Elendor
The Pretender Chronicles: Heading South
Amrundirn and Ceredir talk as they head south. Suspicions are alleviated?
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Ithilien
Game Date: January 14, 3047
IC Time: Night
Description: [+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Sterday, Day 14 of January.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 21:38:31 MDT on Wed May 27 2009.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
The night brightens.
Only in so far that there is a growing greyness about the sky that can be sighted through the eaves and foilage that stir in the light southern breeze the black of night lies thick here. There is a faint smell of old, wet ash upon the wind, but it seems no fire has touched the woods in these parts. Not so far as the eye can see at any rate and it can indeed not see far, for it is dark, and there are many obstructions. And there is no sound nor any movement save the rustling leaves upon the wind.
Or is there?
There!
A shadow of man, is it not? He is hooded and cloaked, the color of his attire faded by the gloom, and he is burdened by what seems a heavy satchel slung over his back, and a tall bow is in his hand. But for all that, he steps lightly, pushing through the foliage from the great west road, with scarce a sound. Two, three crouched steps, and then it -- he -- halts, turning to look over his shoulder.
A hushed whisper: "The way is clear. Come."
The man may as well be talking to himself, for by training and now by instinct, no answer is given in words, nor can the second man be seen until he emerges from the cover of the foliage. Then Ceredir does step forward, placing each footfall carefully so as not to make noise, though he is not so quiet as the first man.
"Reports are that the lands are unnaturally quiet, sir," he finally speaks after the Ranger breaks the silence. "Perhaps the Enemy is counting on the Southrons to surge north and contain us."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"Indeed."
"It is as if the land itself has withered, but--..." The other raises his hand to touch an evergreen twig, "--...it would appear that it has not. Perhaps He bides his time for the next stroke, where ever it may fall."
Amrundirn's voice remains quiet. "We should rest here. This passage is -- or was -- covered for most of the way south, to Tirith Annun, but... There are leagues ahead of us yet." And with that, he lowers from his crouch onto his knees, his burdens laid down before him. A hand lifts to his cowl, pushing it back.
A sigh.
"The southrons... I presume they were gathering wood for their shipyards?"
"Yes, sir," Ceredir says, setting his pack down on the ground as Amrundirn kneels. He does not kneel or sit--but instead looks long at Amrundirn, then glances slowly about in each direction.
"Why Tirith Annun? Why there in particular? What do you hope to gain from me by taking me so far south?"
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"All in good time, master scout. Rest," And, reaching into his satchel, retrieves a small object perhaps the size of two fists, and breaking it in two, Amrundirn tosses one half to the other without sparing him a glance. "And eat."
"Of what consequence is this Eruphel you mentioned?"
Puzzlement turns to a grin as Ceredir catches the "object" with gauntlet-clad hands and sees it is bread. He sits on the ground, then bites into the bread, chewing thoughtfully, mulling over his answer.
"A Captain. Umbar is ruled by Tower Lords--they overthrew their Emperor at the order of the Priestess of the Enemy. This Eruphel..she is a Tower Lord."
"Strange thing." He bites the bread. "A woman commanding. I cannot abide it."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
And the Master Scout's vigilance passes unnoted, thus.
But there is a stillness about the Carmayar Ranger then all the same, even as the answer is given. He does not reply for a few long moments. A breath is sucked in through his nostrils at length "Tower lord?" And that breath is released swiftly in the manner it was caught a lithe snort. "Should she not be named Tower Lady, then?"
Amrundirn's shoulders ease down somewhat, his own morsel given some attention.
"I suppose so," Ceredir says quietly after biting off and chewing another piece of bread, slower this time. "She is the Enemy. She is not to be trusted. What difference does it make what she is called?" he challenges.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"Heed this. Knowledge is a weapon as worthy as a sword," Amrundirn answers, offering the other a sidelong look, "It requires but the wits to see it for what it is, and how to use it. Just as the sword requires strength and a deft hand."
"It may be of use."
"I would not be so quick to judge their women however. They are as agile as they are cunning and as ruthless as cruel. I have fought many."
"I see."
Again Ceredir falls silent, letting the sounds of the land, such as they are here so close to the Enemy, fill in the emptiness.
"I have fought two of their women. Eruphel. And the Lad...and Azradi," he corrects himself carefully, not glancing at the Ranger. "Azradi is dangerous with the scimitar, though I wounded her sorely, too. And Eruphel...Captain Faramir wounded her severely when he rescued me from them."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
The Ranger's chewing ceases. Another sidelong look.
"The -Lady- Azradi, you were about say?"
Again, a lithe snort. But Amrundirn says nothing more for the nonce.
"The Lady Azradi. Yes." Ceredir's eyes narrow slightly and he turns to fully look at the Ranger. "Such was how I addressed her when I was sent...there. Sister to the pretender to the throne, Alphros. She is extremely dangerous and crafty. As is her brother, but I cannot say what they are planning."
The Master Scout continues to look at Amrundirn with narrowed eyes, thinking silently for a moment. "Whatever you may think of me...whatever you plan to do with me on this...sortie...whatever you think of what I did in the name of helping Gondor...I _have_ provided you already with more information about the enemy than you otherwise would have ever gotten."
"I ask you to consider that."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
All the while, Amrundirn is returned to stillness. And all the while, he does not look at Ceredir.
When he answers, there is a strange temper to his tone, hushed though it may be, it is firm and yet... solemn, at first. As he speaks on, the latter withers further and further: "I am. But there is much else to consider. And there are some things that yet elude me."
He rises suddenly.
But his hands grasp his pack and his bow, and not his sword.
"Now, on the move."
"Small rest...but there is no rest here."
Though he frowns at having to move so soon, Ceredir stands and shoulders his pack.
"South. I will answer your questions there." Following behind the Ranger as he is, Ceredir does not bother to hide his scowl. Nor the fact that his hand strays briefly to the hilt of the dagger in his belt.
His hand drops and he walks on, no trace of the brief passing of anger given now.
Nighttime on Sterday, Day 14 of January.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 21:38:31 MDT on Wed May 27 2009.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
The night brightens.
Only in so far that there is a growing greyness about the sky that can be sighted through the eaves and foilage that stir in the light southern breeze the black of night lies thick here. There is a faint smell of old, wet ash upon the wind, but it seems no fire has touched the woods in these parts. Not so far as the eye can see at any rate and it can indeed not see far, for it is dark, and there are many obstructions. And there is no sound nor any movement save the rustling leaves upon the wind.
Or is there?
There!
A shadow of man, is it not? He is hooded and cloaked, the color of his attire faded by the gloom, and he is burdened by what seems a heavy satchel slung over his back, and a tall bow is in his hand. But for all that, he steps lightly, pushing through the foliage from the great west road, with scarce a sound. Two, three crouched steps, and then it -- he -- halts, turning to look over his shoulder.
A hushed whisper: "The way is clear. Come."
The man may as well be talking to himself, for by training and now by instinct, no answer is given in words, nor can the second man be seen until he emerges from the cover of the foliage. Then Ceredir does step forward, placing each footfall carefully so as not to make noise, though he is not so quiet as the first man.
"Reports are that the lands are unnaturally quiet, sir," he finally speaks after the Ranger breaks the silence. "Perhaps the Enemy is counting on the Southrons to surge north and contain us."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"Indeed."
"It is as if the land itself has withered, but--..." The other raises his hand to touch an evergreen twig, "--...it would appear that it has not. Perhaps He bides his time for the next stroke, where ever it may fall."
Amrundirn's voice remains quiet. "We should rest here. This passage is -- or was -- covered for most of the way south, to Tirith Annun, but... There are leagues ahead of us yet." And with that, he lowers from his crouch onto his knees, his burdens laid down before him. A hand lifts to his cowl, pushing it back.
A sigh.
"The southrons... I presume they were gathering wood for their shipyards?"
"Yes, sir," Ceredir says, setting his pack down on the ground as Amrundirn kneels. He does not kneel or sit--but instead looks long at Amrundirn, then glances slowly about in each direction.
"Why Tirith Annun? Why there in particular? What do you hope to gain from me by taking me so far south?"
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"All in good time, master scout. Rest," And, reaching into his satchel, retrieves a small object perhaps the size of two fists, and breaking it in two, Amrundirn tosses one half to the other without sparing him a glance. "And eat."
"Of what consequence is this Eruphel you mentioned?"
Puzzlement turns to a grin as Ceredir catches the "object" with gauntlet-clad hands and sees it is bread. He sits on the ground, then bites into the bread, chewing thoughtfully, mulling over his answer.
"A Captain. Umbar is ruled by Tower Lords--they overthrew their Emperor at the order of the Priestess of the Enemy. This Eruphel..she is a Tower Lord."
"Strange thing." He bites the bread. "A woman commanding. I cannot abide it."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
And the Master Scout's vigilance passes unnoted, thus.
But there is a stillness about the Carmayar Ranger then all the same, even as the answer is given. He does not reply for a few long moments. A breath is sucked in through his nostrils at length "Tower lord?" And that breath is released swiftly in the manner it was caught a lithe snort. "Should she not be named Tower Lady, then?"
Amrundirn's shoulders ease down somewhat, his own morsel given some attention.
"I suppose so," Ceredir says quietly after biting off and chewing another piece of bread, slower this time. "She is the Enemy. She is not to be trusted. What difference does it make what she is called?" he challenges.
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
"Heed this. Knowledge is a weapon as worthy as a sword," Amrundirn answers, offering the other a sidelong look, "It requires but the wits to see it for what it is, and how to use it. Just as the sword requires strength and a deft hand."
"It may be of use."
"I would not be so quick to judge their women however. They are as agile as they are cunning and as ruthless as cruel. I have fought many."
"I see."
Again Ceredir falls silent, letting the sounds of the land, such as they are here so close to the Enemy, fill in the emptiness.
"I have fought two of their women. Eruphel. And the Lad...and Azradi," he corrects himself carefully, not glancing at the Ranger. "Azradi is dangerous with the scimitar, though I wounded her sorely, too. And Eruphel...Captain Faramir wounded her severely when he rescued me from them."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
The Ranger's chewing ceases. Another sidelong look.
"The -Lady- Azradi, you were about say?"
Again, a lithe snort. But Amrundirn says nothing more for the nonce.
"The Lady Azradi. Yes." Ceredir's eyes narrow slightly and he turns to fully look at the Ranger. "Such was how I addressed her when I was sent...there. Sister to the pretender to the throne, Alphros. She is extremely dangerous and crafty. As is her brother, but I cannot say what they are planning."
The Master Scout continues to look at Amrundirn with narrowed eyes, thinking silently for a moment. "Whatever you may think of me...whatever you plan to do with me on this...sortie...whatever you think of what I did in the name of helping Gondor...I _have_ provided you already with more information about the enemy than you otherwise would have ever gotten."
"I ask you to consider that."
[Amrundirn(#29212)]
All the while, Amrundirn is returned to stillness. And all the while, he does not look at Ceredir.
When he answers, there is a strange temper to his tone, hushed though it may be, it is firm and yet... solemn, at first. As he speaks on, the latter withers further and further: "I am. But there is much else to consider. And there are some things that yet elude me."
He rises suddenly.
But his hands grasp his pack and his bow, and not his sword.
"Now, on the move."
"Small rest...but there is no rest here."
Though he frowns at having to move so soon, Ceredir stands and shoulders his pack.
"South. I will answer your questions there." Following behind the Ranger as he is, Ceredir does not bother to hide his scowl. Nor the fact that his hand strays briefly to the hilt of the dagger in his belt.
His hand drops and he walks on, no trace of the brief passing of anger given now.
Players: Amrundirn,Ceredir
