Elendor
The Pretender Chronicles: The Marked
Amrundirn's suspicions lead to a discovery about Ceredir. (Follow up to the scene delayed one month due to RL)
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Osgiliath
Description:
[Osgiliath ZMO(#36)->Amrndirn]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Weather: Cloudy
Time: Nighttime <23:17:54 >
Season: Autumn
Date: Orgilion - September 24, 3046
Real Time: Mon Apr 20 13:25:58 2009
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification - Main Bunker
A large and rather stark outpost building build for defense. There are
stores of food and arrangements to accomodate large quantities of men for long
periods of time, and arrow slits line walls for defense against attack. The
stone roof overhead is strong and heavily supported by long wooden beams.
Plainly this fort was built for strong defense purposes and little, if any
comfort, in an area where attack is immenint. On one wall a small metal ball
protrudes. (+inspect ball)
Presently a great work is underway to rebuild the ruined aspects of the
fort, for still in some areas there is evidence of fire and destruction
sentiment to a war in which the fort fell to enemy hands. The many men gathered
hither spend their time either resting or aiding in the process of restoration
and strengthening of the structure.
The sound of banners snapping and fluttering in the breeze outdoors can be
faintly heard in the hushed silence, a breeze that here penetrates the
defenses blowing through the arrowslits blackened by the night without now
in, now out, stirring cloaks and quilts and dust. A chill seeps from the stone,
little thwarted by the torches that are set all about the hall here, but it is
not so cold yet that the breaths of men who rest here and there are
frost-rimmed. A pair of guildsmen crouch over the last remnants of their day's
work washing the mortar from their buckets and trowels. A portion of the wall
where they sit looks newly repaired. Most others sleep. There are no guardposts
here.
Hooded and cloaked, thither, a man enters by the main doors. His attire looks
dark in the half-light, but not so dark as to be black for sure, his footfalls
silent and it appears he is sparingly armored, but well armed sword girt about
his waist and a bow nigh as tall as himself in his hand. Green hands.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The man who has been assigned the cot nearest to the door is not asleep. Nor is
he sitting on the cot--at a stand next to it is set a washbasin at which
Ceredir, stripped to the waist, is washing his face and neck. Only a stump of a
candle provides some feeble light, by his right side, and as a figure appears
in the doorway, the light flickers briefly on what seems to be a scar on the
inner forearm of the Master Scout's left arm. He tugs at the towel around his
neck, dropping it over the scar. Then turns.
The hood is shunned as its bearer halts, pushed back to reveal a face weathered
and grim. Here is one that does not frown on scars nay, for on the wry
expression he now wears there are scars in plenty. But he frowns now at Ceredir
none the less. "Why are you still here?" Amrundirn Ranger asks bluntly,
dispensing at once with the pleasantries of greetings and such. His glance
strays to the toweled arm, ere leveling.
One eyebrow arcs upward lightly.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Why indeed, sir," Ceredir answers, giving the Ranger a nod of recognition as
the man pushes back his hood. "Tuivegil is not here and I have not any word
from him. I am considering heading east to scout for him, but would need
permission to do so. And another along with me or some men I can take."
Strands of wet black hair stick to Ceredir's forehead, droplets of water
rolling down his face, leaving him with the choice of wiping them with the
towel or dripping.
He drips, standing at attention.
The conversation of the workers over yonder and the low clattering of their
tools cease, and they depart for their own beds. There is little else to be
heard, save the chill wind on the banners outside, dim and distant.
Amrundirn's gaze remains level for a long while.
At length he growls: "Wipe yourself off and get dressed before you catch a
cold."
"And get your gear ready we'll see if there is aught to find of Tuivegil, you
and I."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Sir."
Ceredir turns, pulling the towel off his arm and onto his hair, which he rubs
with vigor to dry before toweling off his arms and chest. The candlelight still
flickers on his scarred arm, but there are scars, too, across his chest and
other arm. It is not long before he is dressed in tunic and cloak and sitting
on the edge of his cot to pull on socks and boots and tuck in his trousers. He
stands, buckling his sword belt.
At that, the ranger says on a quieter tone, and not at all as brusque:
"Join me in the War Room. There is a matter to attend before we go."
As he then turns to go further within, to the tall double doors over yonder, a
sinew surfaces briefly on his cheek ere his jaw sets weathered face otherwise
smoothed blank.
His feet fall quietly, but quickly.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Concern flickers briefly through Ceredir's eyes, but he nods, standing and then
following the Ranger. His sword and dagger are fastened securely to his belt,
his cloak already worn.
Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification, War Room
The damages of war and fire have been repaired in this room, though
still some scars are visable. However, one is hard pressed to find reminders of
the ruins. A large table stands as the most prominant feature of the room.
Strudily crafted, yet crude and unadorned, one is reminded that here is a land
of hard and bitter struggle in which luxuries serve no purpose. The walls bear
no device or ornamentation save a large and detailed map of Osgiliath and the
lands surrounding, and in one corner there is set a small table well laden with
glass and decanters containing a variety of drink. A single window there is,
facing outwards into the inner courtyard of the fortress, and it is heavily
paned with thick shutters that may be pulled down for privacy.
It is empty here. Dark.
The shaft of torchlight brings little more than a hazy gloom there the shadow
of the large table and its chairs and the map on the wall can be made out
largely but with scarce any detail. Amrundirn moves within and reaches for a
torch hung on the wall by the entrance, and goes further within, leaving the
door ajar behind him. The bow is tossed with a clatter of wood onto that table,
and he reaches for something -- flint and steel most like.
Soon a brightness spreads, the torch crackles as it grows greedily.
The Ranger goes further in still, to the point furthest from the doors lifting
his torch to kindle the one by the map ere depositing it in a hold on the wall.
And then he turns.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
At the room's threshold, Ceredir hesitates, watching the Ranger light the
torches. A nervousness plays over the features of his face, but then Amrundirn's
back is to the Master Scout, and in those few moments, Ceredir takes several
deep breaths, carefully steeling his features to more curiousity and
neutrality.
And then, as the final torch is lit, he steps inside.
Some instinct leads him to shut the door behind him. His bow, which he also
carries, and arrow case, are set to the side and he turns to face the Ranger.
The door is awarded a glance as it swings shut, creaking.
That glance then fleets, to bow and quiver, sword and dagger, and the Master
Scout's face. Amrundirn's head tilts up, as if a greeting or beckoning gesture,
but he remains otherwise still, save for his eyes that follow Ceredir's movements.
Then, voice yet quiet -- hushed, even -- he says:
"Come. Show me."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The torches flicker and crackle, the only sounds in this room save for
Ceredir's sharp intake of breath. He swallows hard and presses his lips
together, and there is fear in his eyes quite suddenly.
And yet, after a few seconds of silence in which his breathing--hard--can be
heard, he nods and steps forward.
With his right hand, he pushes up his left sleeve to reveal the brand.
The ranger's gaze lowers then.
And is quickly raised, widening as it fixes on Ceredir's own. Amrundirn's
weathered face is drained then, its complexion turned ashen grey. The sound of
leather creaking rises overloud his left hand clenched about the hilts at his
side. He says naught for a long a while but when he does, it is with a whisper:
"What have you done?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Done?" Ceredir's voice cracks with nervousness and he licks his lips, shaking
his head in denial.
"Sir..the Haradhrim...I try to hide it.."
He takes a step back from the Ranger, his complexion also ashen in the
torchlight.
"The Southrons?"
Amrundirn yet whispers, but there is nothing of the softness of hushed speech
in his tone. He makes no movement yet. And he says no more neither, but his
glance remains fixed of Ceredir still.
And so there is a silence.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Amidst the silence is the sound of Ceredir's breathing, quick and nervous.
Not trusting his voice, the Master Scout nods his answer.
Nor, now that he has stepped back a pace from the Ranger, does he move, though
his eyes go nervously from the man's face to his hand at his sword hilt. And
back.
Brows furrowing, gaze narrowing, Amrundirn turns his head down to the side,
glance felled on the table top. Lightly he shakes his head.
"Now I see."
A long, slow inhale through the nose. And his quiet voice gains a sharpness, as
if wrought deep down in him of veiled steel. "Is that were he sent you?"
"To Umbar?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The moments stretch into long silence as Ceredir struggles to form an answer.
A wash of emotions can be read on his face, but chiefly there is fear
there--and then, as the young man looks away from Amrundirn, his gaze dropping
to the floor, despair.
He shakes his head.
Amrundirn's gaze turns yet again to the Scout even on the exhale. But the
morosely tempered mien aside, his voice rises somewhat, not wrathful but near
enough as makes no difference, in a growl: "Speak!"
"Have you forgotten your oath, boy?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Another shake of his head, Ceredir's eyes still cast downwards, not meeting the
Ranger's.
"To...Umbar," he says in a choked voice.
The silence falls once more.
The green leather gauntlet creaks, its grip shifting.
"Why?" Again Amrundirn's voice lowers, and the wrath seems swept from his mind.
"For what reason did he send you thither? What errands do you run for Curugil
Gildring?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The Scout's head now raises so that Ceredir once more looks to Amrundirn. But
pale and shaking, eyes full of fear, he cannot hold that gaze.
"Weapons," is his answer in a whisper. "He sought the plans for weapons for
Gondor."
The rasping of steel rises, pervading the air, and Amrundirn raises the tip of
his sword slowly, its point -- trembling none, the hand that holds it in check
firm and steady -- aimed at Ceredir's chest and the blade glimmers, the light
of the flames on the wall wedded upon the blade. His voice lowers further
still, until it is but a whisper of a whisper, the very shadow of speech.
"Weapons for Gondor. And what was the price?"
"For I know that mark. I should strike you down where you stand."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Another step taken backwards, self preservation a strong instinct, though it is
not enough to take the Master Scout out of the range of the sword's deadly
blade. Still, it might perhaps buy him one second more to think, as he does,
eyes again to the Ranger and this time staying on the man, unmoving.
He takes a steadying breath and his eyes flit to the drawn steel. Another
second bought.
And then he nods, albeit slowly and deliberately.
"A hostage--my wife. This brand to mark me. And..information on the sword of
Anarion, upon which my wife will be released."
The silence that has thus punctuaded the conversation rears its ugly head once
more, for a brief spell. The longblade wavers lightly, and Amrundirn says:
"What?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Night has long since fallen, and the few men here in the barracks for the night
are asleep. In the war room, though, there is activity. Behind the closed thick
wooden door can be seen the flickering light of torches, and muffled voices,
quite low so that the words do not carry past the door, can be heard.
Inside stands Ceredir, garbed in cloak and his leather armor, bow and
arrow case set aside, though he wears his sword and dagger. Opposite him is the
Ranger Amrundirn.
The Ranger's sword, wavering slightly, is drawn and points at the Master Scout's chest.
Another hard swallow, despite the simplicity of this last question from the
Ranger Ceredir's face is still deathly pale and his voice mirrors this. His
eyes go for a moment to the sword again, ere he returns attention to the Ranger.
"Anarion. Son of Elendil himself. He wishes to learn what it looks like where
it can be found. It would help him substantiate his claim to the throne of
Gondor."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Open creaks the door, light spilling out to illuminate the
Ranger Tuivegil. His keen eyes take in the scene, and he breathes slowly in,
hand wavering towards the hilt of his sword. His voice is level, "What goes on
here?"
Choices.
Amrundirn's mien, ashen as the sky on a wrathful day, settles, and is rendered
grim and weathered as is its wont. Whatever thoughts weigh this way and that
behind his grey eyes is anyone's guess but mirth is not their temper, not
close by far. Tuivegil's entrance is not answered yet. Choices.
The sword lowers.
"Eve, brother."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Though Ceredir does not move from where he stands--not even to turn his head to
look at Tuivegil--his eyes close briefly and he quietly breathes a shuddering
sigh of relief as the sword is lowered.
He does not answer Tuivegil's query.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil's hand lowers from his sword hilt. His eyes flicker
from Amrundirn to Ceredir and back as he pushes the door shut behind him,
answering silence with silence, but nodding a greeting to Amrundirn.
The steel rasps, profuse and overloud in the sudden silence, as The Unbeloved
returns his longblade to its sheath. His glance lingers for a moment on
Ceredir, level and sharp, ere he turns to his kinsman. "I've a matter of some
privacy to finish with this man."
"When will you be done with him?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Slowly, very slowly, the color is returning to Ceredir's face. Still, he holds
his tongue.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "That I do not know." Tuivegil moves further into the room,
and leans on the table. He studies the map upon the wall for a moment or two,
"But we leave shortly, and our destination is several days journey to the
south. At least a fortnight, if not more, until we return."
Glimmering gaze turning to the scout, Amrundirn answers, and the leather of his
green gauntlet creaks softly along with his voice, the grip about the hilts
tightening:
"South, eh?"
He looks again to Tuivegil, "Very well."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Finally, Ceredir moves, turning toward the map and Tuivegil.
"Captain Faramir ordered us to scout east, though, sir," he says to Tuivegil,
his voice wavering yet. "To scout where the enemy is--its movements."
"But..." he turns again, encompassing Amrundirn in his view as well, now. "That
should not take long."
"And then south. Though I believe that Lord Gildring will request me for duty
again, at least briefly."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "The Captain has asked us to go east?" Tuivegil gazes levely
at Ceredir, "So be it." His eyes are drawn again to the map, "We will still be
the best part of a fornight."
"I'll go east," Amrundirn says, "And you south. Thus we'll cover more ground."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"He did, sir, aye, in the Drover's Arms. There is a group going south to ensure
the outposts are properly provisioned. He felt that he would best use us in
scouting eastward, to see what the enemy is about," Ceredir says.
Eyes now resting on Amrundirn, he says nothing for a moment. "You should not go
alone, and there are other groups heading south. We could use another pair of
eyes east?"
"Your concern is touching but unwarranted," Amrundirn tells Ceredir. And then:
"What say you, brother?"
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "A third pair of eyes will see more..." Tuivegil smiles a
grim smile, "And a third sword may come in handy."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
A grimace given to Amrundirn, and then leaving the two Rangers to decide
matters, Ceredir walks to where he had set his bow and arrow case and picks
them up. He turns back to the two men and waits.
"I am no Ranger, sirs, but I say we depart now."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "I concur, but let us wait until morning. Departing is best
done in the light of day, so that we might reach our destination under cover of
darkness." Tuivegil stands and bows, "I shall be in the courtyard at dawn."
"As you wish."
It seems Amrundirn is in no mood for mirth or smiles or any of the sort. But
his words are accompanied by a bow, forearms crossed over his heart. "At dawn,
then."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Sir." Ceredir salutes to Tuivegil, but he makes no move to leave the room. He
looks toward Amrundirn, as if waiting some word from that Ranger.
The gaze is met, and held. And ere a moment, as they are secluded again in some
manner of privacy, Amrundirn says quietly: "You will tell me all. Of your
errand, and what transpired thither. Who your compatriots were. And how comes
your wife remains. And how this matter will move forward, if indeed it will.
All that you will tell me, and more, if you hold true to your oath. Only then,
I deem, I may decide." A pause, in which at long last, his hands releases its
hold on his weapon, fingers flexing. He sets one foot before the other,
footfalls borne towards the doorway snatching up his own longbow from the
table as he goes. But what he must decide he does not say.
"But this is not the time, nor the place. In the mean time, I will be watching."
"Stray but a step, and I will destroy you."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The Scout says not a word more only as he follows Amrundirn out the door, he
is once more ashen-faced.
[Osgiliath ZMO(#36)->Amrndirn]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Weather: Cloudy
Time: Nighttime <23:17:54 >
Season: Autumn
Date: Orgilion - September 24, 3046
Real Time: Mon Apr 20 13:25:58 2009
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification - Main Bunker
A large and rather stark outpost building build for defense. There are
stores of food and arrangements to accomodate large quantities of men for long
periods of time, and arrow slits line walls for defense against attack. The
stone roof overhead is strong and heavily supported by long wooden beams.
Plainly this fort was built for strong defense purposes and little, if any
comfort, in an area where attack is immenint. On one wall a small metal ball
protrudes. (+inspect ball)
Presently a great work is underway to rebuild the ruined aspects of the
fort, for still in some areas there is evidence of fire and destruction
sentiment to a war in which the fort fell to enemy hands. The many men gathered
hither spend their time either resting or aiding in the process of restoration
and strengthening of the structure.
The sound of banners snapping and fluttering in the breeze outdoors can be
faintly heard in the hushed silence, a breeze that here penetrates the
defenses blowing through the arrowslits blackened by the night without now
in, now out, stirring cloaks and quilts and dust. A chill seeps from the stone,
little thwarted by the torches that are set all about the hall here, but it is
not so cold yet that the breaths of men who rest here and there are
frost-rimmed. A pair of guildsmen crouch over the last remnants of their day's
work washing the mortar from their buckets and trowels. A portion of the wall
where they sit looks newly repaired. Most others sleep. There are no guardposts
here.
Hooded and cloaked, thither, a man enters by the main doors. His attire looks
dark in the half-light, but not so dark as to be black for sure, his footfalls
silent and it appears he is sparingly armored, but well armed sword girt about
his waist and a bow nigh as tall as himself in his hand. Green hands.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The man who has been assigned the cot nearest to the door is not asleep. Nor is
he sitting on the cot--at a stand next to it is set a washbasin at which
Ceredir, stripped to the waist, is washing his face and neck. Only a stump of a
candle provides some feeble light, by his right side, and as a figure appears
in the doorway, the light flickers briefly on what seems to be a scar on the
inner forearm of the Master Scout's left arm. He tugs at the towel around his
neck, dropping it over the scar. Then turns.
The hood is shunned as its bearer halts, pushed back to reveal a face weathered
and grim. Here is one that does not frown on scars nay, for on the wry
expression he now wears there are scars in plenty. But he frowns now at Ceredir
none the less. "Why are you still here?" Amrundirn Ranger asks bluntly,
dispensing at once with the pleasantries of greetings and such. His glance
strays to the toweled arm, ere leveling.
One eyebrow arcs upward lightly.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Why indeed, sir," Ceredir answers, giving the Ranger a nod of recognition as
the man pushes back his hood. "Tuivegil is not here and I have not any word
from him. I am considering heading east to scout for him, but would need
permission to do so. And another along with me or some men I can take."
Strands of wet black hair stick to Ceredir's forehead, droplets of water
rolling down his face, leaving him with the choice of wiping them with the
towel or dripping.
He drips, standing at attention.
The conversation of the workers over yonder and the low clattering of their
tools cease, and they depart for their own beds. There is little else to be
heard, save the chill wind on the banners outside, dim and distant.
Amrundirn's gaze remains level for a long while.
At length he growls: "Wipe yourself off and get dressed before you catch a
cold."
"And get your gear ready we'll see if there is aught to find of Tuivegil, you
and I."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Sir."
Ceredir turns, pulling the towel off his arm and onto his hair, which he rubs
with vigor to dry before toweling off his arms and chest. The candlelight still
flickers on his scarred arm, but there are scars, too, across his chest and
other arm. It is not long before he is dressed in tunic and cloak and sitting
on the edge of his cot to pull on socks and boots and tuck in his trousers. He
stands, buckling his sword belt.
At that, the ranger says on a quieter tone, and not at all as brusque:
"Join me in the War Room. There is a matter to attend before we go."
As he then turns to go further within, to the tall double doors over yonder, a
sinew surfaces briefly on his cheek ere his jaw sets weathered face otherwise
smoothed blank.
His feet fall quietly, but quickly.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Concern flickers briefly through Ceredir's eyes, but he nods, standing and then
following the Ranger. His sword and dagger are fastened securely to his belt,
his cloak already worn.
Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification, War Room
The damages of war and fire have been repaired in this room, though
still some scars are visable. However, one is hard pressed to find reminders of
the ruins. A large table stands as the most prominant feature of the room.
Strudily crafted, yet crude and unadorned, one is reminded that here is a land
of hard and bitter struggle in which luxuries serve no purpose. The walls bear
no device or ornamentation save a large and detailed map of Osgiliath and the
lands surrounding, and in one corner there is set a small table well laden with
glass and decanters containing a variety of drink. A single window there is,
facing outwards into the inner courtyard of the fortress, and it is heavily
paned with thick shutters that may be pulled down for privacy.
It is empty here. Dark.
The shaft of torchlight brings little more than a hazy gloom there the shadow
of the large table and its chairs and the map on the wall can be made out
largely but with scarce any detail. Amrundirn moves within and reaches for a
torch hung on the wall by the entrance, and goes further within, leaving the
door ajar behind him. The bow is tossed with a clatter of wood onto that table,
and he reaches for something -- flint and steel most like.
Soon a brightness spreads, the torch crackles as it grows greedily.
The Ranger goes further in still, to the point furthest from the doors lifting
his torch to kindle the one by the map ere depositing it in a hold on the wall.
And then he turns.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
At the room's threshold, Ceredir hesitates, watching the Ranger light the
torches. A nervousness plays over the features of his face, but then Amrundirn's
back is to the Master Scout, and in those few moments, Ceredir takes several
deep breaths, carefully steeling his features to more curiousity and
neutrality.
And then, as the final torch is lit, he steps inside.
Some instinct leads him to shut the door behind him. His bow, which he also
carries, and arrow case, are set to the side and he turns to face the Ranger.
The door is awarded a glance as it swings shut, creaking.
That glance then fleets, to bow and quiver, sword and dagger, and the Master
Scout's face. Amrundirn's head tilts up, as if a greeting or beckoning gesture,
but he remains otherwise still, save for his eyes that follow Ceredir's movements.
Then, voice yet quiet -- hushed, even -- he says:
"Come. Show me."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The torches flicker and crackle, the only sounds in this room save for
Ceredir's sharp intake of breath. He swallows hard and presses his lips
together, and there is fear in his eyes quite suddenly.
And yet, after a few seconds of silence in which his breathing--hard--can be
heard, he nods and steps forward.
With his right hand, he pushes up his left sleeve to reveal the brand.
The ranger's gaze lowers then.
And is quickly raised, widening as it fixes on Ceredir's own. Amrundirn's
weathered face is drained then, its complexion turned ashen grey. The sound of
leather creaking rises overloud his left hand clenched about the hilts at his
side. He says naught for a long a while but when he does, it is with a whisper:
"What have you done?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Done?" Ceredir's voice cracks with nervousness and he licks his lips, shaking
his head in denial.
"Sir..the Haradhrim...I try to hide it.."
He takes a step back from the Ranger, his complexion also ashen in the
torchlight.
"The Southrons?"
Amrundirn yet whispers, but there is nothing of the softness of hushed speech
in his tone. He makes no movement yet. And he says no more neither, but his
glance remains fixed of Ceredir still.
And so there is a silence.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Amidst the silence is the sound of Ceredir's breathing, quick and nervous.
Not trusting his voice, the Master Scout nods his answer.
Nor, now that he has stepped back a pace from the Ranger, does he move, though
his eyes go nervously from the man's face to his hand at his sword hilt. And
back.
Brows furrowing, gaze narrowing, Amrundirn turns his head down to the side,
glance felled on the table top. Lightly he shakes his head.
"Now I see."
A long, slow inhale through the nose. And his quiet voice gains a sharpness, as
if wrought deep down in him of veiled steel. "Is that were he sent you?"
"To Umbar?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The moments stretch into long silence as Ceredir struggles to form an answer.
A wash of emotions can be read on his face, but chiefly there is fear
there--and then, as the young man looks away from Amrundirn, his gaze dropping
to the floor, despair.
He shakes his head.
Amrundirn's gaze turns yet again to the Scout even on the exhale. But the
morosely tempered mien aside, his voice rises somewhat, not wrathful but near
enough as makes no difference, in a growl: "Speak!"
"Have you forgotten your oath, boy?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Another shake of his head, Ceredir's eyes still cast downwards, not meeting the
Ranger's.
"To...Umbar," he says in a choked voice.
The silence falls once more.
The green leather gauntlet creaks, its grip shifting.
"Why?" Again Amrundirn's voice lowers, and the wrath seems swept from his mind.
"For what reason did he send you thither? What errands do you run for Curugil
Gildring?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The Scout's head now raises so that Ceredir once more looks to Amrundirn. But
pale and shaking, eyes full of fear, he cannot hold that gaze.
"Weapons," is his answer in a whisper. "He sought the plans for weapons for
Gondor."
The rasping of steel rises, pervading the air, and Amrundirn raises the tip of
his sword slowly, its point -- trembling none, the hand that holds it in check
firm and steady -- aimed at Ceredir's chest and the blade glimmers, the light
of the flames on the wall wedded upon the blade. His voice lowers further
still, until it is but a whisper of a whisper, the very shadow of speech.
"Weapons for Gondor. And what was the price?"
"For I know that mark. I should strike you down where you stand."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Another step taken backwards, self preservation a strong instinct, though it is
not enough to take the Master Scout out of the range of the sword's deadly
blade. Still, it might perhaps buy him one second more to think, as he does,
eyes again to the Ranger and this time staying on the man, unmoving.
He takes a steadying breath and his eyes flit to the drawn steel. Another
second bought.
And then he nods, albeit slowly and deliberately.
"A hostage--my wife. This brand to mark me. And..information on the sword of
Anarion, upon which my wife will be released."
The silence that has thus punctuaded the conversation rears its ugly head once
more, for a brief spell. The longblade wavers lightly, and Amrundirn says:
"What?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Night has long since fallen, and the few men here in the barracks for the night
are asleep. In the war room, though, there is activity. Behind the closed thick
wooden door can be seen the flickering light of torches, and muffled voices,
quite low so that the words do not carry past the door, can be heard.
Inside stands Ceredir, garbed in cloak and his leather armor, bow and
arrow case set aside, though he wears his sword and dagger. Opposite him is the
Ranger Amrundirn.
The Ranger's sword, wavering slightly, is drawn and points at the Master Scout's chest.
Another hard swallow, despite the simplicity of this last question from the
Ranger Ceredir's face is still deathly pale and his voice mirrors this. His
eyes go for a moment to the sword again, ere he returns attention to the Ranger.
"Anarion. Son of Elendil himself. He wishes to learn what it looks like where
it can be found. It would help him substantiate his claim to the throne of
Gondor."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Open creaks the door, light spilling out to illuminate the
Ranger Tuivegil. His keen eyes take in the scene, and he breathes slowly in,
hand wavering towards the hilt of his sword. His voice is level, "What goes on
here?"
Choices.
Amrundirn's mien, ashen as the sky on a wrathful day, settles, and is rendered
grim and weathered as is its wont. Whatever thoughts weigh this way and that
behind his grey eyes is anyone's guess but mirth is not their temper, not
close by far. Tuivegil's entrance is not answered yet. Choices.
The sword lowers.
"Eve, brother."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Though Ceredir does not move from where he stands--not even to turn his head to
look at Tuivegil--his eyes close briefly and he quietly breathes a shuddering
sigh of relief as the sword is lowered.
He does not answer Tuivegil's query.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] Tuivegil's hand lowers from his sword hilt. His eyes flicker
from Amrundirn to Ceredir and back as he pushes the door shut behind him,
answering silence with silence, but nodding a greeting to Amrundirn.
The steel rasps, profuse and overloud in the sudden silence, as The Unbeloved
returns his longblade to its sheath. His glance lingers for a moment on
Ceredir, level and sharp, ere he turns to his kinsman. "I've a matter of some
privacy to finish with this man."
"When will you be done with him?"
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Slowly, very slowly, the color is returning to Ceredir's face. Still, he holds
his tongue.
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "That I do not know." Tuivegil moves further into the room,
and leans on the table. He studies the map upon the wall for a moment or two,
"But we leave shortly, and our destination is several days journey to the
south. At least a fortnight, if not more, until we return."
Glimmering gaze turning to the scout, Amrundirn answers, and the leather of his
green gauntlet creaks softly along with his voice, the grip about the hilts
tightening:
"South, eh?"
He looks again to Tuivegil, "Very well."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
Finally, Ceredir moves, turning toward the map and Tuivegil.
"Captain Faramir ordered us to scout east, though, sir," he says to Tuivegil,
his voice wavering yet. "To scout where the enemy is--its movements."
"But..." he turns again, encompassing Amrundirn in his view as well, now. "That
should not take long."
"And then south. Though I believe that Lord Gildring will request me for duty
again, at least briefly."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "The Captain has asked us to go east?" Tuivegil gazes levely
at Ceredir, "So be it." His eyes are drawn again to the map, "We will still be
the best part of a fornight."
"I'll go east," Amrundirn says, "And you south. Thus we'll cover more ground."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"He did, sir, aye, in the Drover's Arms. There is a group going south to ensure
the outposts are properly provisioned. He felt that he would best use us in
scouting eastward, to see what the enemy is about," Ceredir says.
Eyes now resting on Amrundirn, he says nothing for a moment. "You should not go
alone, and there are other groups heading south. We could use another pair of
eyes east?"
"Your concern is touching but unwarranted," Amrundirn tells Ceredir. And then:
"What say you, brother?"
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "A third pair of eyes will see more..." Tuivegil smiles a
grim smile, "And a third sword may come in handy."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
A grimace given to Amrundirn, and then leaving the two Rangers to decide
matters, Ceredir walks to where he had set his bow and arrow case and picks
them up. He turns back to the two men and waits.
"I am no Ranger, sirs, but I say we depart now."
[Tuivegil(#13313)] "I concur, but let us wait until morning. Departing is best
done in the light of day, so that we might reach our destination under cover of
darkness." Tuivegil stands and bows, "I shall be in the courtyard at dawn."
"As you wish."
It seems Amrundirn is in no mood for mirth or smiles or any of the sort. But
his words are accompanied by a bow, forearms crossed over his heart. "At dawn,
then."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Sir." Ceredir salutes to Tuivegil, but he makes no move to leave the room. He
looks toward Amrundirn, as if waiting some word from that Ranger.
The gaze is met, and held. And ere a moment, as they are secluded again in some
manner of privacy, Amrundirn says quietly: "You will tell me all. Of your
errand, and what transpired thither. Who your compatriots were. And how comes
your wife remains. And how this matter will move forward, if indeed it will.
All that you will tell me, and more, if you hold true to your oath. Only then,
I deem, I may decide." A pause, in which at long last, his hands releases its
hold on his weapon, fingers flexing. He sets one foot before the other,
footfalls borne towards the doorway snatching up his own longbow from the
table as he goes. But what he must decide he does not say.
"But this is not the time, nor the place. In the mean time, I will be watching."
"Stray but a step, and I will destroy you."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
The Scout says not a word more only as he follows Amrundirn out the door, he
is once more ashen-faced.
Players: Amrundirn,Ceredir,Tuivegil
