The Pretender Chronicles - Burning Down the House
A tale freshly told of the Gondorian
Curugil Gildring hosts a banquet for those newly returned from war. Dancing, fun and games until the Black Hand sends a strange suicide arsonist. AND also true believers... the first appearance of Morgaen Gildring (Tith) -- don\'t miss this collector\'s item. Some OOC comments have been left in for levity.
Elendor - Thursday, March 05, 2009, 4:47 PM
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The High House of Lore - Minas Tirith (#18959Rn)
This ancient building, stands as an adjutant of the Academy of Ostoher. This main entrance hall, is a large, pillared affair rising to a lofty ceiling. From this main hall there are several small halls leading to places of study, but of chief dominance is a set of spiral staircases that circle upward.
This large chamber is evidently used as a place of lecture and gathering. On the walls, there are several frescoes, the chief of which depicts the first ruling Queen of Numenor, Tar Ancalime, yet of chief interest are the sculptures, two of which stand most prominently by the staircase. These two statues are both of Numenorean kings, and beneath the one on the right is inscribed the name: Vardamir Nolimon. Beneath the other, Tar-Elendil Parmaite.
�
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Tonight, the House of High Lore\'s main hall is decked prominently in gold and purple banners. Tables are laid out with a variety of foods, and perhaps most prominently is a large counter of bottles of dark reds and whites that show elegance, and indeed, their vintage.
In addition, several large tables are laid out. Not so much for formal dining, but merely as a place to gather in tasteful comfort.
There is a brisk tumult of work here, as servants whisk through the hall in last minute preparations.
Down from the stairs comes Curugil Gildring. He holds in the crook of his left arm a scroll.
---
\"Dear brother,\" greets Lady Morgaen, emerging from the shadows behind one of the great banners. A glass of wine is already held loosely in her hand, and in the other she waves a rolled sheaf of parchment.
������� \"I received your letter,\" she states simply, and nothing more, yet there is a twinkle in her eyes, perhaps an acknowledgment of the missive\'s unspoken contents.
---
Smiling so that his bent scar glistens, Curugil kisses his sister on the cheek and says, \"Morgaen. They did not tell me you arrived, elsewise I would have come down sooner.\"
He says simply, \"We shall talk upon that issue when we have time. How is the guild?\"
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\"I was entertained,\" Morgaen answers her brother with a small but cryptic smile before dipping his head at him. \"You look well.\"
������� And that is all she has to say for the moment. The lady wanders a few feet off and gazes at nothing in particular. \"Oh, neither here nor there I feel... And yet sometimes, it\'s as if a weight of great portent settles on my shoulders. Doom. I received by messenger, from the Draugrim, a report that the Daerloss has not been seen since it set sail for the south. The Wolf-knights say that Corsairs are prowling the wider seas again for the first time in years. Dire, no?\"
After a moment, Morgaen adds: \"How go your own affairs, brother?\"
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Curugil smiles and says, \"Yes, and there is much speech of the Corsairs of late. Yet I sense that heaviness upon you certainly. Well, we shall see.\"
\"As for me,\" says Curugil. \"I am very happy to report that I have seen an *infestation* a veritable hive of the most diabolical termites in creation. Why they were under my very nose too! At the Card Failin no less. A whole family, extended family, and friends of drones, queens, and workers! I am making plans to return there to study it -- before the building collapses of course.\"
---
A resounding, spaced cadence heralds the arrival of one needless of invitation\'s handling: wrapped lightly in the azures and silvers traditional to his kin, wont of war seemingly forsaken, the Isilrim Lord halts for but a moment\'s pass aside the gathering\'s entrance, permitting no more than a curt nod and a dismissive raise of his hand for right of entrance.
Heavy gait emanates within the House of Lore for Arathis the Numenorean advances now therein, flanked by no company, his approach lined for the counter of wine.
�---
\"It would seem our first guests are arriving sister,\" says Curugil to Morgaen. \"Do you see that man thither. That is the Lord Isilrim. Do you know him?\"
\"Termintes?\" Morgaen echoes her brother, her voice lilting in the manner of smalltalk, yet betraying also her genuine curiosity. \"What secret wisdoms and higher designs do you see in the workings and carvings of termites, brother?\"
������� The Lady of the Black Hill turns her gaze to the guest announced by her brother. \"The middle Isilrim is not known to me,\" Morgaen admits. \"Shall we greet him?\"
---
Serving his own chalice with some insistence to bypass the banquet\'s labor, the Lord Isilrim raises the vessel to his lips sharply. The faintest displeasure then marks him.
After a moment, he strides towards the Gildring twain.
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\"My dear sister,\" says Curugil. \"I thought you out of all people would realize I have not lost my interest in the natural sciences. Remember what I used to do to those ants when we picnicked with father on the side of the Dol Thaur?\"
Curugil laughs, \"I know it was cruel, but still... I suppose boyhood brings out the ruder elements of gender. Nonetheless, by learning about such little creatures and how they live, so too may I learn how to apply those techniques upon our own race. Mere termites? Never in life my dear! But honestly, I shall feel some guilt when they all get crushed when the barracks falls upon them. It is rather sad. A mass suicide I suppose it is. I think it is very comparable to our own situation in Gondor. A mass suicide of sorts...\"
\"Yes,\" says Curugil. He takes his sister\'s arm, \"I met him at Drover\'s. On the night of that unpleasant occurrence. Have no fear, for I know our Lord of the Keys will apprehend these malefactors.\"
He then comes before Arathis and bows, \"Lord Isilrim. Allow me the pleasure of introducing my sister, Morgaen Gildring.\"
---
Menawa has arrived.
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As the neared Gildring siblings converse, a single step of the Lord Isilrim falters his approach cuts, begetting a moment of cool assessment. And when he continues, it is with a darkened air.
Thus his tongue is cool: \"Well met, Lady Gildring, daughter of Curungol.\" A nod, more than a bow, accompanies his words.
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�������� A young man arrives at the entrance of the hall and, producing the appropriate document, is permitted to enter - he wears a splendid robe banded vertically with broad stripes of blue and pallid grey, indicating him most likely as one of Isilrim lineage. Quickly surveying the guests that have already assembled, he notes the presence of his liegelord and approaches at a liesurely a pace. \"Good evening my Lord,\" Menelas greets him brightly with broad smile, timed in such a way as not to interrupt him, and flourishes a formal bow in deference to he and the siblings.
---
�
Thingalad, son of Dunthir, Lord Lieutenant of Carmayar and Master Scout of the Company of Ithilien, is ushered into the chamber where the gathering is taking place. Fashionably late, the Man of Gondor looks well pleased to see such a company as this assembled in the heart of the City of Gondor. Stopping inside the threshold, he pauses behind Menelas and waits his turn to be greeted by the keepers of this house.
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\"I thank you for coming,\" says Curugil to Arathis.
---
It might be called a crowd at the door now, as Ceredir arrives after the other two. He slips inside the doorway, standing behind Thingalad, waiting, and looking quite uncomfortable and out of place, at least by the expression he wears of it.
---
\"The Doom of the Termites,\" is Morgaen\'s soft answer to Curugil\'s musing, her words and her gaze writ with freely-shown humour. Yet as Arathis approaches she inclines her head to him in a respectful curtsey. \"A greater Doom than most.\"
������� \"Lord Isilrim.\" And then to the other son of the Sema, Menelas, a polite incline of her head. \"\'Tis my brother whom is your host tonight, though.\"
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Tuivegil has arrived.
Curugil says, \"I fear our conversation the other night was cut short -- alas. But I would like to continue it perhaps tonight. Yet others have arrived I see. Some I recognize, others perhaps not.\"
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\"Hail, good Menelas.\"
For the lad, the bass of the Isilrim Lord lightens. But it is his grave wont, swiftly retaken, that abuts the words of Morgaen. \"Aye, the Lord Gildring and I have met under other circumstances.\"
To Curugil, he continues flatly: \"The Warden Hurin seeks you. Perhaps he is among the arrived.\"
---
Placing a hand upon the shoulder of his younger kinsman, he bids the boy forward. \"Here, Lady Gildring, is Menelas, a fine page of my kin.\"
\"Oh good,\" says Curugil. \"I do wish to see him. My thanks of course.\"
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\"It is my pleasure, Lord,\" adds the Isilrim curtly.
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Wine begins to flow as more and more guests arrive. The room, tastefully set for a banquet is laid with comfortable chairs and tables. These are filled with bottles of wine and also, food as it is brought out by servants.
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Thingalad turns back to Ceredir at the door and nods to him. \"Greetings, Brother. We are being honored. Yet there are faces that I do not see...\" He glances back around the room again.
---
Soft music begins to play in the background as musicians, now gathered in the corner, start playing a haunting melody.
\"If you will excuse me,\" says Curugil to the Isilrims and his sister. He then makes his way toward the stairs.
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\"Young Menelas,\" Morgaen acknowledges the junior Isilrim with that same smile. Then to her brother, apologetically. \"I must excuse myself for the moment, brother. But I will return to the party when I am able.\"
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������� \"Lords and sirs,\" she bids a pleasant farewell to the gathered men. A moment later, the Lady of the Black Hill has disappeared down a corridor.
---
Stepping up on the stairs, Curugil makes his way up toward its first curve, so that he may overlook the proceedings.
Curugil holds up his hand and calls out, \"My friends and countrymen. If I may take a moment... I would like to welcome you...\"
---
It is when Curugil is making his announcement that Menawa slips into the room, her dress whispering along the floor with each step she takes. She does not make a fuss, and since the Man of the House is speaking, stops to await her announcement.
---
Among the guest still arriving is the Squire of the Blue, Arashen Telpekhor. Frowning at the knot of people blocking the entrance, he edges past them - weaving in out of the crowd until he has found a clear space some paces within the hall. He has barely begun a sweep of the hall when the Master of the house begins to speak. Upon him, the young Telpekhor rests his gray-eyed gaze.
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Curugil smiles and says, \"WELCOME.\"
He pauses a moment and then says, \"Yes, welcome to the House of High Lore. Those of you who are here are either honoured guests who have fought in these wars of late. Or are friends of them.\"
�������� As the siblings depart, Menelas turns to review the faces present in the hall whilst Curugil speaks - he notices Menawa in the midst of the throng and begins to make his way toward her.
Open swing the doors once again, and through them steps Tuivegil, Lord Lieutenant Carmayer, dressed in courtly clothes, just in time to hear Curugil welcome his guests. He performs a polite bow in response, before slipping through the throng towards Thingalad, \"Greetings, cousin.\"
\"While the tragedy of our times dictate that by necessity we must rely more upon the sword, than upon the plowshare,\" continues Curugil. \"I would like to formally state on behalf of the Loremasters of this House that we are grateful. For without your courage, our work would not stand. You are our shield. You are our heart. You are our spirit.\"
�\"Therefore,\" says Curugil. \"In our best efforts, the House of High Lore is committed to improving the weapons and works to help us win this interminable war against our adversary. Might I say that all of Gondor be united. May all of Westernesse be rekindled. Therefore...\"
\"I bid you to drink and make your merry,\" says Curugil. \"A toast therefore to the resounding spirit of the Men and Women who are the heirs of Numenor. To their bravery and fierceness, but most importantly to their noble spirit. I salute you!\"
He drinks his toast.
\"Now,\" cries Curugil. \"Enjoy yourself, and drink and eat as much as your heart will content.\"
Curugil climbs down from the stairs and begins to socialize in the throng.
---
�
Thingalad claps heartily.
---
While Curugil speaks so to the others and more arive, Menawa slips free of the throng by the door, ducking her head a little and escapeing being announced. She knows not that someone is moving towards her at this point.
---
Though he stands near to Thingalad, Ceredir holds his words until after Curugil has finished his speech of welcome and the guests have raised their glasses in an answering toast. \"Welcome, Brother. Good to see you. Captain Gurtir, for one, is not here\" he notes to the Carmayar, looking about the crowd. \"Any notion why he did not seemed pleased with your achievement within your own family the other day?\" He lifts his drink in greeting to Tuivegil as that man steps near to Thingalad as well.
---
�
Thingalad turns to Tuivegil and motions to Ceredir. \"Cousin, this is my kinsman Ceredir. Ceredir, this is Tuivegil who shares with me the stewardship of Carmayar lands in the south.\" The question about Gurtir remains unanswered for the moment.
---
�������� Able to call out once Curugil is finished speaking, and the applause has subsided, Menelas hails the young healer, \"Menawa! How are you?\" If she were to catch a glimpse of his face, it would seem he is delighted to see her.
---
Mention of Numenor kindles a proud light in the young Telpekhor\'s eyes and sketches an old fashioned bow towards his host - left hand clenched over his heart.
---
Making his way to the bounty-laden table, Arashen selects wine. He sips as he resumes his interrupted survey of the room.
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A slight bow is extended towards Ceredir, \"We met, in flowing waters, when rescuing Captain Gurtir.\" Tuivegil\'s face softens for a moment into a slight smile, \"And well met again, in drier circumstances.\"
---
Menawa stops when she hears her name, then turns and smiles very warmly at Menelas. When he stops in front of her, she will dip her head in respectfull greeting, then lift it again, \"It\'s a delight to see you, Sir. You look fit and healthy.\"
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\"Well met, and yes in drier circumstances, but no less the happier,\" Ceredir says, returning the bow to Tuivegil. \"Is your appointment new as well, then? If so, let me offer my congratulations.\"
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�������� \"As do you Menawa!\" exclaims Menelas, reaching a hand to caress hers, \"We have come through some troubling times, havn\'t we. I am very glad to see you have returned to Minas Tirith alive and well.\" For a moment his expression grows dark, \"Too many of us did not.\" Another abrupt swing in his mood takes place as he adds merrily, \"I have something for you, I have been waiting weeks to give it to you!\"
---
Menawa is a little hard pressed to keep up with Menelas, though the way he brushes her hand with his makes her cheeks flush high up with a delicate touch of rose. \"You have something for me?\"
---
Midhwen enters the hall with a large group of chattering young healers, a mass of festive colour in their gowns. Taking a step back to separate herself from the group, she stands and looks around the room for their host and other familiar faces.
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�������� Reaching into the folds of his garments, the young page quickly produces a pair of silver dimes and offers them to the healer. \"These are for you,\" Menelas explains with a sheepish grin, \"a token of good will from Lord Bragollach, and a bit of a funny story to go with them.\"
---
Servants now come around the hall with plates in hand serving out the tender Pelargirian delicasy: Quails\' Eggs in a Blanket.
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Menawa gets a soft smile, her eyes starting to sparkle. \"I must say I am quite curious to hear this story. A token from Lord Bragollach, you say?\" She holds her hand out to accept the silver coins.
---
As Curugil walks through the hall he speaks softly with some of the guests. He stops by Ceredir, Tuivegil, and Thingalad, \"Ah, Master Scout! I am so very pleased that you have come. Tell me. Are they still there? My friends the termites?\"
---
Thingalad nods to Curugil and smiles as he waits to hear about the termites.
----
Quail\'s eggs cause Arashen to miss the entrance of Midhwen.
He looks at the plate proffered before him, hungrily. Selecting one he takes a bite, heedless of crumbs that fall to the floor.
---
Ceredir\'s eyes slip sideways as he takes a sip of his drink and waits for the conversation with Thingalad and Tuivegil to continue. He appears to be watching the exchange between Menawa and Menalas....or perhaps he is just observing the landscape quietly, as scouts are trained to do.
The exchange of coins between those two draws a frown from Ceredir, but his concentration on the pair is broken by Curugil.
\"My lord, a fine celebration. My thanks to you and your family. The termites await your attack on them and are still there, I assure you.\"
---
�������� With a chuckle, Menelas begins. \"One day, in camp, one of your senior members asked me to fetch some bread for the healing commons. It happened to be raining that day, and it was very muddy - well, the mud was no trouble to Huan, Lord Bragollach\'s hound. You see,\" he chuckles again, \"of course Huan is quite large and exuberant, and he came to say hello. I slipped in the mud, spilled the precious rations, and Lord Bragollach was generous enough to repay me with these. I meant to give them to you earlier, so that you might make use of them, but events were not in my favor.\" He heaves a sigh and a subtle darkness veils his eyes.
---
\"Termites?\" Tuivegil asks the question of Thingalad, accepting a drink, nodding his thanks for the compliment to Ceredir, \"Have the scouts so little to do?\"
---
Menawa looks down at her hand that cradles the coins, then back up to Menelas, her brow crinkled a bit, \"I do not understand. If Lord Bragolach gave you the coins, why do you now pass them on to me?\" She keeps her voice gentle, as always.
---
\"Attack?\" cries Curugil. \"Nay! I wish to merely observe them. I am very interested to see how many survive the imminent collapse of your barracks.\"
---
Curugil looks to Tuivegil and says with a smile, \"Yes! Termites. Many hundreds of thousands of them all in the beams of Card Failin. Quite a site to behold. Yet forgive me, for I know not your name. I am Curgil, son of Curungol, Lord of the Gildring and Master of the House of High Lore.\"
----
\"The Scouts have many things to do, so that searching for and finding nests of termites is not among them,\" Ceredir says, shaking his head to the Ranger\'s question. \"Thus it was that Lord Gildring found them in Card Failin. Not I nor my brethren.\" He grins behind his drink.
---
�������� The page is surprised by Menawa\'s confusion. \"Because you are a healer, and I know you will make good use of the coin. The bread was meant for you, and as it was ruined, it is only just that you receive the benefit of Lord Bragollach\'s repayment.\" Menelas is visibly disconcerted, not having anticipated this turn of events. A moment passes in pause before he seeks to take Menawa\'s hand gently in his, \"Nevermind, this is a happy occassion. Will you dance with me?\" He indicates the band in the corner with a gesture of his thumb.
---
Menawa ohs and blushes again, then slips the coin into a hidden pocket of her dress. \"Of course I will make good use of the coin, that our people will have the supplies necesary for healing.\" Then her hand is taken and she lowers her lashes, only to lift them again and smile demurely. \"I would be delighted to dance with you, Sir.\"
---
�������� Smiling broadly, Menelas casually leads Menawa toward a place where a clearing has been prepared for dancers. Turning to face her he places one hand on her waist, the other clasping hers in formal manner. \"I hope others will join us,\" he whispers conspiratorially, \"perhaps we form a dancing circle!\"
---
And it is as if Vana the Ever-Young were listening to Menelas\'s words for verily a hearty tune begins!
---
Spotting the host of this evening\'s celebration, Midhwen makes her way through the crowds, stopping when she reaches Curugil and the men from the Company of Ithilien. A shallow curtsy is offered to the Lord Gildring, followed by a quick nod to those around him. \"\'Tis is a wonderful party, sir. I thank you for the invitation.\"
---
Tuivegil bows to the host, Curugil, \"I am Tuivegil, Lord Lieutenant of the Carmayar, Ranger of Ithilien.\" He takes a sip from his drink, \"I take much pleasure from my invite.\"
---
Others do join the young Menawa and her partner on the dance floor, though Menawa does not seem to notice. She smiles very warmly at Menelas as he guides her in the steps of the dance, her own body gracefull in his most proper embrace. \"It is good to remember why we were away.\"
---
\"Just so,\" says Curugil. \"I must say that I greatly appreciate the aid that your organization... your fine fighting force... has given to my House of Lore... Please Tuivegil, think naught of it. While you sacrifice in hellish lands finding all sorts of beasts and monsters, we stay behind. I want you to realize that we appreciate all that you do. My house is endeavoring to make your labours easier and perhaps one day winning this war.\"
He turns and looks at Midwhen says, \"Why Lady Midhwen! So glad I am to see your shining face. It is a veritable mirror of the moon! Pray have a Quails egg, or perhaps bread and wine? Then dance as swift as the steed of Orome!\"
Curugil adds as a conspiratorial aside, \"Of course... ahem.. that is to say you are nothing but the opposite of a horse! Perhaps a lovely bird in flight from Avallone!\"
---
Menawa says, \"Nice back track there, Curu!\"
Midhwen agrees, with a toss of her head and a neigh.
---
\"Good evening, Midhwen,\" Ceredir smiles, his own greeting of the woman much less effusive than Curugil. \"I too am glad to see you here..though I think Lord Gildring says it better.\"
\"My lord,\" he turns to that man, \"we have not been properly introduced, I think. I am but Ceredir, Master Scout of Ithilien.\" He coughs a little at Curugil\'s further explanation to Midhwen, turning a quick smile on the healer.
---
�������� Menelas quickens his pace in time with the dance, using the advantage of his height and weight in an effort to spur the young healer to greater speed, gently of course, but in an a way overtly intended to thrill her. \"It /is/ wonderful to be home again!\" He does not pursue further conversation as his breath grows more rapid.
---
Arashen says, \"I first read that as \"overtly intended to kill her\".\"
Midhwen says, \"That would spice up the party.\"
Menelas pages Curugil and Midhwen: You could have said something like, she has haunches as handsome as those of a horse, or something.
---
Menawa gets caught up in the joy of the dance, her smile brighter and her cheeks flushed. She moves with him, her steps light and quick, her hand in his, then gone, then in his again. Oh is that a lift coming up? Surely he won\'t do the lift!
---
�������� Perhaps the page is capable of reading Menawa\'s mind, for verily, he moves to clasp her waist betwixt his palms and, with knees bent, endeavors to lift her before him with arms fully extended and twirl her about.
Her lips twitching in an attempt to hide her amusement, Midhwen gestures towards the table laid out with wine. \"I will go fetch myself some wine then, to fortify myself before I begin dancing.\"
�She greets Ceredir as she passes by him, on her way towards the refreshment tables.
---
There is a quiet creak, unheard in the cacophony of voice, song and merrymaking, as the doors open and another guest makes her entrance.
�Without pomp or flair, the young Lady Gweneth Bragollach, would slip unnoticed into the crowd, save for the vivid crimson of her gown, cutting through the formal blacks and blues. She gently glides over the floor, alone, hands clasped in front of her, smiling bright, if nervous, and greets those that do so to her.
But for now, she wanders, taking in the faces, new and old.
---
Another song, more food: This time, we see the delicate Belfalas treat: Clams ala Swan.
Several of the Men of Belfalas who are present grab handfuls.
---
Menawa has her hands on Menelas\' shoulders as she\'s hoisted into the air so neatly and spun, one dancing pair among many doing the same manuver. She laughs down at him, her curls framing her face for this moment, then the spin ends and she\'s lowered, her hands lifting to automatically return to the starting position, knowing this particular song and dance number repeats itself at least twice. The band\'s descretion decides how many times it goes on.
---
Arashen pours himself a second glass of wine - a claret of deepest red. He glances up, catching sight of Midhwen approaching the tables. He smiles and holds his glass up to the young healer in salute.
\"Our host forgot the fair ladies who keep their men hale and in fighting trim,\" he says.
---
\"My lord,\" he turns to that man, \"we have not been properly introduced, I think. I am but Ceredir, Master Scout of Ithilien.\" He coughs a little at Curugil\'s further explanation to Midhwen, turning a quick smile on the healer.
---
A whisper runs through the hall as young maidens suddenly strain their heads...
\"Isn\'t that...?\"
\"Why yes, it is Arashen!\"
Girlish giggles effuse the hall as young maidens blush at the squire.
---
Ceredir rolls.
Arashen slays Gwen! P
You paged Ceredir with \'oh, I thought that was to somebody else... I thought we were introduced. :)\'.
Gweneth says, \"Me? That wasn\'t me!\"
Midhwen says, \"Whoever it was, WELL DONE.\"
Arashen grins.
Gweneth says, \"see? )\"
Ceredir points to @set me=nospoof. indilzar
Gweneth says, \"Nospoof is so boring though\"
Gweneth says, \"Better to guess )\"
Gweneth says, \"And have accusations, false or otherwise )\"
Arashen says, \"Yeah, I like to guess. But Gwen and Indy are devious in similar ways...)\"
Curugil says, \"that is why we played siblings\"
---
�������� \"Shall we try,\" Menalas asks of the healer between breaths, \"to form a circle? It would be a grand sight to see these old duffers kick up their skirts!\" He laughs boyishly and jerks his chin to point out the assembly that includes Ceredir, \"the tune is suited for it perfectly!\"
---
\"Ah, but he did not forget us in his invitation, so that shall have to do.\" Taking a chilled glass of rose wine, Midhwen returns the salute. \"Are you well, Squire? You were not overly happy with the idea of leaving Harad, if I remember correctly.\"
---
\"Of course Master Scout,\" says Curugil. \"I am Lord Curugil Gildring. I suppose formal introductions are always a good thing.\"
He bows.
---
Menawa smiles bright as the morning star to Menelas. \"Such a delightfull idea!\" She praises him, then starts to encourage those around her to form a dance circle, then will catch the eyes of those she recognizes and encourage /them/ to join as well!
---
\"I am well, yes,\" Arashen replies bowing to the lady. \"And you have the right of it, I am not happy to be away from the wars in Harad. But we go where our lords command.\"
Signaling for a maid bearing a plate to hasten forth, he says: \"You must try this Belfalan delicacy, Clam ala Swan.\"
---
�������� In like manner Menelas siezes the hand of a young lady, who in turn includes her partner. Soon, a sort of free-wheeling crescent has formed rapidly growing to occupy the area of the dance floor. In one loop he passes nearby where Gweneth, Ceredir and the others gathered in conversation, and he hails them cheerfully, \"Come, join in your lazy-lobs!\" Sheer delight has caused him to forget the disparity in station between himself and the others. \"There will be ample time for talk later!\"
---
\"Ceredir is fine, sir,\" the scout grins. \"I have heard some interesting tales recently about your house here.Well, the House of High Lore, specifically. And I would like to take you up on the offer of a tour, at another time, of course. If I may so impose?\"
Ceredir takes a quick backwards step to stay out of the way of Menelas and the dancing he menaces them all with, his step making it that he spots Gweneth in the crowd. A wave is given her way, gesturing her over.
---
\"Of course,\" says Curugil. \"We have much in these halls of lore and it is rare that we have many military folk who wish to see our humble place of study. You have but to find me. My office is on the top floor of this ediface. Will you be in Minas Tirith long, or do you return afield soon?\"
Curugil smiles and says, \"Ah, there is Menawa dancing with Menelas. Good spirit for both to make others join. Tis not my place just yet I think.\"
---
A brow is raised at the dancers by Gweneth as they make their pass. With a light laugh, she waves them off, then continues to thread herself through the crowd.
---
In the recesses at the top of the stairway there lurks a dark figure...
---
\"I cannot say,\" Ceredir says, shrugging one shoulder. \"I go where and when I am ordered or needed, and that may be at a moment\'s notice. But I think that they are resting us for now, and I am not yet fully recovered, so likely I will be here for at least a month more. And you? Do you travel much, my lord?\"
---
Switching her wine glass to the other hand, Midhwen takes one of the proffered delicacies daintily and takes a bite.
\"Delicious! This is a reminder of home then?\"
---
�
Thingalad finds the food and drink. The scout lifts a goblet of Belfalas\' finest wine and drinks slowly, savoring the bouquet.
--
Menawa manages to entice a few soldiers she had helped care for onto the floor. They bring with them their ladies, adding to the group of merry makers that dance to the music. She turns then, searching out her partner in celebration.
---
\"Oh no,\" replies Curugil. \"I rarely leave the city, save on outings to my fief in Dol Thaur at times or even to Pelargir. My work consumes me most of the time. Also, I have lately come into the Lordship of my house and well... it is better for me to be here. I am in fact looking for good people who could assist me in my labours. Yet they are very hard to find I must admit.\"
---
A spark comes from the top of the stairs
---
Disturbed by neither drink, nor dance or even conversation, the spark catches Gweneth\'s attention. She turns her gaze to it, curiosity plain on her face, her head tilting.
---
\"My childhood home, for a while,\" Arashen replies, taking two for himself. He handles each deftly with one hand, sucking in the contents from first one shell then the other before discarding them on the server\'s plate. \"And what of you, lady? Do you fare well? How have you kept yourself since our return?\"
---
\"How so? What sort of help do you need, sir?\" Ceredir asks, though his attention wanders to Gweneth for a moment and then in the direction she is looking. \"Is there aught..up the stairs?\" he puzzles.
---
�������� Menawa does not have far to look, for the page is directly at her side, hand still clasped to hers. He shares her glance and smiles, offering a wink, \"Let us remind them,\" he huffs, \"what it is like to be young!\" The circle continues, gaining momentum as a final few guests are drawn into it - indeed a second ring has formed in the center of the first, wheeling in the opposite direction. It seems everyone on the dance floor is oblivious to the making of sparks in the rafters.
Menawa laughs at Menelas, then at the person to her left. Round and round they go, doing the steps necessary to make this into a dance, celebrating life as it were. Her cheeks are flushed with the pleasure of the moment or the exertion of the steps. Who can tell?
---
\"Oh often I need help running errands,\" says Curugil. \"Sometimes I need people to travel far afield for me to gather samples, obtain scrolls...\"
Curugil\'s eyes narrow as he looks up toward the stairs and he says softly, \"There should be none up there... what is that...\"
---
FLASH!
The spark becomes bright indeed and suddenly, at the very top of the stairs there comes a figure. Man-shaped, yet seemingly clothed in fire and flame.
Endaerion says, \"WADDUP PARTAY PEOPEL!\"
Gweneth says, \"It\'s LID! He\'s on fire!\"
Endaerion AHHHHHHHS!
Aurelia says, \"literally, i hope.\"
---
�
Thingalad notices Gweneth and then the spark and he walks in the direction of the lady. \"I say there, more fun and games provided by our host--\" He looks up to the top of the stairs suddenly.
---
\"A ranged weapon would serve well know Master Scout,\" says Curugil Gildring.
---
\"I have been-\" The spark that has gone unnoticed startles Midhwen now as it forms the shape of a man. \"By the Valar, what is THAT?\"
---������
��� The figure at the top of the stairs can no longer go unnoticed, and so Menelas stops in his tracks, and throwing the dancing circle into disarray, and he gazes upwards, directing the attention of the others with a pointed finger. \"An arsonist?\" he asks, more of himself than anyone else in attendance.
---
\"I do not normally bring bow and arrow to a party...\" Ceredir notes dryly, staring at the figure. \"Will a dagger do? I can throw it...what is this and...it will set the entire house on fire?\" His tone is strangely calm.
---
Curugil looks agape at the figure, clearly shocked, \"If you have a dagger, throw it now or we are going to lose thousands of years of lore and learning in a single night.\"
---
From the figure, a voice intones, \"PEOPLE OF GONDOR. HEED MY WARNING! STOP YOUR REBELLION NOW AND REUNITE THE PEOPLE OF WESTERNESSE. LET THE BURNING OF THIS HOUSE SERVE SINCE OUR FIRST NOTICE WAS UNHEEDED!\"
---
Announcement: Curugil has changed the poll to: Burnin\' down the house...
Midhwen says, \"Oh God now that song is in my head.\"
Aurelia says, \"i hope it\'s the updated tom jones version.\"
Midhwen says, \"Yes.\"
Aurelia says, \"oh midhwen, you fill me with joy.\"
---
The words are no sooner out than a dagger is thrown over the heads of those gathered here, aimed with precision by Ceredir, who does not even take the time to nod to Curugil\'s instructions.
---
The figure, almost zombie like slowly descends. He burns... yet he lives also. What sorcery could this be?
---
Panic instantly alights in Gweneth\'s eyes at the voice calls out. She pulls away from the edge of the dance floor, her pace quickening with each step as she backs from the stairwell and towards the exit.
---
Arashen turns quickly. He takes in the fiery sight for several moments then sweeps off his cloak even as he advances towards the stair. \"We must smother the flames!\" he cries.
---
The dagger flings across the room and stabs into the heart of the figure! There is a groan as the figure flies down the stairs and lands upon the floor.
Curugil cries, \"Yes! Smother the flames! Out with the flames!\"
---
Many of the young maidens run toward Arashen, \"Arashen will rescue us!\"
---
Thingalad pulls off his mantle and then jumps onto the burning man!
---
First to arrive at the foot of the stairs, Arashen rushes in while other guests pull away from the strange thing in near-panic. He drapes his cloak over the burning figure quickly and pats at it. \"Help me roll him!\"
---
�������� Menelas stands in shocked standstill as the brief battle proceeds and men rush forward to quell the flames - he turns a bit to wraps his arms around Menawa and stroke her shoulder comfortingly. \"Whatever this evil was about, it seems to have been quelled quite quickly.\" Watching Arashen intently, he adds, \"The others will put out the flames without much trouble.\" Raising his voice, he shouts to the others who stand and watch, \"Begin making toward the door! The fire will soon be put out, but it is best that everone wait outside, as a precation!\"
---
Curugil Maethir Gildring has a look on his face that has not been seen before. His scar is glowing and he is awash in livid anger. He looks down at the figure and says, \"So. There is a \"Black Hand\" and it will go to war with the Gildring. We shall see.\"
\"Is it dead?\" he asks both Thingalad and Arashen. \"Fire seems to be out enough. Let\'s unroll this burning man.\"
---
Midhwen is caught in the crush of bodies as the panicked crowd makes for the door. Extricating herself from the press, she leans against the wall opposite the stairway, her gaze of the small group surrounding the body.
---
Hurrying after Curugil, Ceredir pushes through the crowd to look down on the burnt man.
\"They seem to be targeting you if so, sir,\" he notes to the Gildring lord. \"Perhaps he is not yert dead?\"
---
While Midhwen escapes the current of movement, Gweneth lets it carry her out of the building and into the night air.
Thingalad gets up and pulls away his burnt mantle, the garment black on one side and ruined. He shrugs and looks to Curugil. \"Is that what this is? Has the usurper\'s influence spread this far already? We must know more.\"
---
Arashen rolls the man over onto his back to reveal his features.\"Do you know him, my lord?\" he queries, glancing to Curugil.
Menawa turns her head away as Menelas protects her from the sight. \"Is anyone hurt. Am I needed?\" She tries to turn in his gentle hold to look for herself.
---����
��� \"Only the villain himself,\" answers Menelas, who watches the proceedings with grim concentration, \"and he does not deserve your aide.\"
---
\"I do not know this man and he is quite dead,\" says Curugil looking carefully at the unburnt face. He reaches forward and pulls Ceredir\'s dagger from his heart. This he hands to Ceredir saying, \"Your skill is impressive.\"
\"Hurin of the Keys must be informed immediately as well as the Captain-General,\" says Curugil at length. \"To think... four thousand years worth of lore... at least! What could they want... Strange cloak. I must examine it carefully.\"
---
\"Apparantly a reunion among the men of Westernesse,\" The young Telpekhor answers, drily. He rises from the floor and shakes out his charred cloak. \"But for what purpose? And...if this is solidly connected to the Haradrim Pretender, then his message has spread uncommonly fast throughout the realm.\"
---
Menawa lifts her hand to cover her mouth and nose, her brow crinkled a bit as she gives up trying to see. Really, she doesn\'t want to, truth be told.
---
\"Why would the Pretender do something like this?\" says Curugil plainly. \"It makes no sense for somebody claiming the Kingship to begin terrorizing the people he would rule.\"
---
�������� \"I will rush to tell the Guard, and Lord Hurin of the Keys,\" calls Menelas to Curugil as he parts from Menawa after a final comforting squeeze. Without another word he makes his way like a gazelle through the midst of those remaining in the hall, then sprints out the door.
---
Ceredir stoops to clean off his dagger on the dead man\'s clothing, or what remains unburnt of it, affording himself a closer glance at the man\'s face. \"Yes...but I did not mean to kill him. Better that we should have had the chance to interrogate him and find out who his co-conspirators are.\"
---
Standing back up, he gives Curugil a hard look. \"One would think that they are after records that would disprove the pretender\'s claim, perhaps? To destroy those? Would such things be here?\"
---
\"Perhaps,\" says Curugil. \"We have here scrolls that even come from Numenor ere the Akallabeth, for they were brought to Pelargir and Umbar and when the Sea-Kings in their might built this House, had many transferred here.\"
---
Thingalad smirks at Curugil. \"He is evil and does not have to make sense. He is a minion of the Enemy.\"
---
Curugil strokes his chin and says, \"Politics is beyond my ken. My duty is to the preservation and advancement of lore. Clearly, my duty is in jeopardy however.\"
---
\"My thoughts exactly, my lord,\" Arashen agrees, matching words with a nod of his head. \"It makes no sense.\" He studies his host for a moment - a subtle look of respect dawning on his countenance. A moment and its gone. He glances back to body. \"I wish you were less skilled with that dagger of yours, Ceredir.\"
---
At this comparison of Gondor\'s existential struggle with Mordor and its allies of the East with mere \'politics,\' Thingalad dismisses Curugil with a small shake of his head. \"Guards will be posted, I\'m sure.\"
---
Servants herald the entrance of newcomers: the Lord and Lady Cuthalion. The Marcher Lord enters the main hall to some strange event happening, untypical of a banquet. Immediately his countenance comes to scorn. \"What manner of festivity is this?\" The cold utterance ricocheting off the ancient stone.
---
Better late than never... And fashionably late is only as late as the wrinkles in the dress allow.
When the Lady Cuthalion arrives with her husband, it only takes her a second to locate the center of attention, and a moment to take in the Cold Lord\'s face. For now, she keeps her silence, save for an arched eyebrow at Arashen, and a beckoning finger for that cousin of the Telpekhor to approach.
---
\"The ill kind,\" says Curugil Gildring. \"An apparent self-immolating arsonist would burn down my house and all the banquet attendees. Luckily, the Master Scout Ceredir threw a cold dagger to stifle his burning heart.\"
---
Menawa is left to her own devices and glides as far away from the body and the gathering as she can get, her gaze turned away from it and them as she considers her options.
---
The crowds exiting have thinned enough for Midhwen to spot her Lord and Lady, and so she makes her way towards them, drawing near when her cousin speaks.
�\"There was a disturbance, cousin.\" She gestures to the people surrounding the body on the floor.
---
\"I as well, Arashen, but it cannot be helped now. Yet this is the second attack that occurred with Lord Gildring present, so I can only assume there is some reason they are attacking his household?\" Ceredir says. His lips press together in a thin line at the sound of Endaerion\'s voice, yet he offers no answer to the Ranger, letting Curugil speak.
---
His attention bent on the dead man before him,\" Arashen does not notice the entrance or beckon of his cousin. \"But he is not burned, my lord. I do not think self-immolation was his true intention. So puzzeling...\"
---
Curugil says, \"Well, I am not the only one present. Lord Isilrim is here, as well as many who were in Drover\'s that night. Yet you may be right, for this is the House of High Lore, and that is my charge.\"
---
�
Thingalad sifts through the crowd and departs the scene of carnage.
---
\"Or, simply the highest born of the realm are present here,\" muses Arashen, clearly enjoying the speculation, now.
---
The Marcher Lord brings a pensive hand to his chin. \"The Black Company perhaps?\" he muses unconvincingly.
---
The Lady by Endaerion\'s side leans slightly closer to murmur something for his ears alone. \"... are more the ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... to ... Lore ...... ... ... ... ... I ... ....\" And she lifts her eyes from empty air to Midhwen and then to her husband\'s face.
---
The Lord Isilrim remains distant, a chalice in hand.
\"Such is the banquet of a sorcerer,\" he remarks, finishing with a sip.
Now turning to the remaining crowd, the Lord Gildring says, \"My friends. I apologize for this. Soon these evil-doers will be apprehended. I promise you that they shall not disturb our peace. For now I must seek Hurin of the Keys, and let us find out what he sees.\"
---
\"How is it...\" Ceredir says, looking from the dead man to Arathis to Curugil, \"that he was surrounded in flames, yet he himself is not burned? Perhaps he is a member of...\" But the Master Scout does not finish the sentence, choosing instead to sheath his dagger and look troubled.
---
\"I suppose we should leave the body as it is until Lord Hurin can examine it?\" Arashen asks, glancing up to his host. Though, it is a gruesome package to lie about during such a celebration, especially with tender ladies present.
\"Perhaps he\'s a member of the what, Ceredir?\"
---
Curugil looks closely at the cloak and says, \"I do not think this is a mark of sorcery here. Rather I think it is the fibers of the cloak. Fascinating.\"
\"Yes,\" says Curugil to Arashen. \"None shall touch the body until the authorities arrive.\"
---
\"No, not a member of anything,\" Ceredir says. \"It is as the Lord Gildring says--something in his cloak, in the fabric. But if there is one of these, then there are more, no? Like a nest of termites, Lord Gildring? How do you drive them out into the open?\"
---
Curugil smiles and says, \"With smoke and fire.\"
\"There are two possibilities, Ceredir,\" begins the Isilrim Lord, the lilt of his tongue matching the spin of his chalice, \"Either this man was dead already, and his clothes set aflame, or he was recently killed and his clothes set aflame.
\"In either case, the Masters of this House must answer.\"
The cool gaze of the Dunadan Knight assesses the Lord Curugil flatly and, with the faintest of curves, an unkindness takes his visage.
Thus he speaks: \"Your crafts are known to the Men of the South, Lord Gildring. I would speak to you in private.\"
[Arathis(#30050)] He adds, a curtness sharpening his words: \"Now, may you heed the Warden well but I shall find you, and we shall speak.\"
Menawa finally turns from her contemplation of the wall and slips out as quietly as she\'d entered, the happy go lucky girl who had danced gone once more.
Curugil turns to Arathis and says, \"Do not be silly. First of all, you can\'t animate a dead, talking man, set him on fire and have him walk down stairs. Second, to go ahead and accuse me of trying to burn down the High House of Lore is really ridiculous. That I suppose would be like you burning down Dol Amroth. If you wish to speak in private we certainly can, but I am truly saddened that a son of Sirion the Younger, who was well-versed in lore would accuse me, a mere lore master of dark arts with no proof and only on the surmise of innuendo and rumour. But certainly we may speak later.\"
Curugil throws up his hands and marches out of the hall looking... quite put out.
[Endaerion(#30487)]�
Endaerion looks to Midhwen. \"Come, cousin. We shall see you safely to Bar Cuthalion.\" He beckons to his personal guard before turning to Curugil\'s departure. Then to Zaira he extends his arm. \"Shall we?\"
[Arathis(#30050)]
\"Your words are for the blind yet my trumpet is borne of my sword, Lord Gildring,\" answers the Lord Isilrim, an angle to his gaze.
\"We shall speak.\"
[Zaira(#20676)]
Zaira laughs softly at Arathis\' comments, seeming amused at his speech even as Curugil seems upset by it.
Once more she turns to Endaerion and shakes her head. \"It would seem that the Southern Lords have fallen far from their esteemed sires. We ought to leave them to their mad theories.\" And with that, she takes her husband\'s arm once more and prepares to go.
[Arashen(#24692)]
\"Ah yes,\" says Arashen into the resulting silence after Curugil marches off. \"I suppose we should all avoid this area until Lord Hurin arrives.\"
Unnecessary orders as most of the guests seem quite relieved to be as far away from the strange dead man as they can be.
Folding his burnt cloak over his arm, the Telpekhor Squire disappears into the crowd.
[Midhwen(#29054)] \"Thank you, cousin, I shall be glad of an escort after what just happened.\" Midhwen stands by her kin, ready to follow their lead.
[Arathis(#30050)]
\"Quiet your girl,\" speaks the Isilrim Lord to the Ranger, his chalice yet in hand, with the faintest of smiles to match it.
With this, and an odd nod to the Lord Gildring, the Knight makes to depart.
Not one to linger by a dead body, Ceredir departs as well, or at least disappears far enough into the remaining crowd to retrieve a drink and sit in a corner for a while.
[Endaerion(#30487)]�
The threshold before him, the Marcher Lord halts and turns his head slightly. \"Stifle your tongue you miserable excuse of a knight. Where I come from, tongues are cut free from their muzzles for uttering such refuse. You are a long way from your home, and my knife is sharp.\"
Then his departure is made.
[Arathis(#30050)]
A laugh emerges from the Isilrim Lord there is too much space to it.
\"Very well, Lord Cuthalion.
\"It is unlike your kind to adopt the speech of a girl with a blade but I shall meet either.
\"May the night bless you.\"
[Zaira(#20676)]
Zaira chuckles faintly. \"The words of a Girl, Arathis Isilrim, speak more truth than you care to hear. A pity you are unworthy of crossing blades with an Ephalkhir, or I would ply with you myself.\" She waves a
[Zaira(#20676)]
Zaira chuckles faintly. \"The words of a Girl, Arathis Isilrim, speak more truth than you care to hear. A pity you are unworthy of crossing blades with an Ephalkhir, or I would ply with you myself.\" She waves a \'ta-ta\' and sweeps out the door with her husband and cousin.
�
�
===================================
A description of the body:
Male, average height. Gondorian features, brown hair, brown eyes. No burn-marks.
The clothes are somewhat charred, but seemingly very resilient based on the description of what happened. Cloak is black, light char marks, and a strange translucent substance, almost gel-like overcoating the cloak.
Possessions:
None except that he had a purse. There was a single gold florin within it, and a curious green key with the mark of the number \'7\' on it.
=========================