to the securing lines to loosen and lash as necessary to re-trim the sails for the new direction. "It's madness to leave our sails unfurled in a storm like this!" one crew member shouts a little too loudly to his companion nearby.
And the rain of iron splatters into the churning waters, many of the bolts nary a dozen yards from the turning hull of the Naloinzil. Indeed, one bolt flies farther than the others a mighty smash of wood the reward for the keen sighted mariners of Gondor. Should the flagship of Seaward escape this wrathful pursuit, the galley will be in dire need of repair.
The damage brings a growl to Lozir's lips, and in his eyes rages a storm worthy of Osse himself. The Son of the Winter Squall's gaze flashes hither and thither as though bolts of lightning sent to his crew, and as the Umbarean vessel crests a rolling wave he is forced to hold himself steady against the rail.
"Hold it tight, men!" he cries out over the clamour of the storm. "Just a little longer. Make them chase us in!"
[Arashen(#24692)]
The Heledir's safer turn, brings them round in a wider arc and too far away to fire the ballistae but brings the Gondorian ship into a position to flank the corsair along with the Black Swan - should either ship catch up with her.
A bolt of lightening sears the sky over the Heledir and soon after ship's fire crackles and glows about the upper rigging and masts - causing many of the crew to keep a wary and superstitious eye on it.
Arashen ignores it, turning instead to his young kinsman. "Perhaps. But the storm makes all outcomes unpredictable."
"Follow them in," says the Lord of the Bragollachs, lightning crashing at his sides.
The Swan continues on without respite.
"They could easily sink with a turn like that, though!" Menelglir answers, still shouting above the storm. Though he tries to imitate Arashen and not let the bolt of lightning and fire about the masts not bother him, he betrays his nerves and youth, glancing up at the sky a few times. "Where are they going that they risk it?"
And the timbers of the Naloinzil creak on, their masts strained as the vicious winds burst into their sails. But their efforts are not without reward of their own, for a long gust suddenly hurries their pace and the Corsair vessel speeds toward the archipelago. But once the turn of speed is spent, and the winds flit back and forth over the roiling seas, Lozir cries out over the gale.
"Alazne!" he roars. "Get any spare hand to dump out what we dont need. We need to be lighter... they dont dare fire again with the storms like this. They stand as much chance of sinking each other! We need a swifter pace!"
"Wait." Eruphel says, then realizing she might not be heard over the tempest, shouts louder, so both captain and first mate can hear, "Wait!" She stands for a moment with one hand wrapped around a rope for secure anchor, and looks at the Captain and his first mate. "We don't have to throw out everything..."
[Arashen(#24692)]
"The Archipelago," Arashen replies, his eyes never leaving Naloinzil. "Follow them!" he bellows to the pilot.
The Heledir comes out of its slow turn at last, a little too late to take full advantage of the strong gust that carried the corsairs so far. But their course is straight now and the wind fills their sails to straining as they ride the towering waves after their sister ship and the prey.
Dark, sea-soaked hair streams in Alazne's face as she whirls her head around to Lozir, her nod all but lost before she voices a shout of her own upon the wind. "You heard the captain!" she shouts. "Check the hold first for damages, and lose what can't be fixed!"
But as the portside rail leans further down toward the storm-darkened waves, a wild glance aside finds Eruphel. "And what does the Lady suggest?" the First Mate answers shrilly to cut through the roar of the storm, sparing little for patience.
His duties with the ballistae done for now at least, Menelglir is free from one post and but quickly on to another, lashing and unlashing ropes as needed.
Eruphel watches as the First Mate passes down the order, and some of the crew members begin tearing off the damaged pieces of galley and throwing it overboard. Along with it goes some iron detrius. Eruphel turns her head toward the others. "Do you remember, perhaps, the sunset on the Saqrwa'il? Then the Seaward Lady jerks her chin downward toward the lower deck. "The Gondorian Lady."
His eyes meet with Eruphel's own, and Lozir nods gruffly in resignation. "Aye," says he, approaching the other two. "Get her up on deck and lash her to a bolt or two. Stand her up on the aft-deck, for all the milkskins to see..."
[Arashen(#24692)]
Whether the Heledir's First Mate has come to the same conclusion or not, the ship follows the Black Swan in similar fashion.
"The Captain must be a coward to be fleeing like that," says Imrakhor.
"Keep on."
[Arashen(#24692)]
The dark-haired lady of Gondor is dragged to the rolling deck of the Naloinzil, eyes wide with fear. Her grey eyes dart from face to face, coming to rest at last upon Lozir as she is lashed to a pair of bolts and displayed on the aft deck.
Now, even Eruphel seems surprised at the Captain's orders. "Lash her to some bolts? Do you mean to fire her at them?" Just then a wave washes over the aft part of the deck, and threatens to sweep her feet out from under her. But she bends her knees and holds on to her rope with both hands.
Menelglir, whose eyes are young and sharp, gives a sudden cry as he spots the woman on the Southron's deck. "There's a prisoner tied up on their ship!" he yells to Arashen. "There!" Pointing across the angry seas to the Naloinzil.
A wolfish grin snakes upon the Corsair Captain's lips, and he shakes his head as a fresh bolt of lightning sears across the livid sky. "No," he replies, "though iron sinks better than wood. Let the milkskins have a real threat to their precious Lady's life... we need to break off their pursuit, no? Why not make sure of it.."
[Arashen(#24692)]
Arashen rushes to the aft-deck, struggling against the cross winds and wash of sea-water. He peers out from the prow, his tightly pressed lips turned downward.
Eruphel nods then, her face turned stony hard. In the cold wet weather, the poor pallor she wears sits ill under her natural tan. "Do it then." she says without further hesitation. Then she looks to the gondorian woman. "Think of it this way, if you live, you will be able to garner support for your child's ransom."
With that, a crewman reaches up and gives the woman a shove at her shoulders. Stiffly tied and unable to move, the woman flips over the side, her feet flying high in the air before she disappears into a wave that comes up to slap the boat. For a moment, it would seem she would wash back aboard. But then she's over the crest, and falls behind in the Naloinzil's wake.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Whatever the lady shouts is drowned by the storm as she is tossed overboard.
And another pair of sharp grey-eyes catches her descent. "Five degrees starboard!" shouts Arashen, "prepare a launch!"
The Heledir breaks off its chase to rescue the lady.
Eruphel turns away from the scene, not wishing to watch the woman slip under the waters...which she does. But after a few moments, perhaps with the aid of a wave, or just pure determination, she surfaces once more, coughing and sputtering and...her arms free!
As the Gondorian ship veers off course, Lozir turns his gaze back to the fore, and barks out a harsh order. "Get us underway, with as much speed as you can wrest from the wind! Our Lord will steer us right, away from the curs!"
[Arashen(#24692)]
As the Naloinzil leaves the lady bobbing in its wake, she struggles with her heavy gown - frantically working at the laces as she struggles to divest the water-logged garment and keep her head above water.
The Heledir bears down upon her, and perhaps by chance, finds her in the wild waters. Letting the wind out of her sails, the Gondorian ship slows while several men pull against the oars of the launch to pluck Linaewen out of the treacherous waters.
As more and more space grows between the corsair ship and her pursuer, deep in the hold of the former a child's begrieved wail pierces the lower decks...but is possibly lost in the greater storm for those above.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Seasoned or green, the crew of the Heledir seems intent upon their prey and not willing to be deterred by Osse's wrath. As the winds strain their sails, the crew man the ballistae as best as they can. Using the momentous heaving of the ocean to the their advantage, the gunners wait until the Amrothian ship crests the top of one watery mountain ere raining down thick bolts to the corsairs below - or at least aiming them at the storm-tossed ship.
His long hair streaming in the rain and ocean spray, the Heledir's First Mate Holds on tightly to the rigging with hand while the other is held high in signal. "FIRE!" he orders, bring his arm down quickly.
And from those same waves that birthed this struggle comes another mighty ship, at the heels of the Heledir, tall and black: The Black Swan.
The eyes of those upon it are drawn and gaunt and there is none of the enthusiastic command that comes from the other Gondorian ship. It merely closes.
Rain-soaked and shivering from a combination of excitement, fear and cold, Menelglir is helping to load one of the ballistae handing off bolt after bolt as they are sent toward the Southron ship. The White Squire is also white faced--every once in a while, in between handing off bolts, he runs to the railing, his stomach heaving, but no contents left in it. Groaning quietly, he returns to his post, his sickness momentarily forgotten as he spots the Black Swan. "Arashen! Sir!" he points toward the ship.
And the emergence of the great warship is not missed upon the deck of the Naloinzil, for many a finger is pointed toward the Black Swan, and a cry of alarm sounds from the swaying crow's nest. "Captain!" roars the lookout from high above. "We've got the same two sharks on our fins as before!"
Captain Lozir, our dashing hero, turns to follow the gaze of his lookout, and catching sight of the mighty flagship his smile tightens. Fingers clench upon the rail as his breath curses out between his lips, and wasting not a moment he cups his hands about his mouth to holler out urgent instructions.
"Hard to port!" he cries. "We've a slimmer hull, and a better helmsman than the two sea slugs behind us. Get us into those choppy waters!"
At his bidding, the Naloinzil turns toward the archipelago, the sails billowing out to catch the breeze.
The upper and lower deck of the Naloinzil is awash with remnant suds of the sea, slickening the wooden surface. And with the rolling sea, when the head of Eruphel pops up from the lower deck (and then the rest of her) its with white-knuckled holding on to the railing, and whatever else can serve as temporary support as she makes her way toward the stern. As the ship tilts and turns into the waves, the next breaking wave splashes up over the bow with frothy spittle, sliding along the deck down the slope toward the other side, only pausing to part in its passage around Eruphel's soggy leather boots.
A spectre appears at the fore of the Black Swan: a ghost of Numenor long sunk, tall and lean, his gaze a rivet of steel-hardened grey. Ulmo's tempestuous seas toss themselves upon him without respite, but his eyes are unwavering still. Here, Imrakhor, Lord of the Bragollachs, Captain of Amroth. He turns to face his Master.
"Fire," he says evenly, and so they do.
Alazne stands at the bow against the railing overlooking the Naloinzil's middeck, her shoulders tense and knuckles white as she braces against the rise and fall of the roiling sea. Her dark eyes are wild upon the horizon as the spray of an angry sea whips into her face and those of the crew, over whom she aims the occasional surveying glance.
As the Captain's voice fights against the roar of the waves to her ears, Alazne relays it to the forward crew with matched volume, or the best that can be managed.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Arashen shifts his eyes from the prey to look where the squire has pointed. A wave heaves between the Heledir and whatever has caught Menelglir's attention, but the young Knight waits patiently until the undulating waters deign to reveal the Black Swan once more. A wicked smile curves the Telpekhor's lips and he turns back to his task, a new fire in his eyes.
But evidently the ballistae missed its target and he narrows his eyes against the driving rain, watching the corsair ship as it tries to turn in the storm. "Ten degrees to port!" he calls out, then mutters. "They are insane to try a turn that tight in this weather."
"Hold," he says, glancing to the squire as he brings another bolt. "Let the Swan fire."
"Sir!" Menelglir shouts above the noise of rain and sea, acknowledging Arashen's order. "We have a chance at taking them tonight!" The White Squire shouts excitedly, the prospect of the fight overcoming his nerves at least in this instant. He shifts nervously from one foot to the next, holding the next bolt for the ballistae, but waiting for orders again.
The helmsman on the Naloinzil responds with a prompt spin of the wheel, though each turn has to be muscled against the fighting waves. The wheel turns left on and on, more and more, till the whole ship leans with the turn. The crew run to the securing lines to loosen and lash as necessary to re-trim the sails for the new direction. "It's madness to leave our sails unfurled in a storm like this!" one crew member shouts a little too loudly to his companion nearby.
And the rain of iron splatters into the churning waters, many of the bolts nary a dozen yards from the turning hull of the Naloinzil. Indeed, one bolt flies farther than the others a mighty smash of wood the reward for the keen sighted mariners of Gondor. Should the flagship of Seaward escape this wrathful pursuit, the galley will be in dire need of repair.
The damage brings a growl to Lozir's lips, and in his eyes rages a storm worthy of Osse himself. The Son of the Winter Squall's gaze flashes hither and thither as though bolts of lightning sent to his crew, and as the Umbarean vessel crests a rolling wave he is forced to hold himself steady against the rail.
"Hold it tight, men!" he cries out over the clamour of the storm. "Just a little longer. Make them chase us in!"
[Arashen(#24692)]
The Heledir's safer turn, brings them round in a wider arc and too far away to fire the ballistae but brings the Gondorian ship into a position to flank the corsair along with the Black Swan - should either ship catch up with her.
A bolt of lightening sears the sky over the Heledir and soon after ship's fire crackles and glows about the upper rigging and masts - causing many of the crew to keep a wary and superstitious eye on it.
Arashen ignores it, turning instead to his young kinsman. "Perhaps. But the storm makes all outcomes unpredictable."
"Follow them in," says the Lord of the Bragollachs, lightning crashing at his sides.
The Swan continues on without respite.
"They could easily sink with a turn like that, though!" Menelglir answers, still shouting above the storm. Though he tries to imitate Arashen and not let the bolt of lightning and fire about the masts not bother him, he betrays his nerves and youth, glancing up at the sky a few times. "Where are they going that they risk it?"
And the timbers of the Naloinzil creak on, their masts strained as the vicious winds burst into their sails. But their efforts are not without reward of their own, for a long gust suddenly hurries their pace and the Corsair vessel speeds toward the archipelago. But once the turn of speed is spent, and the winds flit back and forth over the roiling seas, Lozir cries out over the gale.
"Alazne!" he roars. "Get any spare hand to dump out what we dont need. We need to be lighter... they dont dare fire again with the storms like this. They stand as much chance of sinking each other! We need a swifter pace!"
"Wait." Eruphel says, then realizing she might not be heard over the tempest, shouts louder, so both captain and first mate can hear, "Wait!" She stands for a moment with one hand wrapped around a rope for secure anchor, and looks at the Captain and his first mate. "We don't have to throw out everything..."
[Arashen(#24692)]
"The Archipelago," Arashen replies, his eyes never leaving Naloinzil. "Follow them!" he bellows to the pilot.
The Heledir comes out of its slow turn at last, a little too late to take full advantage of the strong gust that carried the corsairs so far. But their course is straight now and the wind fills their sails to straining as they ride the towering waves after their sister ship and the prey.
Dark, sea-soaked hair streams in Alazne's face as she whirls her head around to Lozir, her nod all but lost before she voices a shout of her own upon the wind. "You heard the captain!" she shouts. "Check the hold first for damages, and lose what can't be fixed!"
But as the portside rail leans further down toward the storm-darkened waves, a wild glance aside finds Eruphel. "And what does the Lady suggest?" the First Mate answers shrilly to cut through the roar of the storm, sparing little for patience.
His duties with the ballistae done for now at least, Menelglir is free from one post and but quickly on to another, lashing and unlashing ropes as needed.
Eruphel watches as the First Mate passes down the order, and some of the crew members begin tearing off the damaged pieces of galley and throwing it overboard. Along with it goes some iron detrius. Eruphel turns her head toward the others. "Do you remember, perhaps, the sunset on the Saqrwa'il? Then the Seaward Lady jerks her chin downward toward the lower deck. "The Gondorian Lady."
His eyes meet with Eruphel's own, and Lozir nods gruffly in resignation. "Aye," says he, approaching the other two. "Get her up on deck and lash her to a bolt or two. Stand her up on the aft-deck, for all the milkskins to see..."
[Arashen(#24692)]
Whether the Heledir's First Mate has come to the same conclusion or not, the ship follows the Black Swan in similar fashion.
"The Captain must be a coward to be fleeing like that," says Imrakhor.
"Keep on."
[Arashen(#24692)]
The dark-haired lady of Gondor is dragged to the rolling deck of the Naloinzil, eyes wide with fear. Her grey eyes dart from face to face, coming to rest at last upon Lozir as she is lashed to a pair of bolts and displayed on the aft deck.
Now, even Eruphel seems surprised at the Captain's orders. "Lash her to some bolts? Do you mean to fire her at them?" Just then a wave washes over the aft part of the deck, and threatens to sweep her feet out from under her. But she bends her knees and holds on to her rope with both hands.
Menelglir, whose eyes are young and sharp, gives a sudden cry as he spots the woman on the Southron's deck. "There's a prisoner tied up on their ship!" he yells to Arashen. "There!" Pointing across the angry seas to the Naloinzil.
A wolfish grin snakes upon the Corsair Captain's lips, and he shakes his head as a fresh bolt of lightning sears across the livid sky. "No," he replies, "though iron sinks better than wood. Let the milkskins have a real threat to their precious Lady's life... we need to break off their pursuit, no? Why not make sure of it.."
[Arashen(#24692)]
Arashen rushes to the aft-deck, struggling against the cross winds and wash of sea-water. He peers out from the prow, his tightly pressed lips turned downward.
Eruphel nods then, her face turned stony hard. In the cold wet weather, the poor pallor she wears sits ill under her natural tan. "Do it then." she says without further hesitation. Then she looks to the gondorian woman. "Think of it this way, if you live, you will be able to garner support for your child's ransom."
With that, a crewman reaches up and gives the woman a shove at her shoulders. Stiffly tied and unable to move, the woman flips over the side, her feet flying high in the air before she disappears into a wave that comes up to slap the boat. For a moment, it would seem she would wash back aboard. But then she's over the crest, and falls behind in the Naloinzil's wake.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Whatever the lady shouts is drowned by the storm as she is tossed overboard.
And another pair of sharp grey-eyes catches her descent. "Five degrees starboard!" shouts Arashen, "prepare a launch!"
The Heledir breaks off its chase to rescue the lady.
Eruphel turns away from the scene, not wishing to watch the woman slip under the waters...which she does. But after a few moments, perhaps with the aid of a wave, or just pure determination, she surfaces once more, coughing and sputtering and...her arms free!
As the Gondorian ship veers off course, Lozir turns his gaze back to the fore, and barks out a harsh order. "Get us underway, with as much speed as you can wrest from the wind! Our Lord will steer us right, away from the curs!"
[Arashen(#24692)]
As the Naloinzil leaves the lady bobbing in its wake, she struggles with her heavy gown - frantically working at the laces as she struggles to divest the water-logged garment and keep her head above water.
The Heledir bears down upon her, and perhaps by chance, finds her in the wild waters. Letting the wind out of her sails, the Gondorian ship slows while several men pull against the oars of the launch to pluck Linaewen out of the treacherous waters.
As more and more space grows between the corsair ship and her pursuer, deep in the hold of the former a child's begrieved wail pierces the lower decks...but is possibly lost in the greater storm for those above.
Players: Arashen,Imrakhor,Menelglir,Eruphel,Alazne,Lokir
