(Archive) Khazamr the Black
From the archives of the Gondorian
Here it is kids. One of Dol Amroth\'s arch nemeses! Ivriniel is captured.
Captain\'s Log,
*Note* log provided by Khazamr
Daytime, Monday, 5th of September
Three days have passed after the six I
promised to the crew. They know now.
We are not going back anymore. We
are only a few hours away from another mutiny,
this time something far greater than before.
I have decided to sail even more North.
Now even I do not believe in
catching them anymore. We have lost this race.
I wish I knew why.
Now I have only one hope. To find a target
to Raid. A ship -any ship- would do.
For if we cannot find one, we will sail up
to Dol Amroth itself.
Sincerely, Black Khazamr, Lord of the Corsairs
Another day in the Gondorian waters. This time the Torath is very, very deep within the homes of Gondor. Only a few hours\' sail away is she from Dol Amroth, the city of the Swan-Knights. Indeed, the end of the naval chase has come. Soon, there is no more sea to sail. And already, there is not enough food and water to turn back.
The atmosphere onboard the Raider is heavy and tense. The crew is murky and silent. Mutinous. Alone in the bow stands Khazamr the Corsair Lord of Seaward, stil looking forward, to the north where lays the home of Imrahil the Fair. Perhaps he knows he is beaten. Perhaps not. And then this suicidal run to Dol Amroth is cut by the lookout\'s clear voice.
\"Sail ho!\"
Moor sits down on the deck, back against the rails. He no longer swabs or cleans or does anything. He stays very still to conserve his energy, eyes closed, dreaming of more pleasant things...such as water, food...land. All of these are things he missed dearly. He quite literally would kill for a drink right now, and as a sail is sighted, perhaps this young man will get his chance.
Bay of Belfalas
High, foamy white waves smack against the hull as you enter the Bay of Belfalas. A driving wind from the southwest makes the ship unwieldly but manageable. The great Anduin River to the east cuts deep into the continent while to the northeast the Blackroot and Ringlo Rivers merge to form the sheltered Bay of Edhellond. To the north lies the trading and refitting port city of Haerlond along the Cape of Andrast. The City of the Corsairs, greatest trading port of Middle-Earth lies to the southeast. The mighty, tumultuous waves of the open sea, the Belegaer, enter the bay from the northwest.
Contents:
The Palangaer
The Torath
Obvious exits:
East, NorthEast, NorthWest, SouthEast, and North
Sitting against the main mast is none other than the man Carpathian. He sits polishing his blade and makes no attempt to see what the look out has spotted. Knowing the mighty Torath will cut make it\'s way towards a new target soon enough the man lies in wait. Standing up he begins readying himself for the oncoming battle.
Captain Ciryahir walks the deck proudly, his gaze keen as he surveys his crew, smiling as he considers the money his cargo will bring. He turns to the South and shudders as he watches the fog slowly roll back across the sea at last.
Upon the portside railing does the cloaked figure of Vrael now lean, head hung low, eyes staring blankly off into the distance. Over the waters he spies nothing of interest, much like yesterday, much like any other day on this long voyage the only thing to be seen breaking the surface of the waves is the very ship that he stands upon, to which there emits a silent sigh, \"Aghh, will this chase ever en-\" And then it happens, the call out of another ship, perhaps \'that\' ship, perhaps not but whatever it may be it is surely to be Gondorian and to this a wicked smile contorts itself upon the cloaked man\'s face.
>[Raider Torath
The whole ship is revived by that simple shout \"sail ho\". Men dreaming of mutiny, angry of thirst and bitter of lack of hope start to leave whatever they were doing and gather to the deck of the mighty Raider. The atmosphere starts to change. Something is happening.
The Captain of the Torath knows that this is the turnout. He immediately turns to face the direction shown by the lookout. For a while he stands still, and then his nasal voice rings across the deck: \"Full starboard! We will investigate!\"
a grin is plastered on the face of Saladin, in his hand he holds a bow an arrow ready, hearing that a ship has been sighted. His grin widens, contorting into a grin, of pure sadism, and hatred. Great anticipating in his eyes, excitment radiating from him. An expression of pure and utter malice on his face, unadulterated. Vehemently intense hatred in his eyes. He looks foward readying him self more. His hair blowing from side to side, going into his eyes slightly but not much, nor is it hindering his vision one bit. His clothing blowing in the air, taking a deep breath of the sea air. He licks his lips once, like an animal before attacking its prey. Extremely anxious on the battle that is about to begin, in a matter of moments.
>From Ondeck,
Out of the hold steps two mail-clad guards. The lightly clad sailors scoff at their appearance. The soilders flank the hold, and one lends a hand down the hatch. The hand is withdrawn, and with it a slender arm.
A finely dressed lady is helped up the steps. She brushes herself off and nods to the guards as they step in place behind her.
A frown crosses her face as she eyes the Captain, and she lighty treads across the deck towards him.
>[Raider Torath
>From Ondeck, Striding across the deck, one of the guards, Turnhout walks towards the captain. \"Ah, Cap\'n. I\'ve been a meanin\' tae talk with ye. Do ye know when we\'ll be arrivin?\" He turns to glance at the new ship on the horizon, \"Odd sails on tat ship, do\'ne ye t\'ink so?\"
>From Ondeck, Turning from the south for a moment, Ciryahir grimaces as his passenger Celalia approaches. His hand reaching to the flask of strong wine at his belt absently as his face reddens.
Suddenly he hears the cry of the Lookout, and his face pales as he looks quickly to the south, spotting the sails and cursing freely. He orders the steersman to turn about swiftly, calling out, \"Raise the sails, full sails! Get a move on your fools, that is a Corsair!\"
He turns to the guard and puffs for a moment, then says, \"Harad! Now get out of my way, I have to.........well I have to do something!\"
>[Raider Torath
Moor scrambles to his feet, his hand absentmindedly patting the hilt of his scimitar, almost as if to make sure it was there. Then the young man disappears below decks, perhaps searching for what armour he may have.
>From Ondeck,
As the woman approaches the Captain, her frown worsens. She sees the sailors of vessel scurrying about, and one of them rushes into her. \"Out of the way!\", he says too late.
The guards help pick her up, and she snorts at the running sailor.
\"Captain, how long of a delay will this entail? My father is eager to get underway.\", says the woman, drawing closer to the officers gathered around Ciryahir.
Moor puts on Studded Leather Armor.
Moor straps on a round wooden shield.
Moor slides the scimitar out of its sheath, eager for it to taste blood.
>From Ondeck, \"Aye cap\'n.\" Turnhout says and he begins to gather some of the other guards. He hears Celalia, \"How loong? W
>From Ondeck, Ciryahir bellows orders, often contradictory as sailors scramble about on the deck. He turns to the guard Turnhout and says, \"Get your men on deck now! If we can\'t outrun them......\"
He pauses as the Lady Celalia confronts him, and then says, \"Get this woman off my deck or I will throw her over the side!\"
He turns again and rushes to the stern, grabbing the wheel himself as he pushes the pilot out of the way and turning towards the Bay, the masts whipping about nearly knocking one sailor off his feet as the ship lists dangerously, then rights itself.
>From Ondeck,
\"Cap\'tin! It\'s gaining on us!\", yells the lookout down from the main mast. \"We hava go faster, or we be fight\'in em!\"
Several of the sailors grimace at the thought, and the few mailed guards draw their swords at this.
Jab\'adab likewise begins to don his armor as the ship of the North is sighted. Several minutes are spent in securing the protective shirt and such to his person. He then hefts his shield, and draws his blade, watching and waiting.
A faint glitter of light makes itself known as an object is brought forth from beneath somewhere unseen, the metal of the object gleens in what radiance strikes its surface, unleashing an almost equal rage unto the air that its wielder does hold within his eyes. Vrael handles the blade carefully, surveying its edges and making sure the scimitar is fresh and clean ere it tastes the blood of Gondorian men. To the aft section of the Torath does he now stride, swiftly the feet move under his cloak, bringing the Corsair to a position where the merchant ship may be spotted with better ease.
In the bowsprit of the Torath stands Black Khazamr, again proud of his position. The destroyed remainders of his face are turned to the crew gathered to the main deck. And he raises his right arm to indicate that he will now speak.
\"Men of Umbar!\" he shouts. \"The time has come. We will now sail to battle!\" No longer does the crew seek for mutiny. Some even cheer in acceptance. \"We will strike that vessel, no matter what she is,\" shouts the Corsair Lord. \"And indeed she seems like a square-rigged merchantman!\"
Carpathian finds his way walking towards where his brother lies in wait. His eyes now begin to burn with the rage as he fells the nearing of a coming battle. As he looks out upon the waters towards the mechant vessel he begins to laugh to himself and says grimly, \"That is not the ship we come for...\"
Carpathian pulls the blade from it\'s carrier and allows it to gleam in the light as if it where thirsting for blood.
>From Ondeck, \"Aye cap\'n.\" Turnhout says and he begins to gather some of the other guards. He hears Celalia, \"How loong? W\'at are ye? Fool woman, t\'ats a raider, new geet below decks.\" He rushes towards her and begins to escort her off the deck. \"Ye\'ll be safar doown below.\"
>From Ondeck, Tearing at his wispy hair, Ciryahir grabs his flask of wine and drains the bottle, turning to watch the black sails as they draw inexorably nearer. He howls in rage and curses at his sailors, calling out for more sails even as he turns the wheel again agitatedly, another serious list to port as he tries frantically to outrun the swift Raider.
He tosses the flask at the closing ship, the bottle falling into the wake of the Merchant ship noiselessly as he shakes his fist at the Raider.
Saladin remains silent, an errieness about him unequaled, an ominous nature to him. Indeed strange to only show excitment from his expressions, but no word is uttered from him. His eyes keen seemingly thinking, of how many ways he could slaughter those gondorians. His muscles tenseing and buldging a bit. Ready, willing, and ready to kill.
>From Ondeck,
\"I will not dear Captain! My lord and father has paid heavily for this voyage. I will stay!\", says the woman. Her personal bodyguards draw tight around her, and one of them advises her to follow the Captain\'s orders.
\"Nay, I will not. Unless you would prove yourself unfaithful to your oath, you will uphold my decision!\" The bodyguards draw their swords, preparing to defend the woman from any attacker...
Vrael twists about to face his brother, opting not for the strange sense of humour Carpathian shows, but rather portraying a look upon his face that seems stoic, \"Nay, it is not...I believe Khazamr is correct as it seems to be a merchant ship! If we do not get our revenge, then at least our pockets will be full of gold!\"
>[Raider Torath
>From Ondeck,
\"Cap\'tin they almost be upon us! We can\'t outrun them!\", yells the lookout again. This interrupts the challenge down below, and the hesitant sailors distribute makeshift weapons and what swords they can from the hold.
>From Ondeck, Scowling and chewing on his beard, Ciryahir can spare no thoughts for the foolish noble woman, his eyes large as silver florins as he looks back, the faces of the Pirates clear to him, scarcely a score of yards away. He gnashes his teeth and cries out, \"Prepare to be boarded!\"
\"Gold you say, \" Carpathian\'s face lights up upon that single word. A smile is brought to his face and he tightens his grip upon the blade again. He turns to face his brother and says calmly, \"Well then, let us kill them all.\"
A look of exclamation crosses his face as he suddenly thinks of something, \"Perhaps we shall need new slaves? These ones seem to be rather ragged and growing weak.\"
Moor emerges upon the deck, calmly adjusting his armor before the fight begins. For one who seems so young and acts so experienced, he seems very comfortable in this situation. And very comfortable in armor. The young man draws his blade and prepares to taste Gondorian blood, adrenaline surgering through his tired and heavy limbs.
Saladin says, \"The blood of Gondorian men shall fill the sea, the salt will be mixed with the crimson colour of blood, the putrid smell lifting into our nostrils, you shall not hear me gag, you shall hear me laugh, laugh many many times in pure sadism, I will lick my lips. They shall beg for mercy, but I will laugh, tears of laughter falling from my eyes. That is what will happen......\"
>From Ondeck,
The sailors make a barracade out of barrels hastily brought up from the hold. Several strongpoints are established, one around the main mast, one around the helm, and one around the entrance down below. The sailors disperse themselves around these points, and the lookout finds a bow, in a perfect spot to fire his arrows.
Long distance to Carpathian: Khazamr nods. \"Yeah, I heard.\"
>From Ondeck, \"Ah! Bloody fool woman!\" Turnhout turns and listens to the captain. \"Ah Cap\'n, we goin tae be boar\'d alright.\" He draws his sword and goes to find a few of the others guards and sailors, \"Ye, ye..and ye. When we be boarded, ye will foolow mae. Lets see i\' we can beat the raidar hoome.\"
The stoic appearance that had previously crossed the face of Vrael now fades into a look of almost pleasure, anger or perhaps both. The cloaked man grins widely as the ship comes ever closer into view, the scimitar he holds tightly in one hand seems to snap out in frustration that they are not yet in range for boarding, \"Aye, we will kill them all, and failing that we shall take some slaves...the rowers will soon be dying off if we do not find enough food on that ship...\"
The Captain of the vessel stands fast in the bow. Slowly he reaches under his cape and produces his shield down from his back. Adjusting the straps around his arm, he follows the end of this chase. He prepares to fight.
>From Ondeck,
The noblewoman pales as the sailors draw weapons and rally themselves. She stands next to the Captain, her bodyguards and the few sailors with swords protecting the small fort of barrels around the helm.
\"Perhaps it wasn\'t such a good idea Captain... I might as well head below now.\", she says quickly.
But the path to the hatch is blocked... and she is forced to stay.
>[Raider Torath
Wtih a horrible crunch and bang, the two ships crash their sides together. As soon as the men onboard the Torath recover from the collision, grapnels are thrown into the vessel of the men of Gondor. With a wave of arrows comes a wave of men, thirsty for blood, revenge and gold.
As the two ships crash against each other, the Corsair Lord crouches and grabs a good hold of the side of the ship. Right after the crash, he is one of the first to rise to their feet. With a snarl, he pulls his scimitar from his belt and rushes to the side, his only intention being getting across the gap, to the other ship.
COMBAT - Wielded: Khazamr\'s Scimitar
The Torath(#27683QXeM)
Dropped.
Bay of Belfalas
High, foamy white waves smack against the hull as you enter the Bay of Belfalas. A driving wind from the southwest makes the ship unwieldly but manageable. The great Anduin River to the east cuts deep into the continent while to the northeast the Blackroot and Ringlo Rivers merge to form the sheltered Bay of Edhellond. To the north lies the trading and refitting port city of Haerlond along the Cape of Andrast. The City of the Corsairs, greatest trading port of Middle-Earth lies to the southeast. The mighty, tumultuous waves of the open sea, the Belegaer, enter the bay from the northwest.
Contents:
The Palangaer
The Torath(#27683QXeM)
Obvious exits:
North leads to Haerlond: The Docks.
East leads to Mouth of the Anduin.
NorthEast leads to Bay of Edhellond.
NorthWest leads to Belegaer (The Open Sea).
SouthEast leads to Bay of Umbar, West.
You arrive at the deck of The Palangaer.
The Palangaer
From the upper deck of the mighty Palangaer, you feel as if you are atop a mountain. The crash of the waves some twenty feet below causes no motion on the high upper deck. Visions of lands far away come to your mind as you gaze out across the great rolling sea.
As you look across the deck, you see that everything is kept in perfect order onboard. The first mate is standing next to the tall center mast waiting for his orders.
Type \'Ship Help\' for assistance.
Contents:
Celalia
Turnhout
Ciryahir
The lookout from high above calmly selects his targets and fires. This is the only answer to the mass of arrowheads rushing from the raider. The sailors of the ship and the few guards have prepared themselves for this however, and the barrels absorb most of the deadly fire.
However some of the arrows do find their mark... and every man lost is a step closer to defeat...
Running to the side of the Palangaer, Ciryahir uselessly tugs at one of the grapnels, then falls back and draws his broad sword as he realizes that it is of no use. His face pales further, sweat rolling from his pasty jowls as he stands beside the main mast, his guards and sailors rushing to throw themselves into the fray. He ducks as an arrow buries itself in the mast beside him, and then with a howl of fear and resignation he raises his broad sword and falls upon the wave of corsairs.
Hacking and slashing about himself with fervour if little skill.
The Torath drops Moor.
Moor climbs to the upper deck of The Palangaer.
The first mate salutes and says \"Welcome aboard.\"
\"Bloody corsairs.\" Turnhout cries as him and his squad get knocked flat. He slowly regains his standing. \"Foollow mae! Lets try tae coot tae lines!\" He rushes over to the side, with four men following him.
Carpathian has arrived.
The Torath drops Carpathian.
Saladin has arrived.
The Torath drops Saladin.
Carpathian climbs to the upper deck of The Palangaer.
A sailor salutes as Carpathian walks on board.
Saladin climbs to the upper deck of The Palangaer.
The first mate salutes and says \"Welcome aboard.\"
[Raider Torath
Throwing a glance, that could only be expressed as that of relief, to his brother Carpathian runs towards the Carptain of the Torath. Soon he is found following behind the dread corsair.
Vrael has arrived.
The Torath drops Vrael.
Vrael climbs to the upper deck of The Palangaer.
The first mate salutes and says \"Welcome aboard.\"
As the sailors see their Captain fighting, they rush out of their improvised strongpoints and engage the enemy. This may be the first fatal mistake... now they are outnumbered and surrounded. They fight with little skill and many are hacked down in the first attack.
But the few guards around the helm wield swords, and some of them even have mail. They refuse to rush out blindly from their fort, and fight bitterly trying to hold off the waves and waves of enemies.
Moor wisely, if not bravely, lets the other corsairs go first. Then he too crosses onto the other ship, dodging arrows from both the Haradrim and the Gondorian. The young man concentrates on the hatch, trying to clear it of men so that the corsairs may get to the supplies they so desperately need.
The men of Umbar start to spread across the gap between the ships and to the port side of the Gondorian ship\'s deck. Among the first is the Dread Captain of Umbar, Black Khazamr himself. The torn, destroyed face grimaced terribly, the monstrous man advances across the deck, allowing his men to engage the defenders to his left and right. And he does not concentrate on fighting anyone yet... For it seems that the single eye of Black Khazamr is looking for something... Or someone.
He is looking for the Captain.
Jab\'adab has arrived.
The Torath drops Jab\'adab.
Jab\'adab climbs to the upper deck of The Palangaer.
High above a sailor shouts to the first mate.
Saladin he positions himself, well looking at Carpathian, his grin widens watching his every movement and ready to attack, growling slightly like an animal he licks his lips wanting to see the blood flow from the gondorians. His muscles tense as he moves the arrow back slightly more ready to fire in a half a second of notice.
The Palangaer
From the upper deck of the mighty Palangaer, you feel as if you are atop a mountain. The crash of the waves some twenty feet below causes no motion on the high upper deck. Visions of lands far away come to your mind as you gaze out across the great rolling sea.
As you look across the deck, you see that everything is kept in perfect order onboard. The first mate is standing next to the tall center mast waiting for his orders.
Type \'Ship Help\' for assistance.
Contents:
Jab\'adab
Vrael
Saladin
Carpathian
Moor
Celalia
Turnhout
Ciryahir
Jab\'adab likewise follows the first wave, crossing the short gap between the two ships and landing upon the deck of the Palangaer, weapon brandished.
In the middle of the fray, a trio of skilled guards hack their way through the battle, trying to reach the safety of the hatch. They surround a finely clad woman, who is shouting at them and screaming.
\"Get me to safety, you dogs! That is what you were paid for, now do your job!\"
Looking up from the body of a fallen sailor, Ciryahir meets the ruined face of Khazamr, a howl of fear broken from his lips as he nearly turns to flee in his terror. Raising his broadsword in defense, he stands frozen to the spot.
Then it is that a strange thing happens, perhaps a bit of the blood of Numenor has soaked into the heart of Ciryahir, perhaps it is but madness, but he raises his sword in salute, and with a maniacal grin, charges at the Black Pirate with a howl of rage.
With an artless sweep of his sword, Ciryahir cuts at the Black Pirate, his eyes wide, his face dark and flushed, the arc of his sword bright in the pale sunlight.
The guard, Carpathian follows quickly behind the Corsair Lord. His eyes do yet scan the scene for a target. What he spies is that of a fair maiden aboard this vessel. A grin of pure malice benevolence contorts his face as he begins his trek towards the woman and her guards.
Several corsairs find their way through the battle to these three body guards of the lady and soon begin there assault.
[Combat(#13388)] Ciryahir places a Swan-Knight\'s White-Winged Helm atop his head, readying himself for battle.
Ciryahir places a Swan-Knight\'s White-Winged Helm atop his head, readying himself for battle.
[Combat(#13388)] Ciryahir removes the Iron Shield from his back and places it over his left forearm.
Ciryahir removes the Iron Shield from his back and places it over his left forearm.
Suddenly the lookout eyes the captain fighting his advasary! He puts another arrow in his shaft and draws it, aiming it towards the Black Khazamr...
But he cannot shoot, for his aim is blocked and he does not want to hit his Captain. He awaits an oppourtunity...
[Combat(#13388)] Ciryahir draws Durlach from its black scabbard silently.
Ciryahir draws Durlach from its black scabbard silently.
[Combat(#13388)] Ciryahir pulls his suit of chain mail over his head and shoulders, adjusting the straps carefully.
Ciryahir pulls his suit of chain mail over his head and shoulders, adjusting the straps carefully.
\"Aye, ladee, wat\'h oot.\" Turnhout cries as he moves his way to block Carpathian, \"Fool corsair, fiet mae, noot tae ladee o\' \'er guards.\" He begins to dash straight at Carpathian, longsword gleaning in the light.
A flash of metal through the air announces the presence of Vrael, the grimace of earlier still prominantly blazed across his face as he claims his first victem a young man, probably not even a soldier but this does not matter for the cloaked Corsair is out for blood. The dull blade now dripping wet with the crimson blood of Gondor, Vrael now seeks for another target, someone worthy of his challenge but for the moment he finds none and simply strides the deck to where Carpathian can be seen.
The woman and her bodyguards have halfway crossed the deck... in a few strides they will be below in the hold...
Just then the new wave of attackers overwhelm the sailors fighting at the rail and swarm around the deck. The bodyguards can pay little attention to the woman now, and are fighting for their lives.
With an outstretched hand, the fair lady of Gondor tries to make her way through the smoke and the battle, coughing and calling for her men.
Saladin he looks at Carpathian, his grin widens his incisors showing and his front teeth. Malice intensifing on his face as he aims to the one that Carpathian is to attack, his left eye closing as he takes aim ready to fire, but he doesnt fire yet, the wind blowing slightly causing his hair to move to and fro, he aims still ready but not fireing yet waiting for Carpathian to attack first, before aiding him. His muscles tense and ready, one drop of sweat falls from his brow.
Looking up from the body of a fallen sailor, Ciryahir meets the ruined face of Khazamr, a howl of fear broken from his lips as he nearly turns to flee in his terror. Raising his broadsword in defense, he stands frozen to the spot.
Then it is that a strange thing happens, perhaps a bit of the blood of Numenor has soaked into the heart of Ciryahir, perhaps it is but madness, but he raises his sword in salute, and with a maniacal grin, charges at the Black Pirate with a howl of rage.
With an artless sweep of his sword, Ciryahir cuts at the Black Pirate, his eyes wide, his face dark and flushed, the arc of his sword bright in the pale sunlight.
Suddenly the lookout eyes the captain fighting his advasary! He puts another arrow in his shaft and draws it, aiming it towards the Black Khazamr...
But he cannot shoot, for his aim is blocked and he does not want to hit his Captain. He awaits an oppourtunity...
A foolish Gondorian dares to attack Carpathian. A gleam in his eye is equaled by that of the light reflecting from his blade. AS he sat on the Torath he had done nothing but polish the Falchion. All work will be spoilt as soon it will be marred with the blood of another.
Pulling the blade high in the air he charges at the one whom does attempt to strike him. His blade is brought down upon his foe when he comes into range. The strike comes from overhead in an attempt to slash across the Gondorian\'s chest.
The Dread Corsair opens his jagged and torn mouth, revealing the view of missing teeth and flesh. The eyebrow arches madly as the Gondorian captain attacks him, and he steps back to parry the attack. The black cape catches air underneath and arises in the air alittle, following the Corsair Lord\'s movements latently but still accurately.
And with a wild cry of wrath, the Corsair Lord leaps forward, his crimson blade arching terribly in the air, aiming at Ciryahir\'s chest.
From Ondeck, Moor hacks and slashes at the enemy, his blows inelegant but effective against such unskilled sailors. He too heads for the hatch, yet as his grey eyes catch hold of the woman, an opportunistic smile comes across his lips. \"Ransom?\" he murmurs softly to himself, judging the woman\'s manner and dress to see how rich she might be.
Ciryahir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!
A foolish Gondorian dares to attack Carpathian. A gleam in his eye is equaled by that of the light reflecting from his blade. AS he sat on the Torath he had done nothing but polish the Falchion. All work will be spoilt as soon it will be marred with the blood of another.
Pulling the blade high in the air he charges at the one whom does attempt to strike him. His blade is brought down upon his foe when he comes into range. The strike comes from overhead in an attempt to slash across the Gondorian\'s chest.
You attack Ciryahir with your Scimitar...
Your attack against Ciryahir badly wounds him!
Carpathian attacks Turnhout with his Scimitar and moderately wounds him!
Saladin launches an arrow...
Saladin\'s arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
Staggering back as the crimson scimitar slashes his chest, Ciryahir raises his hand to the deep cut, feeling the warm blood in his fingertips, his eyes widen further. Then with a whimper he raises his sword again and jabs at Khazamr weakly, blocking the ripostes anxiously, slowly falling back across the deck.
Ciryahir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!
Saladin the wind carrys the arrow away from its target, imbeding into the enemys ship deck. He curses and loads another arrow, the grin remaining on his face. He moves his hand back, readying the arrow further as he smiles looking foward and aiming once more waiting for the perfect time. He looks towards Carpathian, and waits for him to attack before attacking again.
\"Argh, bloody...\" Turnhout winces as the corsair blade slashes into his chest, he is forced to take a step back. As he is stepping back he doesn\'t seem to notice the arrow as he raises his shield and prepares to defend himself. He lightly stabs his sword towards the chest of his enemy, as he prepares to block his enemy.
Turnhout attacks Carpathian with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!
From Ondeck,
The lookout of the Whitefoam looses his arrow into another, not wishing to harm his fellow sailors or Ciryahir. He draws another arrow and aims it...
Will the Black Khazamr show an opening and be struck a fatal blow?
The Corsair Lord dodges the weak, futile attack of the Gondorian ship captain. In his furious dance of murder, Black Khazamr dances away from the Gondorian steel and brings himself closer again, at the moment when his opponent cannot react... And the crimson steel reaches for his foe\'s shoulder.
You attack Ciryahir with your Scimitar...
Your attack against Ciryahir badly wounds him!
Ivriniel has arrived.
Saladin has arrived.
The Torath drops Saladin.
Saladin he lets go of the arrow once more, it flys towards the chest of its target.
Saladin launches an arrow...
Saladin\'s arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
Spitting blood, Ciryahir is wracked by pain as the crimson scimitar digs deep into his shoulder, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. He growls and drools as he raises his broadsword and slashes with all of his might at the Black Pirate\'s head.
From Ondeck, Moor \'s scimitar drips with blood, yet the man does not lose himself to bloodlust. His mind remains focused on two things now...the hatch and the wealthy lady before him. He starts to fight his way towards her, all the while calculating how much she might be worth.
Ciryahir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!
Saladin swareing loudly he again moves another arrow into a ready position, his hand moving back his muscles tightening beeds of sweat on his forehead he aims and smiles, his left eye squinted hoping the winds do not make him miss this time. Licking his lips he readys himself.
A grimace of pain is brought to Carpathian\'s face as the Gondorian\'s blade is returned with his blood. The sword has struck him in his shield arm and he musters more strength from within to recover from the blow. The maliscious grin returns and he swings the Falchion back across Turnhout\'s chest.
Carpathian attacks Turnhout with his Scimitar, but Turnhout parries the attack with his Longsword!
The steel blade of Ciryahir swings over the scarred, skeletal bald of the Corsair Lord and does no harm to the southron Lord. But as the weakened Captain of Gondor attacks with all his strength, Black Khazamr takes the advance and slipdes quickly aside, to bring himself up to the man\'s level.
And with a terrible cry of anger and hatred, the man lets the crimson steel arc in the air once more, all the way from behind his shoulder towards the head of Ciryahir of Gondor!
You attack Ciryahir with your Scimitar...
Your attack against Ciryahir moderately wounds him!
Saladin he lets go of the arrow, again the arrow flying at his targets chest.
From Ondeck,
The lookout sees his Captain in trouble and ducks down. He stands up again and shafts a gold sheathed arrow, specially saved for situations like this. It is brilliant and attracts the attention of some Corsair bowmen, who aim their arrows at the crow\'s nest.
It sails through the air, directly at the Lord of Harad!
Almost in slow motion the scimitar passes through the top of Ciryahir\'s head, cleaving it nearly in twain. Slowly the Captain of the Whitefoam slumps to his knees, and falls to the deck, his pale eyes looking sightlessly up at the Black Pirate.
Upon reaching the position of Carpathian, the cloaked Corsair ceases in his strides, smiling widely as he speaks softly from behind Turnhout, \"Well dear brother, need some help?\" Before even a response can be managed, Vrael lunges deeply towards the Gondorian before him, the blade of his scimitar slashing out widely in an attempt to slice the enemy\'s head clear from its neck.
Vrael attacks Turnhout with his Scimitar and moderately wounds him!
Saladin launches an arrow...
Saladin\'s bowshot hits Turnhout, moderately wounding him.
Saladin he grins wider looking at Turnhout, a laugh of pure sadism echos from his stomach his head moving back and ready yet another arrow, waiting and aiming once more a chuckle is all that remains of the laugh in a few seconds. He licks his lips once.
From the deck of the Palangaer, a Gondorian Sailor reaches for his bow. He cocks his arrow, but is cut down by the superiorly trained Corsair archers. Turnhout himself manages to just barely get his sword up to knock away the corsair blade. The men with him have been reduced from 4 to 3, as the inexperince shows in the merchant guards. Turnhout tries to bring down his blade to slash up agaisnt his opponents face. \"Bloody co...\" He is cut off as an arrow pieces into his sword arm and yet another blade slashes into his back as he swings. His attack is weak by the time it finally reaches Carpathian.
From Ondeck,
Melodic and soft is the cry of the woman, her lungs now choked with smoky air. She stumbles forward, her slender form bumping into fighting sailors and men all the while. Her bright grey eyes try to penetrate the fog...
And she sees the shadow of a man approach her.
And the Lord of the Corsairs raises his crimson red scimtiar high up in the air and casts his eyes up to the heavens. And again he howls like an animal, the noseless face spitting out a scream of victory.
*thud*
An arrow, shot by Celalia, speeds through the air and connects with the shoulder of the Dread Corsair. However, it does not pierce the man, but instead, cuts a piece of flesh from his armpit and then drops to hang loosely from the Studded Leather of the Lord. The man winces and staggers back, the single eye turning to glance at the wound. The remaining ugly teeth grimace terribly as the man hisses in pain and humiliation.
Turnhout attacks Carpathian with his Longsword, but Carpathian parries the attack with his shield!
The elder of House Imrazor, Lady Ivriniel, aboard The Palangaer as she returns from a short trip in search of a rare herb, watches in horror as the ship is attacked by the Haradrim, led by the Black Pirate Khazamr. This event a grim reminder of the recent attack of The Breagasul, of which the same noble woman, the sister of Imrahil was a passenger. The din of the fighting grows loudly as the strike of scimitar meets the blades of the men of Gondor. Four Swan Knights stand fighting off the corsairs that would get to the woman and take her prisoner, slave to the evil men in Harad.
An arrow zings by her head, air rushing quickly by as the shaft finds its target in the chest of one burly man. Slowly the crimson stains his shirt, dropping to his knees, hands drop the shining scimitar and clutch at the arrow buried in his chest. Bubbles of bright red blood gurgle from his lips as the last breath of life eases from his body, glassy eyes now unseeing as the body of the man hits the deck of the ship.
Displacing himself from Carpathian and his opponent for the moment, Vrael now focuses his attention upon those men of Turnhout\'s that now assault him, one even going so far as to scar the leather armour carried beneath his cloak, \"Ah, you will now face my wrath foolish men...\" And with that the blade of Vrael lashes out in viscious form, striking down one man swiftly but in another he finds some challenge.
Saladin laughing with a cocky attitude he lets an arrow go, the arrow purposely sticking into the floor a good 5 yards away from his target, laughing with a bit of a wave, mocking the Gondorian.
From the deck of the Palangaer, a Gondorian Sailor reaches for his bow. He cocks his arrow, but is cut down by the superiorly trained Corsair archers. Turnhout himself manages to just barely get his sword up to knock away the corsair blade. The men with him have been reduced from 4 to 3, as the inexperince shows in the merchant guards. Turnhout tries to bring down his blade to slash up agaisnt his opponents face. \"Bloody cor...\" He is cut off as an arrow cuts into his arm, and another blade slashes into his back. His attack is weak when it finally reaches Carpathian.
From Ondeck, A body of a sailor drops before Celalia, the man\'s throat slashed by Moor\'s scimitar. The young man, no older than 16 or 17, stands before the Gondorian woman, eyeing her curiously. \"So this IS a treasure ship,\" he comments wryly. Moor raises his blade, not to attack the lady, but to make her give herself up. \"Shall we return to the ship, lady?\"
From Ondeck,
The lookout stands up and yells as the golden arrow hits the Corsair Lord. \"Captain! I got him! I got--\"
He is stopped by five arrows. One hits his head, another his chest, and the rest hit his bow arm. He falls down from the mast, a large thud adding to the atmosphere of the battle. He paid the ultimate price for his small victory.
Turnhout\'s blade connects with Carpathian\'s and is soon found grappling the two blades with steel clanging together. Taking his left he smacks the Gondorian\'s blade away with his guantlets. Tunrhout\'s sword is now free and clear from the guard and taking the opportunity he lunges in bringing the large blade upon the wounded sword arm of his opponent.
Carpathian attacks Turnhout with his Scimitar, but he misses by an arm\'s length.
The Lord of the Corsairs stumbles aside after being hit by an arrow. Still grimacing, he reaches for the end of the arrow and plucks it out from his armour. And he turns away even as the arrow is still falling down to the blood-soaked deck. The single eye of the Corsair Lord is glancing quickly here and there, getting a general picture of the battle. And then he turns, with determination, towards the upper deck of the Palangaer. Indeed, the fight around him seems futile for the Gondorians.
From Ondeck,
The fighting is slowly coming to an end. Very few sailors continue to resist once they have seen their Captain fall before the Lord of Harad. The woman sees Moor and his proposal.
\"I would rather be dead, you filth! May you and all your kind rot!\", she screams at the lustful man.
Slowly the last vestiges of defense aboard the Whitefoam is crushed, the last remnants holding out about the Lady Celalia as the fallen Gondorians are tossed into the sea, dead and wounded alike. Scarcely a handful of Soldiers yet stand.
Saladin moving the arrow into position he aims towards turnhout once more, his left eye still closed, his hand moves back his muscles tightening once more. Sweat dropping from his brow once more. He finally readys himself fully ready to fire, his aim directed at Turnhouts chest area.
Saladin his grin widens his aim ready, his muscles tense and holding his breath he lets go of the arrow, viciousness and malice on his face, as he watches the arrow take flight again towards the chest area of Turnhout, hopeing to make him cry out in pain.
As Vrael readies himself to deliver a final blow at the man he opposes, there comes another blade that does strike hard upon his armour, skewering the thick leather and indeed even managing to spill forth but a few drops of blood. A great anger boils up within the bowels of the cloaked Corsair as he turns to face the attacker, his scimitar cutting through the man\'s neck even before he can react, the bloodied head falling swiftly to collapse upon the already blood soaked deck. And now to the last remaining man of Gondor that can be spied before him, Vrael turns and bends down to where he lays, still breathing, \"You, I think, will do just fine as a rower...\"
Saladin launches an arrow...
Saladin\'s bowshot hits Turnhout, lightly wounding him.
From Ondeck, Moor is hurt by these words, but not terribly devastated. \"I think you safer with me lady than the rest of these rogues. All I would be interested in is money,\" Moor menacingly moves forward as he speaks. One half-dead Gondorian sailor reaches for his foot to trip him up, but Moor tears his eyes off the lady long enough to finish the sailor off. Glancing around, Moor shakes his head, a cold smile on his lips, \"Fight all you want, you will be taken prisoner. I see how the tide of battle is turning. We can do this the easy way, or..\" Moor holds up his bloody scimitar, \"or the hard way.\"
From Ondeck,
The soilders draw ever tighter around Lady Celalia and look around at their dead kinsmen. They see the dead sailors and slowly lower their swords...
\"Keep fighting you filth!\", says Celalia to her men. They look hestantly and realize they are outnumbered at least twenty to one...
The last remnants of the fighting guards lower their weapons to the floor.
Fiercely the men of Dol Amroth fight their attackers, blood covering the deck of the ship as the battle continues. Solemnly the noble woman attends to the fallen around her, ever watching the progress of the Corsairs in her direction. Gasping softly as one of the Knights protecting her falls to the deck, her fingers feel for a pulse on the man\'s thick neck, only to find there is none. A chill stands the hair on the back of the woman\'s neck as she feels the evil -eye- of the Corsair Lord upon her form, grimly she returns his look, her chin tilts up as Ivriniel stares at the horrid face of Khazamr. Long does she hold her pose, silvery grey orbs defiant and proud, the Dunedain heritage evident in the proud stance of the woman, giving no quarter in the face of of possible doom.
[Turnhout(#17520)] A slight sigh is let out as the corsairs blade is turned aside by fate. Turnhoat stands to regain his sword, he seems week and dazed, but still he tries to fight on. His mates, cut down by corsair blades lay scattered around him. He finally reaches out to go for his sword when the arrow of Saladin cuts straight into his neck. The arrow avoids his spine, but cuts open many arteries and his adam\'s apple to pieces. As the man begins to bleed profusely he falls to the deck. Before he has even hit the deck, his eyes had rolled back in his head. Turnhout the guard falls dead onto the deck, his blood soaking the boards of the Palangaer, Saladin\'s blood soaked arrow sticking into the deck at an angle a few inches from his lifeless form.
And aside from the raging battle, the Dread Corsair climbs up the the Upper Deck of the Gondorian merchant vessel. There he stands with his back straight, the blade of his crimson scimitar pointing downwards at the wooden deck. His shoulders can be seen ascending and descending as he takes a deep breath.
\"You,\" speaks a low voice filled with hatred, the single eye being concentrated on the eyes of the fair Lady of Dol Amroth. \"Call your men to surrender.\" The words of the Dread Captain are a command. \"Surrender or you will all die.\"
And the crimson scimitar drips a drop of blood to the deck. The blood of Ciryahir of Gondor.
Saladin he yells out, in pure sadistic pleasures, coursing through every vein, his head moves back and he laughs, his head completely back, his tounge licking his lips his hands moving up to the sky and laughing more. Finally he quites down infinite pleasure corsing through his veins.
The men around Celalia have already given up, and for that, they will most likely be rewarded with a life of slavery. Perhaps that is better than death. Perhaps. Moor inclines his head to the men, \"Ah, wise men you are...,\" the young man calls out for help, \"I\'ve got prisoners!\" Carefully, not trusting the soldiers, he orders, \"Put your sword on the deck and slide them over!\"
The Lady Celalia looks at her guards with distaste as they drop their swords to the deck and slide them over to the raiders. She then sees the dead bodies and the blood of Gondor spilled all over the once proud merchantman of Gondor.
The woman drops to her knees and sobs uncontrollably, looking at the Black Khazamr and Lady Ivriniel.
The sun sinks in the sky and falls below the horizon. Nighttime takes over.
[Vrael(#21062)] Thrusting his knee into the back of the man that lies now before him, Vrael turns about to Carpathian, remarking lowly, \"Well brother...I managed to keep one of em alive.\" He then lets out what appears to be a sort of laughter, pushing the still breathing Gondorian below him ever harder, \"Quiet down and stay still, you make one move and I will slice you open from neck to foot...\"
As the Dread Corsair climbs upon the Upper Deck, the blade of his scimitar dripping blood, the blood of her kinsmen, Lady Ivriniel, sister of the Prince of Dol Amroth, coldly eyes her tormentor as he hisses out his evil demands. Calmly, the woman straightens her shoulders and a slight shake of her head, gives movement to her long raven tresses. Negative is the movement of her head as her silvery orbs stare at the horror before her. Long do the moments pass as emotions flicker across the noble brow of the woman and finally her chin tilts up in defiance, \"And surrender will assure us of what? More torture and surely death at the hands of our enemies? Nay! Let us die in battle, proudly, fighting the evil aboard this ship.\"
[Carpathian(#27148)] The bodies of the men of Gondor lay strewn across the deck of the merchant vessel of Gondor. As the arrow of Saladin pieres his foe, he slides down to the deck dead from the attack. As none of the Gondorians dare attack any longer, the Guard begins to walk about the deck. A smile is cast to his brother as his spirits and morale has been incresaed tri-fold from this exursion, \"Aye brother, he\'ll make an excellent one...\" Now he turns his deeds to running around, searchng all the Gondorian soldiers whom lay dead upon the deck, for any coin which they might hold. Several times his face is brightened as he claims some prize from the dead, yet he continues on.
However few men are as brave as the Lady Ivriniel. Not a single soul is left fighting, and the few guards around Lady Celalia have already surrendered. The swordless men look to the Princess for compassion, their eyes begging her to surrender and be done with it.
The single eye, like a black pearl of doom and hatred, stares at the Lady of Dol Amroth. The brow of the Corsair Lord arches in displeasement. Yet, he does not advance to threaten the life of Lady Ivriniel or her guards. On the other hand, he does not let the three men aid their brothers dying below.
\"As you wish,\" speaks the nasal voice simply.
And as a background to the posture of Black Khazamr is a scene of torture and pain, of dying men of Gondor, furious Corsairs of Umbar... And blood running down the deck.
Moor shakes his head in dismay as the woman collapses to the ground, sobbing, \"Pitiful. This one is nothing like my lady,\" Moor says softly under his breath. Scimitar still held out, prepared in case any of the Gondorian prisoners should try anything, he just stands there for a moment, waiting to see the Lady Ivriniel\'s decision before he takes anymore action.
Saladin he laughs knowing the battle is over, dropping his hands and climbing down to the deck, the grin still plastered on his face. Extreme malice on his face, still licking his lips.
A twitching in the jaw of the woman is the only sign of her agitation as the cries of more men meeting their death splits the air. Swallowing with great difficult, Ivriniel raises one hand in the air, a noble wave of her hand as her voice barks out in sudden anger, \"Enough! Enough death has been seen today. Lay not another hand on these men, surrender is yours, wicked pirate of Harad. Long may you rue the actions of this day.\" The three Knights around her, step closer, almost pressing against her slim form as they move to protect the sister of Imrahil from Khazamr.
[Vrael(#21062)] Vrael shifts in his position, preparing to stand again, one hand now grasping the light cloth of the man below him while his shield has been cast aside, though the scimitar still remains wielded. In a sudden, jerky motion, the cloaked Corsair brings himself and the Gondorian up straight, allowing the man to stand for but a brief moment as soon a fist flies fast towards the man\'s face, crashing into the bone and sending him reeling backwards, landing nigh on three feet from where he had stood, \"You there!\" shouts Vrael, waving a hand towards a nearby Corsair and then in turn to the now unconcious Northman, \"Take the man and put him below, chain him up real tight too.\"
And as the last of the Gondorian warriors drop their weapons, a cheer arises among the men of Umbar. \"
And the black clad Lord of Seaward steps back, to turn his head sideways to the three men in chainmail in front of him. \"
And as he turns his head back to Lady Ivriniel and her guards, the single eye flashes evilly. Immediately, some ten Corsairs of the Torath start to approach the three.
\"Surrender your arms,\" speaks the Dread Captain. \"Surrender and you will live. Resist, and you will die. And so will she.\"
From behind Khazamr comes many cheers of joy for the corsairs of Umbar have found victory this fateful day. None think of mutiny anymore for there pockets and stomaches shall soon be full.
Carpathian, too, stands not more than five feet from the Dread Corsair. He eyes the man wearily perhaps in fear, or worry, none can really tell.
\"Oh horrors! Oh Spite!\", cries Celalia, maid of Dol Amroth. She hears her kinswoman order the surrender and sobs even harder, throwing her arms around one of the weaponless guards.
The few soilders around Celalia are bound and thrown to the floor. They look at the still standing knights of Dol Amroth and wish they had continued to fight...
Saladin his eyes fixate on the form of woman his hands to his sides, making no further move, but the grin remains plastered on his face. His hands tightened into fists breathing slowly in and out, excitement still burning in his eyes.
Blanching at the sound of the cheer of the pirates, their gutteral tones harsh to her ears, but no sounds does the Princess make as she stands solemn and regal aboard The Palangaer, calmly awaiting the fate at the hands of the Dread Pirate. Her voice, melodic even under the duress of a amoment such as this says to the guards at her front, \"Lay down your weapons and make no resistance. No more blood will be shed today. If fate should have us die by the hands of these evil men, then death it shall be.\" Silvery grey eyes show the anger ripping from her gut as the Khazamr sends his henchmen forth, but nary a sigh of distress does she allow him to see.
Moor loots some of the bodies strewn about him, but he refrains from major plunder. His concern is for his prisoner, even though he knows the prisoner will not remain his for long. With the guards removed and shoved into the prisoner\'s line, he moves towards Celalia. \"Get up woman,\" he orders harshly. Then he turns and calls out to Khazamr before this prize can be plundered, \"There is another woman here, Lord! Not as rich, but still a fine ransom she will make!\"
Saladin he sees the arrow that killed his target, he walks slowly towards the dead form, grabbing the arrow with his left hand and ripping it out. His head moves back his mouth opening as he laughs, laughter echoing across the ship as he holds the arrow up as a sign of victory, he holds the arrow and slowly calms down. His left hand drops the side, the arrow a sign of victory which he will never ever discard.
Watching his brothers quietly, the Knight Farothil slowly lowers his bloody greatsword to the deck, his eyes watching the Black Pirate slowly as he obeys the Princess Ivriniel.
The three guards of the Princess surrender their arms to the men of Umbar, and they are led away. And only after they have gone does the Black Khazamr recognise the noble captive. The single eye blinks wide open, the head pulls back for a second, and then he steps forth. He hisses from between his teeth as the eyes - dead and living - stare at her at a closer distance. \"Who... Are... You?\" asks the torn, ruined mouth.
Farothil turns back to his lady Ivriniel for the last time before he is led to the Torath, then turns away again.
Carpathian makes his way to where the lady of Gondor had tried to make it below deck. With a heave along with several other corsairs he pulls the hatvh open and they make their way down, in search for some Gondorian plunder.
A hint of despair droops the shoulders of the Princess as the men guarding her lay down their weapons. The reality of the situation a grim reality as Ivriniel raises her eyes to the wretched form of the Corsair Lord. Haughty, even in the face of undeniable doom, her voice hisses out sharply, \"Lady Ivriniel, sister of Imrahil at your service Khazamr\", dropping into a mocking curtsy her hands quiver with anger as the eye of the pirate glares its hatred upon her.
Saladin looking at the lady his grin remains on his face, the grin doesnt last for long as it turns to a smirk at her mocking. A slight laugh coming from his contorted lips. He looks at the arrow and grins holding it tighter, taking a perverse pleasure in having it.
The Seaward Lord not hearing his shout, perhaps because the corsairs on the ship are cheering, hooting, and hollering as they plunder, Moor grabs the woman\'s arm and drags her towards the Lord. Already, some of the corsairs are noticing the woman. Moor glares at them, trying to look threatening, \"The Lord will decide what to do with this one! No one touch her!\"
Oh, what a face of godly power and euphoric state of superiority fills the living side of the Dread Captain\'s face. The dead side remains as ever, but the contrast now makes it look sarcastic, evil and wicked, as if already preaching doom upon the Princess of Dol Amroth. And the Corsair Lord spins around quickly, to face his men working belowdecks. \"
And after this bold speech that raises cheers and mad cries of joy among the Corsairs of Umbar, the man who once wore a mask of black iron turns back to face Lady Ivriniel.
\"Indeed I am pleased to meet you at these circumstances,\" speaks the Corsair Lord quietly. \"Indeed. And indeed this will please your... brother.\"
Saladin stays stern, showing no emotion now, except for the constant grin of malice and sadism on his face. His hand tight around the arrow and his other hand holding his bow looking at the lady and of course at the others.
The hatch swings open once more as Carpathian emerges. A quick glance around the decks and he heads straight for Lord Khazamr. As he makes it within five feet of the Lord he chuckles slightly, \"Very well Lord! I had no doubts upon you. You are a valiant and most worthy Captain. May I ask you of something?\" He now is grining wildly in some ploy of his.
Raising her eyebrows in question, dark arches upon a pale porcelain face of great beauty, Lady Ivriniel says nothing as the men of Harad cheer their victory upon the seas today. Leaning back instinctively as the Dread Corsair again turns his attention to her, Lady Ivriniel brings no voice to words. No words of plea shall fall from the proud lips of this lady of House Imrazor. The slim fingers of the woman\'s hands clench and unclench in the soft folds of her white satin dress as she awaits the doom that has befallen her on this day.
Saladin he says nothing, the grin remaining but nothing else is heard or seen from him. He is standing as still as a statue unmoving, and almost unblinkig.
As Carpathian walks up to him, the Dread Captain turns his head to the side. \"
Broken, the \'Lady\' Celalia is dragged sobbing towards the Lord of the Corsairs. She looks at the Princess of Dol Amroth. Celalia stops her tears.
Now she is filled with hope and pride. Like a goddess does Ivriniel stand before her, defiance filling her as she sees her kinswoman unbroken and tall, still with an air of command lingering around her.
Corsairs scurry about, taking all the weapons and armour off of the soldiers they can find. There bodies are soon piled up around the main mast and many corsairs find there way below decks where they soon pillage the wares that are found below.
Saladin still remains silent, nothing is heard from him not even breathing, his body still as a statue, the only movement is a few blinks. The grin always constant, an eeriness to his silence and stillness.
The stout leather boots of the Lord of Seaward slowly move the man closer -to a distance of one single foot- to Lady Ivriniel of Dol Amroth. And the bald head of the Corsair Lord tilts slightly as the single eye shoots a victorious, mocking glance into her eyes. \"Oh, what would I do with you, lady of Gondor?\" asks the Corsair Lord. \"Oh, what would I do? Should I kill you now? Should I take you back to Umbar?\" Slowly he walks around her as he speaks.
And indeed... The most alien of all expressions is on Khazamr\'s face for the man\'s mouth has twitched into a strange grimace. It is the slightest of grins, still there, on the torn face of Black Khazamr.
Moor bows low as he approaches his lord, \"I am sorry to disturb you, Lord. But I think this one,\" he cocks his head towards Calelia, \"Should be with the Lady. For her own safety,\" Moor clears his throat, \"Until you decide what to do with them.\"
The brows furry in disgust upon Carpathian as the words of the Dread Corsair come across his ears. He turns his back to the man beofre throwing a glance to the Lady Ivriniel. A look of solitude crosses his face as he brings his eyes across hers. He begins to grin slyly all the while turning a gold florin in his hand.
Saladin he says nothing only stares at the scene before him. The grin fading a stern look on his face. Coldness about him, an ominous nature about him, as the wind blows his hair and his clothing. The arrow held tightly as to not lose it, in his left hand.
Flinching as the Corsair Lord circles around her, Ivriniel makes no sound, the hem of her gown visibly showing the sign of her fear as it trembles upon the deck of The Palangaer, tinged with the blood, the hem quivers as her legs threaten to buckle beneath her, so great is the fear of this hated pirate.
And yet, her voice remains strong and clear as she responds to his inquiry, silvery grey orbs lined with dark lashes focus on the -one- good eye of the man, if you can call the hideous form a man, \"Do as you wish Dread Pirate. My blood upon your hands will bring untold grief upon your land. If that is what you wish, then so be it. Revenge shall be that of Imrahil, of that you can rest assured. Your evil of today shall not go unpunished.\"
Carpathian can not hold back the laughter from which he gains from Ivriniel\'s speech. With a sudden outburst he cries out to Khazamr, \"Kill her! She will be nothing but trouble to us. Or are you afraid of Imrahil oh mighty Lord? I fear you are not afraid of him and you shall kill her now. Please tell me my faith in you is true my lord? I so want for you to kill her.\" A mischievous grin is placed upon his face as he lookts to the sister of Imrahil.
At the bold words of the Princess of Dol Amroth, the Dread Corsair acts quickly. Droplets of Cirayhir\'s blood are flung around as the crimson scimitar arcs in the air, rising towards Ivriniel\'s neck. And it halts less than an inch away from her fair skin. \"Aye,\" speaks the toothless mouth. \"Aye, That is what you say, yet your pride is not ethernal.\" The bald head leans closer to the Princess. \"I am afraid that, if I move my hand, you will find yourself very, very mortal.\"
And there the man halts, the single eye closely examining the brow of the fair sister of Imrahil. Looking for trembling muscles, droplets of sweat. And the blade remains there, without moving, completely in control.
\"Do you still feel... Confident about dying, Lady?\" asks the Lord of Seaward.
Now that they are away from the horde of corsairs who are picking this ship clean, Moor loosens his grip on Calelia. Apprehensive in Khazamr\'s prescence, he wants the woman turned over to the Lord as quickly as possible. As he waits, he sends a cool, neutral glance to Carpathian, watching him with almost as much interest as the Lady Ivriniel.
Saladin laughter breaks his ominous silence, he laughs slightly his head moving back, it increases in volume ever so slowly. His mouth is opened wide his tounge licking his lips as he laughs more, louder and louder as he seems to be in hysterics, hearing the lady he looks towards her. A mix of extreme amusment and pure malice on his face, something that could only come from him, something that rarely happens. Saying sternly and loudly laughing, as he says these words,\"Hang her, make her cry out and beg for us to forgive her, her limp body hanging as she tries to breath but with no avail, her lungs expanding then withering inside her as the last breath moves out of her body, her eyes moving back into your head, a single tear drop falling from her eye. Then we tell Gondor she is alive and well, loving it here, but then we give it to her dead, and we slaughter her kinsman, as they cry over her body!\"
Ivriniel
Cascades of lustrous, raven coloured tresses fall almost to the waist of this woman. Pulled back with glittering jeweled combs, it is elegantly styled, pulled taut along her face, framing her beauty. Silvery grey eyes, lined with rows of long dark lashes, are deep pools of beauty against the alabaster whiteness of her skin, shining with the wisdom, experience and peaceful serenity of her many years. A haughty tilt of her chin proclaims the ancient blood which runs through her. Graceful fluidity marks her movements, delicately shaped and tall, she carries the full bearing of her bloodline with dignity and compassion.
Upon her shapely figure is a dress of the finest white satin, intricately designed but deceptively simple in appearance with glistening strands of silver woven into the fabric. A v-neckline stops short as rows of silver capped lace rise from her tiny waist. Slender fingers, often tinged with colour from her work with herbs, wave through the air as she punctuates her expressions with use of her hands, either in amusement, animation or ire. A shimmering cloak of royal blue, lined with silver and trimmed with soft white fur falls from her delicate shoulders, Completing her ensemble is a tapesty bag, well worn and heavily used in her work as the Master Healer of Dol Amroth as it contains many of the most used ointments, tinctures and dried herbs.
\"Lord Khazamr! Pray, come and let me speak to you for a second before you do this. I have something to tell you which you might like,\" he looks upon the Captain of the Torath in earnst for his ear to be leant to him.
Gasping softly as the scimitar arcs in the air, glittering as it nears her neck, Ivriniel visibly shakes and expels a loud rush of air as the blade stops short of slicing into her tender flesh. And yet, the White Lady of Belfalas moves in surprise when the bald head of the Corsair leans to whisper vile words into her ear, quickly she presses against the blade of the scimitar. The sharp blade drawing her own blood to mix with those of her beloved homeland, a thin trickle of blood slides down her bosom and quickly soaks into the thirsty material of her white dress. Crimson flowering out in a steady, slow fashion as she utters harshly, her fingers digging into the arm of the Corsair Lord, eyes harsh with hatred, lips trembling with fear and anger, \"Nay! But death is preferable to a life of torture and cruelty.\" Sharply she barks out, \"End it, now! Coward of the sea! Let my blood flood from your blade.\"
\"Nay,\" whispers the voice of the Dread Captain, so quiet that others can barely hear anything. For the two are now separate from the howling, urging and growling Corsairs around them. \"Nay, I will not slay you.\" And the blade moves further away from her throat, for the Corsair Lord has not chosen to slay the woman. Instead, the blade moves somewhere aside from her sight.
\"You fear me, Princess,\" whispers the man, \"you fear me. And after this day, you will plant that same fear into the heart of your brother. Nay. I will not slay you. I will let you go.\"
And quickly, surprisingly and not allowing any to react, the black glove, Khazamr\'s left hand, grabs a braid of Lady Ivriniel\'s hair, and the Crimson Scimitar slides to cut it, cut her hair, so that it leaves her head for ever. Not much does the Dread Captain cut, not enough to change her appearance... But certainly enough for her to notice it when she sees her image in a mirror.
Holding the long hair in his fingers, showing it before her green eyes, the Corsair Lord whispers the last of his words: \"Know, Princess of Dol Amroth, and let the Prince know as well... Not even the House of Imrazor is safe from Black Khazamr, Lord of the Corsairs!\"
And with those words, the Corsair Lord spins around, to face all the Corsairs seeking to speak to him, seeking to share their counsel with him, asking questions or whatever. And he raises the White Lady\'s hair that he has in his hand high into the air. \"Men!\" he shouts, \"We will cast terror into the hearts of the Gondorians! We will let thie ship go!\"
Saladin a confused look comes across his face, an eyebrow arching, an expression that seems to yell out Why?
Moor \'s jaw drops. Struggling to speak, Moor splutters in shock and dismay. But his struggles are helpless, he can do nothing to counter this mighty Lord.
Carpathian looks upon Khazamr in an emotion that could be easily explained as him being extremely irritated at this. A growl is ripped from his mouth as he turns to Khazamr and halts before he can speak. All that he can do is return to the Torath.
\"
Saladin laughs wickedly, wickedness unequaled in all of umbar, his mouth contorting cruely his body tremlbing in laughter, tears streaming down his face overwhelmed by the amount of the sick unadulterated sadism, oh how he loves it so. Laughing more and louder, he seems to be in hysterics and cannot stop, but finally he regains himself, a smile that is evil, and wicked remains on his face.
The guard of umbar makes his way back to the Torath, placing his blade back into his sheathe he picks up a metal shield which he finds laying about. With his prize he walks back onto the Torath.
More afraid of the deadly whisper in her ear than the course shouts of the remaining band of Corsairs, Lady Ivriniel trembles as the blade of the scimitar moves from her flesh and out of her range of vision. Puzzled for a moment, but frozen by the whispers of Khazamr, she can only stand as a statue as he whispers of her fear, palatable fear etches across her face as the pulse in her slender neck beats harder, sending a steady, thin flow of blood from the wound on her neck. Swallowing thickly, she licks dry lips, dread in her eyes when suddenly a screech of panic rips from her throat unbidden as the blade of Khazamr rips a braid of her hair.
Dropping to her knees, sobs spilling from her lips as her hands rise up to cover her face, Lady Ivriniel is finally broken by the Dread Corsair. The hated words of the man hiss out in delight as he speaks of his greatness against the House Imrazor.
Few moment pass before the sobs of the woman cease. Still kneeling on the deck of The Palangaer the Princess makes a surprise movement, drawing the dagger from the sheath strapped to her right calf and lunges at the Dread Pirate, death in her eyes, hatred changing the beauty of the woman to a mask of ugliness.
Saladin he drops the arrow and grabs another one moving his hand out he aims for the princess with an almost cat like reflex. His hand readys the arrow moving it back his muscles tighten and buldge sweat pouring from his brow as he aims for the princess ready to kill her for how she is trying to kill, Khazmar. His face stern, malice is the only emotion no other, not even the sadistic pleasure he was feeling before his hand moving back, readying very slowly, waiting to see if the he will handle it if the blade even touches him, he will shoot with deadly accuracy.
The guard returns upon the scene, obvisously stark mad at the decision of the lady he walks back up to her and states, \"Remove your armor my lady... now.\"
The guard returns upon the scene, obvisously stark mad at the decision of the lady he walks back up to her and Khazamr. Yet he intervenes not in this episode. He merely sits awaiting patiently for one of them to fall.
Moor has let his prisoner go. Shoulders drooping, the young man has already turned to go and find what valuables may be left. From the way he moves, one would guess he was the loser in the battle, and not the victor. It is because of that that when the Lady lashes out with her dagger, the young man can do nothing to stop her.
Saladin letting go of the arrow it flys foward straight and true to the side of the lady, praying that it will find its mark.
Saladin launches an arrow...
Saladin\'s bowshot hits Ivriniel, mildly wounding her.
What a harsh scene follows the attack of Ivriniel!
As she darts forward, she manages to surprise the Lord of Seaward, and with a thud, her dagger sinks into the Studded Leather of the Lord. A hissing grunt of pain escapes the torn lips of the Corsair Lord as he spins around, grabbing the wrist of the White Lady. \"Backstabbing whore!\" he spits from his mouth as he faces her again. With blood spilling around the deck, he pulls the sharp, precious and bloodied blade from his back.
\"Gondorian women... Nay, they cannot fight...\" he hisses from between his gritted teeth, and now his face is burning with anger as he brings the Princess to the ground. Kneeling next to her, the Corsair Lord brings his blood-soaked hand holding the red dagger in front of the woman\'s eyes. He lets drops of black blood fall into her eyes before he hisses. \"I curse you and your line of blood! With mine shall I mix your blood, and that blood which was born in me shall corrupt your twisted heart, you hag!\"
Slowly, the blood-stained hand and dagger press down to the bleeding neck of the Lady of Dol Amroth. And the hand shakes as it squeezes hard. A sigh of satisfaction escapes the lips of Khazamr as some seven drops of jet black, thick blood fall into the bloodstream of Lady Ivriniel. \"The Eye is in my blood... The Eye is in your blood,\" hisses the Corsair Lord.-
Carpathian stands not more then three paces away as he watches Khazamr works his blood into her. A gleam shines in his eye as he sees the armor of which the lady holds. He begins to step forward drawing his scimitar, holding it towards her he awaits Khazamr to finish.
The whine of an arrow in the splitting the air grazes the shoulder of the Princess, a tear in the white satin of her gown reveals another quickly spreading patch of crimson as her flesh weeps with the injury. Her hand barely has time to leave the blade of the dagger before the Corsair Lord has her wrist captured in a painful grip.
Screaming out obsenities now as her feet slide in the blood on the deck trying to escape from certain death. The eyes of the woman widen in terror as her own blade, an ornate silver handled dagger, finely etched with images of the House Imrazor is held above her. Her throat convulses as the warm blood of the hated Corsair Lord drips upon her flesh, feeling it mingle with her own, she pitches forward and wretches, the bile covering the boot of Khazamr as her shoulders strain with the deep convulsions of her stomach.
Saladin he smiles a very cruel and sadistic smile looking at the princess, licking his lips at the sign of her blood, loving the feeling of having hit her with my arrow saying,\"DIE DIE DIE YOU HAG! I HOPE YOU LOVE THE FEELING OF MY ARROW CUTTING THROUGH YOUR FLESH, THE POWER OF THE EYE WILL TAKE CONTROL OF YOU, YOUR BLOOD IS MINGLING WITH HIS, DIE DIE DIE YOU HAG!!!\" He falls down in hysterics once more grining wildly.
\"There,\" hisses the Lord, \"Whenever you close your eyes for sleep... May you find me waiting there.\" Adn with that, he lets go of the wretching woman, and straightens his back. \"Let us go, Guard,\" he says to Carpathian. His voice is triumphant and commanding.
With a sudden swing of his blade, Carpthian smacks Ivriniel in the back of the head with the flat of the Falchion. The lady now Lays upon the deck, rendered unconscious. A smile plays across the Haradrim\'s face as he begins to remove her belongins from her limp body. Finding a suit of ringmail he promptly removes from her possession. He then grabs the ladies bow from off to the side and smiles to Saladin, \"She may have more.\" He then heads back to the Torath.
Moor is as still as stone as he watches this scene, not quite believing what he sees. Sadly, almost pitying the princess, or perhaps pitying her stupidity, Moor shakes his head. As the lady is knocked unconscious, Moor darts to her body, not above robbing such a rich lady of anything Carpathian might have left behind.
Saladin he goes over the princess, laughing manically tears falling dowm from his eyes he grabs the dagger and the helm from her, holding them victorious in his hand he rips the arrow from her and laughs more, yelling obscenties at her in the most foul of language. He walks back picking up the other hour and with pure sadistic pleasures he dances around victoriously.
By the time Moor and Carpathian began relieving Ivriniel of her valuables, Black Khazamr is already on his way. The last of the looting parties are already departing. The victory is Umbar\'s... And the journey home can begin.
Moor sighs sadly as Saladin gets to the dagger first. But he relieves the lady of several items of jewelry, quickly pocketing them and then retreating back to the ship, wary of any corsairs who might try to strip him of his ill-gotten loot.
Saladin he makes sure not to mix up the two arrows, treasuring the one that hit the princess and laughing still as he looks towards
Carpathian.
The blade of the scimitar connects sharply with the back of the head of Lady Ivriniel, a soft grunt of pain is the last sound made by the sister of Imrahil as her form crumples to the deck of the Palangaer. Softly her chest rises and falls as her death is not taken, but marred by the blade of the Dread Pirate and flesh torn by arrow and blade, the blood seeps from her wounds, staining the white satin of her dress as the wicked pirates loot the ship. The rings upon her fingers and the glittering jeweled combs in hair are taken by the pirates as the unconscious figure of Lady Imrazor lies still.
The Torath(#27683QXeM)
Raider Torath
Crafted of a dark Caldurian hard wood, the long sleek deck of this vessel stands clear except that of the two masts and the ships armaments. Running along the port and starboard sides of this ship are covered archers slits every 10 feet, and two catapults on either side in the center of the deck. The bow deck, raised higher above the main deck, features two ballista on either side and a cattapult in the center. Two stairways lead up to the bow deck on either side of the ship with two doors inbetween, one leading to the ships armory and the other down to the crew quarters.
The aft deck, raised higher than the bow deck, is situated at the end of the ship and shows the same armorments at the bow. The giant wheel is mounted in the center of the deck to a large round trunk of wood springing from the deck with a small flat surface in front for maps and charts. Two stair cases lead up to the aft deck on either side and inbetween is a single door to the Captains Quarters.
In between the two masts, on the main deck, is a large hatch leading below to the galley, the row ports, and the steerage. Lashed to the opposite side as the descending stairs are 3 longboats upside down ontop of each on the deck
The Torath\'s mighty obsidian sails are unfurled.
asts and the ships armaments. Running along the port and starboard sides of this ship are covered archers slits every 10 feet, and two catapults on either side in the center of the deck. The bow deck, raised higher above the main deck, features two ballista on either side and a cattapult in the center. Two stairways lead up to the bow deck on either side of the ship with two doors inbetween, one leading to the ships armory and the other down to the crew quarters.
The aft deck, raised higher than the bow deck, is situated at the end of the ship and shows the same armorments at the bow. The giant wheel is mounted in the center of the deck to a large round trunk of wood springing from the deck with a small flat surface in front for maps and charts. Two stair cases lead up to the aft deck on either side and inbetween is a single door to the Captains Quarters.
In between the two masts, on the main deck, is a large hatch leading below to the galley, the row ports, and the steerage. Lashed to the opposite side as the descending stairs are 3 longboats upside down ontop of each on the deck
The Torath\'s mighty obsidian sails are unfurled.