(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword - 1 - The Great Hunt

The Great Hunt

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Lower Courtyard(#30079RM)

A broad expanse of emerald limned in white greets you when first you set eyes upon the lower of the citadel\'s courtyards. A valley of grass and stands of trees between the terraced wall of the upper courtyard to the west, the land dips down and then up again towards the gatehouse lying distantly eastward. To the north and south gargantuan walls thrust up, their summit nearly lost to sight atop gleaming stone piled ten times a man\'s height, while buildings lie snug against them. Within the walls\' white embrace, simple paved paths meander amid the green hollows, passing south and west towards an archway set in the walls, and again eastward towards the gatehouse.

The stone of the walls reflects a ghostly blue of moon and starlight, but much of the courtyard itself is lost in soft darkness, save for a few small paths picked out by silver-chased lebethron lamps. Crickets blanket the land in soft song, dew clings wetly to grass, boot, slipper, and hem, while windows glow softly in the night. Picked out in torchlight to the north is a narrow stair leading to the upper courtyard, and to the east the gatehouse is likewise flanked by flame.

Contents:

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth(#29314Vn)

Indilzar

Mathollor

Doran

White Pavillion

Obvious exits:

Smithy , Stables , Archway , Narrow Stair , and Gatehouse

In the lower courtyard, there is heard the baying of hounds. Beaters, and huntsman have gathered. Yet among all these hounds and Men two stand tall: Indilzar the son of Indilkhor and Huan, the Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth.

Mathollor moves quickly through the crowd almost dodging as he avoids the excited hounds and huntsmen dashing throughout the courtyard.

From the stables to the north come many grooms, leading the fine steeds of the royal house into the small, lush expanse of field. Among them the shield-bearer of the Prince walks, holding the intricately crafted bridle of a tall, dapple gray mare. The horses, bred of impeccable stock and trained by the most knowledgeable handlers, balk not at the clamour raised by the hunting-dogs, being accustomed to such things. A smile spread wide on the young man\'s face, Doran approaches Indilzar who stands in the midst of the courtyard with the other huntsmen, spoiling to be away.

\"What ho!\" cries Indilzar to Mathollor, \"Come and join me my squire and be at your best. The hour draws nigh when the Prince in his glory shall ride forth and though it be but a little thing in the matters of the world, hold true to those customs which you have learned.\"

Then the son of Indilkhor looks upon Doran and he says no word, nor performs any action. He merely, waits.

Ivriniel descends the stairs from the upper courtyard.

Ivriniel has arrived.

Mathollor grins broadly as he offers up a lance and sheaf of Javelins to his Knight \"As you Command My Lord, I will remember all that has been taught.These are your arms for this day, they are ready for your hand. I honed the edges and checked the balance so they will fly true.\"

Amrothos has arrived.

Indilzar takes the arms and he looks at it, \"Excellent. These shall prove to be in good stead in the time to come. For while the sword is my weapon of choice, on the hunt, a hunter\'s weapons must be used.\"

Gweneth has arrived.

The dark haired squire, light dancing in his keen eyes of grey, halts a dozen paces from Mathollor and his liege. \"Good \'morn to you, kinsman,\" Doran beams. And to the Lord Bragollach he bows, releasing the bridle of the riding steed that stands quietly, proudly in place. \"And good morning to you as well, lord. A fine day is before us, I deem.\"

It is a glorious hour indeed, for the setting forth of the hunt -- and well the folk gathered in the courtyard know it, for their merry clamour breaks against the walls of the Citadel like waves against the cliffs.

But not for long.

From the West he comes then, the Prince of Dol Amroth -- tall and lordly, garbed this day not in raiment of court, but the finest hunting garb. And likewise are the Knights by his side, mighty champions of Gondor all the colours of Girithlin, Isilrim, Bragollach and no few others glitter there.

A smile alights the face of Indilzar, \"A good day for good sport. It is a fine day for the slaying of helpless animals I imagine. But soft! Here comes the Prince.\"

Then Indilzar draws forth his sword and it shines like moonsheen, \"Hail Imrahil son of Adrahil, Lord of Belfalas and Prince of Dol Amroth!\"

Mathollor raises one hand in a quick wave as he spies his cousin. Quickly he grasps the bridle of his Knights charger as he raises his fist in salute to the Prince. His face alight with excitement and containing a fierceness in expression that is not commonly there.

With a small group of guards and dignitaries, Cuthael arrives, leading his own horse into the courtyard. \"What is going on here?\" He asks the scribe next to him, totally unaware that he has stumbled upon the hunt. \"I know not, M\'Lord.\" The teenager replies, moving to the back of the group so he can\'t disappoint his boss two times in only a few minutes. \"Interesting.\" He says to no one in particular and waves a dismissing hand to the rest of the group. \"Take care of the horses and tend to your duties. I will summon you all in three days.\" All that said, he moves pointedly towards Imrahil and the rest of his group.

Gripping the bridle again, Doran purposefully steps towards the Prince. Leading the horse, ready and fit out to depart at any moment, to Imrahil the squire grins like a young lad, \"Here you are, m\'lord. I shoed her anew early this morning. All is made ready.\"

The Bragollach\'s cry is taken up those gathered, and the fire of the day is put to shame by the flashing light of drawn blades -- where there was turmoil, lines of order are formed by the Prince\'s coming even as he strides to where his greet steed is held beside the Black Knight.

\"Greetings, Indilzar! And that was well done, Doran. Squires, go now and see to your horses...we ride forth without delay. And where is Huan, I wonder?\"

A bay comes up among the hounds as their lord lets loose his fearful cry of the hunt in greetings to his Prince...

ARROOOOOOOO!

And indeed it is verily the hound of Dol Amroth who leaps forth, grey flanked and full of vigour whom long ago, Adrahil unleashed.

Yet since the hound speaks not with words it is Indilzar who says, \"No further greeting is needed from Huan m\'lord, for he knows our speech well. Yet if I may venture, he chafes to ride forth again at your side.\"

Mathollor snatches up his lance from where it rests beside him, glancing up at his Knight for confirmation before tearing off towards his horse. The lance is quickly slotted into its cup before he vaults into the saddle and with only a cursory check of the placement of his equipment he spurs his mount towards his Knight.

Indilzar leaps upon his steed Morang and says, \"Now, my squires are here and at your command m\'lord, we shall hasten away to the hills. Let none shirk from this toil and let none not enjoy the riding, for the glitter of the arms of Dol Amroth shall pass unopposed through the land!\"

Amongst a train of squires a Prince follows in his father\'s footsteps, still mounted. He is a younger image of his brothers, hale and bright of eye. Quietly, he sits upon his mount, coming to a rest before the sight of drawn swords in bright salute. His face is smooth as the hound sings. The youth\'s eyes are drawn to it, though the young voice does not yet herald this younger son of Imrahil into this scene of elder knights and greater circumstance.

Cuthael takes in a breath as he arrives near Imrahil and bows at the waist, but not as low as someone from Dol Amroth would. \"Greetings from Lord Denethor, Prince Imrahil. I am Cuthael of Anorien.\" He glances at the rest of the group and says, \"I seem to have interrupted something.\"

Huan lets loose another bay and then all the hounds under him let loose their canine voices!

Drawing a deep, satisfying breath, Doran bows low before swiftly returning to the stables to fetch his own mount. He emerges again, nearly instantly, fair face still fixed with a grin that seems almost comical for one of his age. Leading his clean-limbed, dusky coated steed, the squire does his best to return to the side of the son of Adrahil before the gallant party sets forth.

\"Then so he shall.\"

And the Prince mounts his steed then, gathering the reins -- but with Cuthael\'s arrival, he holds up a hand to stay the company ere turning to the emissary and inclining his brow in greeting.

\"Then I bid you welcome to the Marble Citadel, Cuthael of Anorien. And nay, not interrupted, but arrived in time for, perhaps. But first, what tidings from the North?\"

Horse and rider are calm as the din of braying hounds rend the air as sharp as any cleaving blade. The young Prince, his figure clad in bright hues, watch all with silent expectation. Eyes full of reflection watch the world as it plays out its latest act. Amrothos, a curious but quiet, young man waits.

Cuthael does in time realize that the group gathered here is about to go on a hunt. \"While it is true that The Lord Steward has sent me here on official business, I do believe he would not mind if the business waited until after...\" He wages the guess vocally, \"Until after the hunt?\" A smile forms across his face.

\"The hunt indeed\", the Prince replies with a swift smile, \"One in which you and your company would be welcome to ride with us. But if you are weary from the journey and desire to take your ease in the Citadel, the retainers will see to your needs.\"

Cuthael bows once again as he excuses himself to gather his group again, \"I thank you, M\'Lord.\" He quickly moves away and fetches his group and his horse.

At a gesture from Imrahil, the Master of the Hunt sets a horn to his lips and lets forth a great blast -- to be followed by the Prince\'s cry, no less clear or fair:

\"We ride!\"

And forth they sweep from the courtyard, with spear and bow, hound and steed -- the hunt has begun!

Dol Amroth: Men Ernil - Court of the Fountain(#30085RnA)

A massive elliptical fountain dominates this court--and gives it its name--fully twenty feet on its long axis, perhaps half as wide. Made of smooth white stone, it consists of two broad levels which can--and often do--act as benches for the denizens of the Citadel. In the center of the fountain stands a large statue, water burbling \'round his feet in a comely display. The court itself is roughly square, its perimeter delineated by short walls of white stone in all directions but west, where tall ramparts mark the beginning of Dol Amroth\'s true defenses.

Sunlight gleams almost painfully from all around you, shining as it does from the polished walls and the magnificent fountain. Spray from the burbling fonts surrounding the fountain\'s central statue casts myriad rainbows about, and the court is filled with a gentle buzz of folk moving to and fro on business, speaking quietly, or simply enjoying a stroll. Pennons flutter in the breeze on the ramparts above and to the west, where the Prince\'s white Citadel rests like a snowy cap on the Hill of Amroth.

Obvious exits:

Gatehouse and Men Ernil

Through the white-limned outer reaches of the Citadel the company passes swiftly with the Prince ever at its head -- below the forbidding arch of the gatehouse, built in the deeps of time, and to the East where green lands beckon.

Dol Amroth: Marble Gate(#10211Rto)

You stand on a narrow bottleneck of land no more than two thousand paces wide, shooting westwards to connect to the rocky promontory on which the Castle of the Prince and the city of Dol Amroth stands. To the north and south are the waters of the sea--even from hear you can smell their salt tang and hear the cries of sea-birds.

Directly to the west stands a massive wall that covers the entire width of the narrow bottleneck of land, visible only as a massive monolithic shadow, black against the navy star-filled sky. A gate, illumined by torches and flanked by two statues is guarded by a company of men-at-arms wearing the royal blue tunics of those who serve the Prince, leads through the wall into the city and eventually to the castle beyond.

Obvious exits:

East leads to Belfalas: East of Dol Amroth.

West leads to Dol Amroth: Men Ernil.

The company presses at a fast gallop so near the Prince of Dol Amroth. His son keeps pace, though Amrothos shows none of the flush of youth in this fast pursuit. However, a bright eye flashes back toward the trailing cavalcade.

Spear and harness glint in the golden warmth of the day, and the pounding of hooves upon the cobbled pathway is an unceasing river of sound. Thus the company comes to the marble gateway, the fair lands of Belfalas framed beyond it akin to a painting. And now, freed from the confines of streets and walls, the Prince spurs his steed swiftly onward.

Following his Lord, Indilzar cries to his squire, \"Come Mathollor, let us see how well you have learned to pace your steed!\" With that a quick kick and the Bragollach surges forth.

Belfalas: East of Dol Amroth(#19170Rnto)

Faint darkness cloaks the area in blackness. The road beneath you seems to wind away to the northeast, to unknown parts. To the west, its path is more definite, for far in that direction you can see the lights of Dol Amroth though the greatest light, that of the Watchtower, is strangely dark.. The fields open in all other directions, apparently.

Contents:

Indilzar

Thorondur

Dead_Body

Obvious exits:

West leads to Dol Amroth: Marble Gate.

Northeast leads to Belfalas: Edhellond - Near the Ringlo.

South leads to Belfalas: Dor-en-Ernil - Grasslands, near the Bay.

North leads to Belfalas: Edhellond - near the Mouth of Morthond.

From afar, the horns of the hunt find an answering call: loud and bright and blaring, the voices of several such ones, lifted heavenward. Through the crisp air rings their cry, and so preceding riders -- from the north they come, four men on mighty steeds.

All clad in greens and browns, caps on their brows and bows in their hands, swords at their waist ride four Knights of Dol Amroth. Dry-witted Dirhavel, capricious Calladan, elegant Erindil, and at their head -- a white feather in his cap -- the gallant Thorondur.

Laughing, they guide their mounts to falling in with the Prince\'s party, the Girithlin saying, \"Hail, comrades! A well-omened day this is, so bright with the sun.\"

Dressed in a riding habit of hunter green with a small hat and veil perched upon her raven hair, Lady Ivriniel rides quietly amongst the group. The silvery grey eyes of the sister of Imrahil holding a fair amount of excitement as the hoofs of the stallion gallop over along the ground. Glancing to Lady Kerowynwith flushed cheeks, she smiles and says, \"This proves to be an interesting day. Does it not?\"

\"Hail Lord Girithlin,\" cries Indilzar in greeting, \"A hopeful hunt under the sun bodes for us.\"

\"Indeed,\" agrees Thorondur Girithlin, adjusting his cap as he falls in to ride beside Indilzar the Bragollach. \"Tell me, my lord, does Huan lead the coursers this day? I do not see him, nor hear his might howl.\"

Mathollor raises his spear in greeting as the others join, before leaning forward and spurringhis horse forward to join his knight.

\"Yet whither shall we go?\" asks Indilzar turning toward the Prince, \"Down the northward road nigh Morthond?\"

As if in answer... a mighty baying is heard from the packs - indignant of Lord Girithlin...

ARRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

It is Huan! No other hound can make a note so keen!

Bright beneath the sun are the raiments of Amrothos, scion of Imrahil. Like a radiant spike of alabaster crowned in winter shadow, he rides smoothly ahorse, keeping pace with father, kin and guard. The youthful Prince watches as the elder knights exchange their greetings.

He does not smile. Unmarred by all expression beneath the autumnal sun, his visage is.

A long cloak of darkest blue streams out from Doran\'s shoulders, clasped at his throat by a small plain brooch of silver. He checks his steed, drawing near level with the flank of the fine animal that the son of the Prince rides upon. A light glints in his eye, and sparkles upon the small, star-shaped clasp that binds his cloak.

Thus the call of the horns meet and merge, rising together to the skies -- a fair sound indeed, and one which lights the fire of the hunt in the hearts of many.

\"Indeed, Girithlin\" -- and the Prince casts a swift glance over his shoulder to the company ere turning back to Thorondur with a laugh -- \"but does not your kinswoman ride with us? The one you wished Lord Indilzar to meet?\"

Morrandir urges his steed forward, clearly having a lot of trouble making it respond to his wishes. The horse seems prone to wandering, making Morrandir\'s ride unpleasant. \"By Aule\'s hammer I hate these oafish creatures...\" he mumbles.

Looking mirthless Indilzar says to that, \"There shall be time enough for wooing Girithlins. For I do not intend to leave this world without an heir to walk in my steps. And I deem that the House Girithlin is noble enough indeed to bear the fruit of my lines.\"

\"And which of my fair kinswomen,\" Thorondur wonders of the Prince, an impish grin upon his elfin face, \"would that have been, my prince?\" Looking to Morrandir with a wink as Indilzar says his piece, the Herald adds, \"I\'ve more than one cousin who\'d make him a suitable match.\"

Mathollor knees his horse to one side keeping pace without forcing in towards his Knight. Content simply to be racing across the land to the sound of horns, cheers and thundering hooves.

\"As long as she is well enough to care for a house and sons,\" replies Indilzar, who is unaffected by Thorondur\'s words, \"For on the road I may be, and toil in the fields of war whilst I fulfill my oath.\"

\"Naturally,\" quips Thorondur. \"For you a horse and the sun, for her a house and the sons.\"

Riding just behind these most noble of lords, Doran stifles a laugh as he glances at the Knight-Herald. Reins held lax in one hand, the squire reaches behind to shift the bow lashed to his back into a more comfortable position.

\"The Sun to me shall be my son,\" says Indilzar with a smile, \"And to my wife, honour and love I shall pledge. Yet enough of these matters. Come now, we have many folk here and a long day ahead. To where shall we head? The game wardens have reported that there have been many sightings of white harts toward the northern hills.\"

Mathollor smiles sidelong at Thorondur. then steels his face into immobility as he looks towards his Knight and drops back beside his cousin.

\"If they have your tongue Thorondur, then I would bid the Lord Bragollach beware. But come, the hunt awaits!\"

And thus they pass like the west wind over the green fields of Belfalas, and towards the mirror-mered land of Morthond.

Belfalas: Edhellond - near the Mouth of Morthond

The rustle of the wind through treetops accompanies the smell of water here. To the northwest, the sound of water greets your ears, and the land seems open in the other directions...

Obvious exits:

Southwest leads to Belfalas: The Hamlet of Edhellond - Quads\' Yard.

West leads to Belfalas: Eryn Laegal - The Coastal Road.

Ferry Across the Morthond leads to Anfalas: Edhellond - Western shore of the Morthond.

South leads to Belfalas: East of Dol Amroth.

East leads to Belfalas: Edhellond - Near the Ringlo.

Beside young Morrandir the knight Calladan comes cantering up -- the first man ever to squire for Thorondur Girithlin. To the man\'s latest squire, he passes a skin of wine, and a knowing smile above. \"Drink up, lad,\" Calladan tells the unsuspecting youth....

\"White harts? Better, I think, than yellow hearts -- which no Men own in -this- company,\" Thorondur laughs!

\"A master of puns you are,\" says Indilzar dryly, \"Yet I shall agree that we have many a good man here this day.\"

The Hunt Master rides forth now, and the hounds are released to run ahead of the hunt, their baying rising to the skies. And hard on their heels ride Imrahil and the foremost of his Knights.

\"Where are the Squires I had watched practise with the spears yestereve? Let them ride beside us, and we will see if they have learned their lessons well\", the Prince\'s voice drifts back -- carefree and lighthearted as it rarely is -- ere being whipped away by the wind, \"And Amrothos! You will have little sport if you ride at the back.\"

\"You can keep your good men,\" Thorondur tells Indilzar, \"so long as I find some good wine. Calladan! Where\'d you go with that red?\"

Chuckling, Calladan whispers, sotto voce, \"The squire, sir.\"

The Marble Gate is left behind them and the gleaming parapets and high walls of Dol Amroth retreat behind the galloping train. The sun gleams through streaks of wisps of white clouds, flowing out from the crowns of the mountains like streaming pennants. The great coursers in their northern pursuits seem like great birds flying over the green fields beneath the dimless sky.

Amrothos, quiet ever, seems to feel the inspiration of such a flight as they come to the ancient lands of elf-haven. His eyes seem brighter and a smile comes to his face. Suddenly, his voice cries out, \"The Morthond greets us father! The light upon his surface is his herald\'s horn! Let Lord Thorondur rival that!\"

With a grunt, Indilzar looks to Mathollor, \"I had better not catch you drinking while in my service Mathollor. I do not wish to be upset.\"

\"Come, cousin!\" Doran calls gleefully to Mathollor at this side. \"We are called!\" he grins as he spurs his horse forward. \"Here, sire,\" the squire smiles broadly as he comes up on the flank of his prince.

Amused by Calladan, Thorondur is caught laughing when the cry of Amrothos rings out from behind. yet to that, to the Young Prince the Herald replies, turning in his saddle, \"The Morthond?\"

\"The day I am slow and broad as a river, Amrothos, is the day Fat Forlong\'s as thin as a stick! I -hope- that I can\'t rival that!\"

Mathollor nods to his cousin and kicks his mount forward his grin broadening. It drops and checks as he shakes his head quickly looking towards his Knight. \"Not while I sit a horse and carry arms My Lord. \" As he finished speaking he smoothly slips the spear out of its cup raising it slightly before dropping it back.

\"And I had a thought to listen to your poetry, Lord Girithlin,\" smiles Amrothos, his bright eyes gliding over the surface of the river. The sky a silver rippling streak on its blue grey surface.

\"Thorondur,\" says Dirhavel, slyly as they ride, \"Lord Indilzar won\'t give his squires the cup.\"

\"To each his own, Dir,\" the Herald tells his friend with a shrug of supple shoulders. \"If he\'s more rigid than you or I, it\'s his business. But come, the hounds are baying! Which way, my Prince? Ere your son tricks a song from my lips!\"

\"And my sister\", the Prince calls yet again, \"I have heard much of your skill with a bow. Perhaps you will teach the Squires\" -- he glances to his son and Thorondur, amusement glinting in his eyes -- \"and my Knights a lesson in the craft of hunting today. Come, the hounds have found game!\"

And indeed, the baying of Huan rises sharply from the woods beyond.

\"Ho! There cries Huan!\"

Then Indilzar rides forth chasing after the hound.

Another smile, Amrothos\' spirits high in these ancient lands of wight-dreams and unknown histories. His young voice as bright as the sun he claims for Morthond\'s horns, \"Spare us his other craft, Father.\"

\"He has little need to trick you, Thorondur. Or have you forgotten than you are to sing at the banquet?\" the Prince laughs.

Belfalas: Edhellond - Near the Ringlo(#21790Rno)

The waving grass here stretches far in every direction. It meets with some thicker foliage to the northwest, where the river Ringlo flows in a steady stream towards the sea. To the southeast, the grass is finally stopped by the fierce peaks of the mountains, which are again beginning to heighten after collapsing into foothills further to the northeast.

To the west and southwest, the grass continues to flow. The land here is all gentle hills, sloping up and down at such a gradual pace, it is virtually unnoticeable, unless one surveys the entire terrain. The road here continues to trail down to the southwest, a swath of bare ground amidst the waving blades of grass. It also leads back to the northeast, where it joins a larger road in the distance.

Contents:

Indilzar

Mathollor

Amrothos(#21271Xaenp)

Doran

Ivriniel

Thorondur

Gweneth

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth(#29314Vn)

Obvious exits:

Lond Duilin , Mouth of the Morthond , Faint Road , and Faint Road

\"Perhaps,\" says Thorondur, \"though it may be that Dirhavel\'s wine is too strong, and I must needs sleep through the feast,\" he answers with a laugh.

Indilzar rides on as the baying of Huan slowly flits up the road to the northeast. With Huan\'s cries are those of the other hounds.

\"M\'lord,\" says Indilzar turning in his saddle, \"Huan has found something - I think.\"

A flash enters in the bright eyes of the youngest son of Imrahil. He smiles to himself, his eyes upon the wood about, \"Perhaps I shall be delayed... Just as well.\"

\"An old bone, most like,\" murmurs Calladan, dryly.

Mathollor pushes his horse forward to his knight his hand gripping the spear tightly as he leans in

Even as Calladan speaks in the northeast there is a white flash across the road...

The baying of the hounds grows more fierce.

Mathollor digs his heels into his horse and with a wild cry surges ahead towards the white flash

Standing up in his stirrups, Doran\'s keen gaze scans the landscape that rushes forward to meet the hunting party. With each canine howl the expression on his smiling face seems to brighten. The squire urges his horse, following fast on the heels of the Prince\'s steed.

\"A bone which runs most swiftly\", the Prince glances to Calladan not unamused, \"Come Doran, Mathollor...this will be your test!\"

And through the trees his steed leaps, needing little urging, a flash of grey lightning in the midst of the green woods.

Startled as much by Mathollor\'s rash reaction to it as he is by the flash itself, the Lord Girithlin scowls -- holding an arm out to his right, resting the hand upon Calladan\'s horse.

\"Hold, Cal,\" he says, and \"When the Prince says \'the Squires,\' he no longer means you.\"

Chagrinned, the young knight sighs loudly at his friend, but holds indeed.

Lamedon: Rath Aran - Near the Ringlo(#21795Ro)

Standing on the raised road, atop its granular surface, you see the striking landscape tumbling around you. To the Northwest, the road continues to wind its way across the fields, and towards a river in the distance. A village is there it seems, near a bridge that spans the flowing waters. The river curves its way to the north and west, its roots disappearing into the rocky feed of the Ered Nimrais, the \"White Mountains.\" The north horizon as far as the eye can see, is dominated by these peaks, which march steadily to both the northwest and back back towards the lands to the southeast. Also to the southeast, the Rath Ernil winds its way back into the foothills, slicing through them at an unerring path.

The land begins to ripple to the southwest, not quite rolling hills, but beginning to look more like windswept dunes, though the ground is still very healthy. There is a faint beaten road in that direction, as if made by the pounding of many hoofs. It is not as wide or well formed as the Rath Ernil, but it still is firm and well maintained. There is a pillar next to it, where it branches off from the main thoroughfare.

Contents:

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth(#29314Vn)

Indilzar

Obvious exits:

Rath Aran , Faint Road , and Rath Aran

Mathollor leans low over his horses neck his spear gripped tightly and lying alongside the body of his mount, as he stares intently ahead trying to spot that elusive flash of white again

A silver tinkling of laugher sounds as Ivriniel flashes an impudent grin towards her brother, her melodic voice ringing out gaily as she pats the sheath of arrows hanging from her saddlebag, \"My skill is well known amongst -some- of your men -- those that are not threatened by a woman with a good eye and strong lust for the kill.\"

Chuckling softly as one of the newer squires cuts his head sharply in her direction, Ivriniel gives him a sassy wink and remarks, \"\'Tis a beautiful day and naught shall ruin this mood.\"

\"So long as she doesn\'t try to save the stag\'s life when she\'s done with it,\" quips Dirhavel with a smirk, again low in tone, to the Lord Girithlin -- who himself stifles a laugh, and shoots his moustached friend a warning glance.

Though thick in the pursuit of the elusive prey, the actions of his Lady Aunt are not lost on Amrothos. His young voice cries, \"Mind, sirrah, lest she loose her boy at you!\" The words are meant for the hapless squire.

Angreth rides behind the princess, looking rather ragged and unsettled as she tries to both keep her seat and her dignity. Squeezing the horse beneath her as hard as she can with her trouser-clad thighs, she holds the pommel tightly and bounces along, clearly hoping that her steed will merely follow. The horse, high-strung and eager to run at its accustomed stride, is clearly more than a match for the untutored rider upon it, and Angreth sits upon the steed with trepidation, and keeping as much as she may out of the fray, so as to attract as little notice as she may.

The hunter green riding habit of the Lady Ivriniel floats in the breeze as a slender knee urges her mount onward. One gloved hand holds the bow and the other the shaft of the arrow, cocked and ready to release upon sight of the prey. Hearing the voice of her nephew, her head turns momentarily and again, that tempestous smile is unleashed as she dares, \"If you best me nephew, I shall give you one day of only sweetness and good deeds. And if I should be the victor, the spoils shall be mine.\", twinkling eyes stay upon his face for only a moment as a flash of white is espied and her arrow is leveled in that direction.

The young nobleman squire, son of Lorendir, has eyes for naught but Imrahil and the road ahead, though. And as his sharp gaze is turned north and east, Doran now espies the peaks which he knows so well. \"Lo! Even now do we draw near to the lands which I love so well,\" he calls joyously, the rapture of the hunt coupling with the fond memories held within. He reaches back to a thick strap on his saddle, loosing a buckle that binds the haft of a narrow-tipped spear.

Sighing wearily, the Lord Girithlin holds his mount still, his rather droll little party of four following suit. As the more eager hunters spur forward, this group of noble knights -- and at least one more roguish than gallant -- stays near the rear, sipping their wine and watching the others.

\"I fear you will have little enough time to visit your lands, Squire\" -- the Prince draws back, letting the two youths draw abreast, and then ahead. No more than a dozen folk ride in his company now, the rest following in a broken line as best as they may.

And again in, the flash of white -- and for a fleeting moment, a glimpse of antlers rising proudly like the limbs of an autumn tree -- ere it is veiled from sight in the dappled shadows of the trees.

\"Noble game indeed...come, to the north!\"

Lamedon: Rath Aran - Between the Rivers(#21771Rnto)

Around you, to either side of the Road, are thick, heavy trees. The Ciril river, to the west runs down to join the Ringlo, which flows from the mountains to the southwest. The effect is relatively small triangle of land, blocked on two sides by water, and the third by the mighty peaks of the white mountains. On the north side of the bridge leading over the Ringlo, the village of Ethring sits, and as if reflected in a mirror, the town of Calembel lies at the foot of the south-side of Ciril bridge.

The road cuts through the trees, which, while light in some areas due to logging, are so thick as to hinder movement in others.

Obvious exits:

South leads to Calembel: Town Square.

West from Ciril Bridge leads to Lamedon: Imlad Ringlo.

Road beyond Ciril Bridge leads to Lamedon: Rath Aran - Between Ciril and the Neck.

Road beyond Ringlo Bridge leads to Lamedon: Rath Aran - Near the Ringlo.

\"Ah, fair Calembel,\" sighs Thorondur, himself and his companions cantering easily near the tail of the royal party. \"Do you recall the days I ruled here, Cal? We had many a hunt in those years -- I wonder -- let us see what there is to see.\"

And with that he spurs forward to join the front-runners, leaving his friends behind.

Near the bridge to Calembel, a few townspeople have gathered to watch the Prince and his hunt. Many wave, some even cheer for Imrahil. Children are lifted onto the shoulders of their fathers, sticks in their hands waving in the air.

\"And too did the Isilrim hold an abode here,\" remarks Indilzar, \"For many years now the statue of Sirion has been laid in the heart of the village, remembering their old Lord.\"

Mathollor pushes his horse harder almost flying over the ground as he seeks to push further ahead. the reins are now tightly gathered in one hand.

A shadow of foreboding crosses Amrothos\' brow. The flash of fleeting white in the green wood does not incite in him the passion of the others. His mount slows from gallop to a canter and the train overtakes him. His previous levity is lost and his bright eyes find their light hooded.

Yet, a smile finds its way upon his youthful face, as if to ward of inquisition.

On the far side of the Ciril bridge, you can now clearly see a snow-white hart. The deer seems to be standing there, mocking the pursuers. The beast shakes his head and snorts, steam coming through the nostrils.

\"What manner of beast is this,\" asks Indilzar puzzled, \"That would wait for the coming of hunters?\"

\"A white stag! There are tales of such a beast,\" cries Thorondur gladly, on spying this mighty hart, and its many-pointed rack. \"Aye, and songs aplenty. They say the man who pulls him down...\"

\"...would be forever granted great luck and strength,\" says Indilzar, \"a heavy doom falls upon those who pursue the White Stag.\"

Mathollor spies the White Hart and heedlessly thunders towards it his body moving lightly to angle his towards the other side of the bridge. As he closes he draws the lance in tighter and leans against against his stirrups.

By his kin the Prince rides now -- son and sister -- as they canter past the path leading to Calembel. The Keep of the Isilrim can be seen perched on a hillside even now -- but there is little time for such things.

\"And great fortune also\", Imrahil replies. But there is no time for thought now -- to the West the proud beast turns as the hunters draw nigh, as if harkening to an unseen master\'s call. And West the company must follow...

Lamedon: Imlad Ringlo(#21686Rno)

The Ringlo Vale begins at the low point where the Ciril and Ringlo converge into one flow of water. It slopes up, spilling around the southernmost mountains in a spur, jutting from the Ered Nimrais. The land there, nearer the mountains, is much higher, but no less fertile. The lower reaches of the peaks, like the valley, are covered in a fine green grass. In addition, Trees crop up near the river, feeding off the cold mountain water there..

Towards the east, across the northern portion of the valley, the road can be seen, coming down from behind the spur, and making its way down to the river. The land to the north slopes up, eventually becoming a ridge of high land.

Obvious exits:

To Imlad Morthond and Past Calembel

His face so fair and his eyes so blue and piercing swing to Indilzar, and the Herald speaks in tones both grave and anxious, by turns. \"A heavy doom, indeed, but such a treasure to win it! Though truly,\" he whispers, \"no prize is ever won without a price.\"

Doran glances at the head of his short polearm, more from habit than anything. The beaming squire has fallen silent now, his attention affixed on the object of the pursuit ahead. While he had smiled at the words of his elders as they approached his home, the expression slips from his lips and he cocks a suspicious eye at the beast and its strange behaviour.

\"But is the price of glory ever too much for any man?\" replies Indilzar, \"Yet my heart forebodes at where our paths might go if truth be told Girithlin. For look...\" Indilzar raises up his gloved hand and points to the north...

The hart is in the distant north, but the hounds seem to stay close to the riders. The hart itself pauses as if waiting for the pursuit, enjoying the game of destiny.

\"The White Stag runs to Morthond,\" says Indilzar, \"and that is an ill name if any of the tales told are true.\"

\"The Stone of the Oathbreakers,\" Thorondur agrees, grimly as he draws rein.

\"Aye,\" says Indilzar without mirth. He then sighs long, \"The Stone of Erech. Though it is true that many folk dwell in that land under Derufin and Duilin, who has not heard the tales of the Shadow-men and their trysts by that cursed place?\"

Mathollor draws up short both himself and his mount breathing hard after their race across the land

\"As a boy did I squire in their household, with their father Duinhir for my lord,\" Thorondur tells the Bragollach, as all things seem to fall still -- and chill. \"There was little enough Derufin and I did not do -- and once, we touched the rock.\"

A pregnant pause, and then:

\"It is cold, Bragollach. Cold as death.\"

Visibly Indilzar shivers and says, \"I marvel at you Girithlin that you would dare such a thing. Even I in my journey\'s to the north did nothing that came near such a peril. For Isildur\'s stone is accursed. It is whispered among some that Sirion the Younger did such ere his fall.\"

To the two Knights, Girithlin and Bragollach, the Prince gives no reply -- for it is the beast he is intent upon now, looking upon it with furrowed brow and his eyes darken as if a shadow passes over them.

And of a sudden, he draws rein then, \"Doran, Mathollor...hold!\"

Even at the word of the Prince, the stag holds as well and looks at the Prince in the distance with mocking eyes.

Mathollor turns his mount quickly towards the Prince both seeming to dance with impatience and eagerness.

\"The hart mocks us,\" says Indilzar softly. He pulls his cloak about him tightly.

Mathollor raises his lance point quickly and half turns his horse again towards the stag, looking back at the Prince and towards his Knight.

The grey eyes of Imrahil\'s squire open wide and he checks his steed\'s gallop. Biting his bottom lip, he glances back at Thorondur and Indilzar. Suddenly, at his prince\'s order, Doran pulls his mount\'s tack, the animal skitters to a stop. A light shiver wracks the squire\'s body and his gazed flits from the Prince to their prey. \"Never before have I seen the like..\" he begins to say, but the words falter and he falls silent.

\"They say I have been blessed especial,\" Thorondur says to Indilzar, though a hint of disdain does touch the words -- his own disbelief of such tales is clear. \"Perhaps it is only the light of Varda that -- eh?\" Now loosening his sword in its hilt -- not bending a bow -- the Herald goes grim once more.

\"I will follow it, if no other does,\" he says, and spurs white Amrandir forward.

Mathollor shakes his head quickly his cloak seemingly almost to snap \"The Prince said for it to be taken by a Squire and I mean it to be\" as he speaks he digs his heels in and gallops after the Stag his lance point lining up towards it.

At the words of Thorondur the great hound of war, Huan, leaps forth and then on a sudden all the hounds of Dol Amroth follow their master and their baying is like the echoes amidst the grottos of Cobas Haven. And lo! The deer itself runs as fleet as even the Vala of old, Vana the Everyoung who danced amidst the moonlit sheen of the Trees of Old and runs north.

Nothing of the elder knight\'s talk escapes Amrothos. His bright eyes dulled by furtive thoughts of doom and ill-fate. Yet, he smiles still, a wane and shadowy thing, grim and stone cast, a thin resolve. His mount he hold in check as he takes his father\'s command to his squires as one also for himself.

The young heir of Dol Amroth watches the hart keep to its queer behavior. He watches Thorondur as he spurs forward, \"And I with you.\"

Amrothos spurs his own charger and comes abreast to Lord Girithlin. Some Doom drives him.

As their lord halts, so too do those others who ride with him. But not all...

Forth they ride, his son and Herald, joined by a third -- Thingil of the Isilrim, young and proud, merry and lighthearted. And at their coming, the hart tosses its head, and turns North again. Ever north.

Indilzar charges forth after the others. He mutters, \"I shall not be lost in this deed, whatever betide!\"

Lamedon: - Imlad Morthond(#7523Rhnto)

The grass of the mountains, a deep brilliant green, climbs high up the slopes. In the north of this fertile valley, pushed against the feet of the mountains, is a large bay of water. Flowing from high up the peaks, the water collects there for a brief moment before pouring down through the valley, as Morthond River. Morthond, or \"Blackroot\", derives from the dreaded paths of the dead, which lie only a short distance away.

Some distance to the northeast, a large hill stands, with little around it save barren plains. Something gleams a deep black from its top, like a sick crown. The road continues through the vale, along its usually northwest-southeast course. To the southeast, it rises slowly out of the valley, and apparently dead ends at the mountains. The northwest way passes over the Morthond, clearing the dark mountain waters by way of a narrow bridge. It continues up, into the mountains on the other side. The valley continues to droop to the south, joining with a larger vale in that direction.

Contents:

Indilzar

Obvious exits:

Southwest leads to North of the Pinnath Gelin.

Northeast leads to By the Stone of Erech.

To Imlad Ringlo leads to Lamedon: Imlad Ringlo.

Bridge over Morthond leads to Gateway---Paths of the Dead.

Rath Aran leads to Lamedon: Rath Aran - Tarlang\'s Neck.

And thus does strong Amrandir, mighty of thigh and fine of fetlock, nudge ever forward, giving chase to the stag at the urgings of his knight, the noble Herald.

The deep shadows of Morthond cast a strange light in this place, yet it is unmistakable. The stag of destiny is on the path to the Northeast, awaiting the hunters....

Riding up hard Indilzar says, \"Now indeed we have come far on our road and only once before, have I been in this place.\" Then a look to his fellow knight, Thorondur, \"Yet you know it well, do you not?\"

But Huan the Hound is undeterred by the stag and he and his brothers chase it gladly, their baying no less strong than it was at the onset.

The white star upon the forehead of Mathollor\'s mount shines as brightly as the large Silver star broach gleaming upon his chest. He does not even glance back or turn his head as he spurs his horse and lance onwards towards the prize.

\"Not well, though as closely perhaps as a childhood recollection might be known,\" allows Thorondur, drawing a breath deep as the Anduin, staying his charger a moment. \"Beyond the next ridge, Indilzar.\"

\"The Stone of Erech.\" Turning back to the others, he begins to speak -- but spies the rash Mathollor spurring forward. \"The foolish boy,\" he growls, and rather than stop gives chase to that lad, too brave for his own good.

Green and lush with summer\'s promise in despite of autumn, the wide lands of Lamedon are laid at the feet of the company. But a shadow is upon it, even as the cloud which passes before the sun, leeching Arien\'s warmth.

\"Folly!\" the Prince says -- but to whom, it is unclear. Perhaps to his sister, perhaps to himself -- and he turns then to the Squire, \"Ward the Lady Ivriniel. I like this little.\" And forth he spurs then, to join his son.

Amrothos\' mount keeps pace, its breeding peerless except to that which bears his father. Yet, the youth\'s face is grim as he rides beside the dour Knights whose weight in years far outstrips his own. Yet, he bears himself stoutly, though his words no longer sound. Far from the world where elves once dwelled in endless dreaming are these lands beneath the shadow of the mountains. Darker dreams were those for they who once walked here.

\"So it would seem,\" says Indilzar. Then he clears his throat and cries, \"Mathollor! Slow thy pace!\" Yet Indilzar himself drives on as if the the hands of destiny drive him.

The thin shafted arrow in the taut bow of the daughter of Adrahil is slowly eased from its notched position. Ivriniel replaces the tufted arrow into the sheath and follows along behind the men. Curiosity and a bit of foreboding, alternatively showing upon her countenance. The massive paws of Huan the Hound tear into the ground, tufts of grass and leaves flying asunder as he pursues the white hart. Urging her mount forward, the sister of Imrahil hears the words spoken by her brother and draws back on the reins...slowing her stallion to little more than a canter.

By the Stone of Erech(#28330Rn)

Upon this hill the sun seems never to shine, for you have come to Erech, and the terror of the sleepless dead lay all about these lands. Here it stands alone, empty fields about and in the midst of the hill there is a great globe, the height of a man, though it is half-buried.

The wind seems to howl like the voices of ghosts as you look upon this ancient place, and the accursed stone.

Contents:

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth(#29314Vn)

Indilzar

Old_Stake(#22149nMp)

The Stone of Erech(#27229n)

Obvious exits:

South

From no where their comes a rumbling of thunder and the day is darkened by a sudden mountain storm. Ahead there is no stag, but there is, the horror of the Stone of Erech.

Eyes still wide at the foreboding words of the knights, Doran slows the pace of his mount to drop just behind the Prince. The haft of his weapon he braces in the crook of his right arm and he glances back at the royal Lady, holding the reins of his steed in a tightly clenched fist, his knuckles turning white. \"Aye, sire!\" he manages, voice shaking slightly.

Huan is silent as is his mates and he will not bay or bark in this place.

Indilzar looks upon the globe of Isildur and says, \"The Stone... the stone....\"

And on the stone there is naught but a aged stake, long since abandoned for whatever purpose is was once put there...

Drawing rein once more, some twenty paces -- as a Man might stride -- from the base of the darken Stone, the Lord Girithlin swings down from his saddle.

\"Beware, Men of Westernesse, beware,\" Thorondur warns of a sudden, his voice thick with foreboding. \"This land belongs to the Dead, and they love us little. Oathbreakers,\" he curses!

Lightning flashes on and off...

Thus the hapless youth goes into the shadows, even though Arien rides high in the sky -- and behind him comes his liege-lord.

For an oath has been sworn, and must be kept.

And if the Knights draw rein, the Prince yet does not -- swifter than thought, his steed bears down upon Mathollor, for it is a gift from the King of the Horse-Lords himself, and there are few in the land which are its match.

\"Hold, Squire!\"

The wind whips about slowly - then fierce. The howls of the wind are more fell than the baying of the hounds and it is silent. Silent as the ice of the Helcaraxe. Silent as the mists upon the Meres of Twilight. Silent as the tombs of the Kings.

Mathollor draws up rein quickly his horse rearing at the sudden stop. His face shows confusion and slowly dawning surprise and worry as he looks first towards the assembled Company then back towards the stone before swinging round towards the approaching Prince, his lance point now drooping to rest on the ground.

The once proud head of Doran\'s steed drops with a nervous whinny. The squire rises in his stirrups, casting a fearful look ahead at his lord and his kinsman. Yet he remains in his place, at the side of Ivriniel.

Clouds, dark as night, begin to roll in from the north and the sun soon disappears behind their inky cover. The fields seem to come alive with a hundred eyes, peering deeply at the intruders, deeper than man\'s eye can see.

The bright lances of the mounted hunters are greeted by the dark stone. The sky seems to mirror it, the reflection grown bigger for the size of that which holds its image. Horror strikes Amrothos\' visage. A fascinated horror, nothing like this has he known upon the bright cliffs of Dol Amroth with its crying gulls and shining parapets.

His mount stops as if willed by some thing other than his master. The youngest son of Imrahil falls from the saddle in a walking dream. He stumbles to the stone.

The youth\'s pale face is ashen white beneath the storming heavens, his black hair blown by the tempest. Bidden by some Doom, he sets a shaking hand to the ancient surface of the Erech stone.

Teeth clenched, the Lord Girithlin stares boldly against the ancient stone, the ancient darkness. The squire is saved, the hart -- whither the hart? Yet an evil will remains upon this tor, exerting its lingering malice, and the champion of the Westermen will not turn from it.

Despite the thunder.

The lightning of sudden illumines him, and in that flash of light Thorondur whirls. \"My prince,\" he cries! \"My prince, stand down!\"

Yet it is not to Imrahil the prince that he cries --

Swiftly the Prince draws nigh the Squire -- but in that instant, Mathollor is forgotten, for the Girithlin\'s cry rends the air an echo of Doom.

There is fear in this place, and an ancient power, brooding and wrought of malice -- but they will not stay Imrahil the Fair. No lightning nor foreboding token draw his eyes -- for it is to his son he turns.

And rides.

BOOM!!!! The lightning flashes bright and blinding even as thunder rumbles as if from the ground. Blinding it is, and for a moment the eyes are clouded by the mesmerizing influence of the shards of the brilliance. Then at last they clear...

and Amrothos the son of Imrahil is not there. Nor is there any trace of him in that spot which he stood.

\"Father! Father!\"

Nothing else is heard.

\"An evil storm,\" cries the Herald, \"an evil storm! By the Valar, we must save him!\" And a length of steel is drawn, the motion crisp and expert, yet no glory is in it, no honour -- for Thorondur has no foe to fight, and even his shining eyes are left searching for answers.

Lord Bragollach the Black stands there amazed. No words does he speak for now the wind whips hard and evil against them.

Yet in his hands his blade is drawn fell and bright.

Mathollor turns desperately looking for the Prince his expression horrified, his lance and reins dropped and forgotten as he grips the high saddle pommel. It appears to be all that steadies him.

With a great neigh of terror, the Prince\'s steed rears -- and it is naught save the ease of long mastery which saves Imrahil from being thrown. And there is silence in the wake of the Herald\'s cry -- desolate and chill, an ageless moment in which Amrothos\' plea lingers.

To the ground the Son of Adrahil leaps then, to race to the Stone -- no blade is drawn, no word is spoken, but there is little need of them.

For his intent is clear in his visage, set and pale, and his eyes are unyielding in his purpose.

Green_Knight has arrived.

The last of the light is sucked into the darkness, leaving only the flashes of lightning to give the party sight.

Then a wicked, baleful laugh engulfs the riders of Dol Amroth, its tone is cold and mocking, \"Has my poor little Prince gone and lost something...?\" Again the voice roars into laughter even as thunder crashes once more, leaving the party is the empty darkness.

Huan and his hounds now growl slowly, as if... they sense something... they bare their teeth and snarl.

Mathollor snarls and draws his sword as he looks around his indecision driven way by anger

\"Have done with thy mockery,\" comes the voice of the Lord Girithlin, friend of the Eldar, a pillar of strength against this unseen foe. \"You have no power within the realm of Isildur, Oathbreaker.\"

Indilzar holds up his hand and says softly to Mathollor, \"Stay Mathollor, this is a foe greater than you.\"

Gasping and horribly startled, Doran clutches at his mounts tack to keep from falling witless to the cold ground. His grey eyes, keen as lances though they may be, can do nothing to pierce the evil darkness of this place, save when aided by the fearsome lightning. He shudders and glances to his side, to the Prince\'s sister, as if to make sure that she is still safe, as if he could do aught to protect her upon this fell hill of dread and dwimmercraft.

To the Stone Imrahil comes, and -- even as his son had done -- lays a hand upon it. But there is no flash of light, no searing lightning -- the symbol of an oath broken remains cold.

Cold as death.

And now in the end, he turns, tall and grim, heedless of the shadow which lies thither, \"Come forth, Oathbreaker.\"

Lightning cracks once more, but darkness comes not. From atop the Stone, a figure stands now, clothed in verdant armor, as ancient as the rock it stands upon. The man, if it be a man, appears to have been tied to the stake that sat upon the stone for years beyond count, ivy having grown up his legs. Though, save for the grim and muck, no sign of rot is on his body.

Eyes, greener than the most finely cut gem, stare down at the party, \"Oathbreaker?! OATHBREAKER?! Nay....,\" the creatures voice pauses, it\'s helmeted head turning from the group, \"It was not so... but...so long ago.\" The head of the creature turns once more back on the party, a smiling down on Imrahil, \"You look upset. Perhaps you should go home,\" it states, \"Find what you were missing, hmmm?\"

Leaning over to Girithlin on his steed, Bragollach says, \"I have heard a tale of this...\" He then says, \"Yet I rue this chase.\"

To Indilzar, Thorondur gives a guarded look, a nod -- and then he breaks his silence, speaking his words into the keening wind.

\"This grows tiresome,\" the Herald says, his voice edged with a hint not of fear, but of anger, aye -- and even impatience. Stepping forward, no, striding now, he stalks toward the stone himself. \"You have no power, wight. Stay your tricksome tauntings and go home -- go home to hell.\"

Arching a brow, Indilzar steps forth as well. Yet he does not speak. Rather, the blade of Battanuazor is naked in his hand. He is the image of a warrior as he was born and bred.

Here is a dark power indeed, called forth from the deeps of time by an ancient curse, but it does not go unchallenged -- for Numenor fell in an age long past, and the flower of its greatness withered but it did not die. And in the Sons of Westernesse, there is power yet to defy the darkness which stretches forth over the land.

Forth Imrahil the Fair strides, and the radiance of the gem upon his brow glitters in his eyes -- a tower of light in the shadow of the Stone of Erech he stands, stern and terrible in his wrath, and he cries in a tongue heard no longer by Mortal Men:

\" By the One and the Seven, I lay it upon you to return him!\"

And behind him stalk his knights -- Thorondur to the left, Indilzar to the right.

The Creature turns its head up, peering at Thorondur, \"To hell you say? But I say I am already there!\" If its hands were bound, it shows no sign of it as it grabs its skull, a deafening scream coming from the wight, \"It cannot go on!\" Its words almost sobbing but then, just as Imrahil speaks, it draws itself up, and looks down fully at the Prince, \"You speak the tongue of he who is to blame. Yes! It was his fault! I did what I MUST do you not understand?!\" Its eyes darken, the glow dimming, \"Speak not it again, else all that you have lost shall be returned in blood and broken bone.\"

A stifled cry escapes Doran\'s lips, his eyes fixed upon his most noble lord. The spear drops from his grip and with a cold ring he draws the blade at his side. Though quivering with fear of these devilish events unfolding before him, he looks longingly after the Prince and his brave companions. Duty binds him in his place however, and he urges his horse to stand in front of Ivriniel, shielding her.

\"Then hear me in the tongue you and your kin once spoke, Oathbreaker\" -- there is naught left of the merriment of the chase in the Prince. Thus might he have seemed upon the walls of Osgiliath or before the Gates of Umbar harder than true-silver, limned with a cold fire.

\"You have taken my son, and I have little patience for riddles. Return him, for the wrath of the West will not be stayed by the grave.\"

\"NO!\" It screams, \"I shall not give him up!\" It lapses into a voice of someone very old, very tired, its head drooping, \"Alone. So alone. It was unfair what was done. Now... no one.\"

But as its head slowly rises, flame has mixed with the emerald in its eyes, \"But no longer. I have a friend,\" it hisses, \"A plaything. To rend and beat. To tear and gnash. For...,\" it pauses, laughing menacingly, \"For eternity. For you are too weak, too feeble to save your son. Only the strength such as the one who slew me can free me from this unholy curse put upon me by a usurper and a FOOL!\"

Then perhaps the curiosity of the knight Indilzar grows apace as he says aloud, \"Who cursed you then Green one? And how might my liege\'s son regain his freedom?\"

Again the tired voice returns, \"Oh, to regain my freedom. How sweet... Sweet. I have not tasted sweetness in...,\" then the head twitches, looking up at Indilzar. With pure hatred, the Green Knight spits outs, his word quiet yet grating, \"Anarion.\"

The terror of the green-encrusted fiend allows Doran only to barely master his horse. Standing now before the Lady Imrazor he looks on at this wicked, precarious scene, swallowing though his mouth is dry. At the name of the great Elven-king the squire sits up straighter his saddle. His grey eyes, narrowed by the oppressive sight they attempt to take in, flash and he grips the pommel of his sword more tightly.

Unnoticed by any, for all eyes are drawn with horror to the wraith -- the White Knight hefts his blade. Long steel in hand, no ancient blade -- his own now broken on the Fell Captain himself -- Thorondur Edrahil, hir Girithlin, detaches himself from his friend and Prince.

\"Anarion?\" puzzles Indilzar, \"What has the King of Gondor got to do with you? He lived more than an age ago!\"

\" Then in Anarion\'s name, get thee hence!\"

The cry parts Thorondur\'s lips, and the sudden flash of steel, and lo! Verily does he assault the Stone of Erech itself with a mighty blow!

Silent for a moment the Prince stands -- yet, it is born not of despair, but stern resolve. For hearken now to him:

\"Freedom has forsaken you Oathbreaker, as you once forsook sworn word. But speak now, and name the price for my son.\"

Again the wight laughs, this time at Thorondur as he strikes at the stone. It raises its hand and speaks,

\"The years are long like grey grass,

The tale of terror that forgotten one.

Who shall remember aright the traitor,

To deliver the delved curse to fulfillment?

To the north they shall go,

By elven hands shall it be united,

At the forge of the Eldar the hammer shall strike,

Hard and high ring the raw blows of doom,

Ost-in-Edhel shall unite the shards,

And let the dead rest forever in the forgotten hills.\" It looks down at Imrahil, lowering itself down to touch the brow of the Prince, \"Bring it to me. I want the blade.\" It places a gauntleted finger on the Prince\'s skin then lightning cracks once more and it is gone. Only the stake remains.

His sword shatters in his hand, the Herald, and the laughter of the wight haunts his ears long after the rhyme is recited. No thought for Amrothos lurks in those eyes, but something else -- something changes. Turning his back on his friends, the Herald stalks to his horse, wordless.

Then swinging into his saddle, Thorondur tells Indilzar and Imrahil, from horseback, \"You will be riding, I have no doubt. Send for me when the numbers are chosen. I will not forsake the lad.\"

\"But this wraith -- it owes me a sword.\"

And so turning Amrandir northward, toward the White Mountains, the Lord Herald prepares to ride.

Looking on at all that passes, Doran blinks, unbelieving. His poor horse, faithful though she may try to be, skitters at every word of the dwimmerlaik. The squire grips his mount tightly between his knees and turns her back about in a tight circle. Trying to maintain a calm demeanor, his sword-arm now droops down as he listens to the fateful verses, staring ahead with a ghostly expression as one bewitched.

A step forth the Prince takes even as Thorondur strikes the Stone -- to be halted by the stave the wight speaks. And he stands unflinching as the hand of one long dead reaches forth to him -- yet, his eyes close and remain thus for long moments after the Oathbreaker is gone.

And in the end, he stirs, turning to his companions -- pale his visage, and clouded his eyes:

\"The Girithlin will go. Who will ride with him?\"

Yet none will ride with him tonight, for setting spurs to white flanks, Thorondur Girithlin is off for the mountains. There are caverns there, it is said, and ancient delvings where shambling ghosts yet haunt the dreams of men who wander too near.

What better place, to hunt a wraith?

\"I shall,\" says Indilzar slowly, \"I shall go whither I would to fulfill my oath to thee, and for love of your son.\"

Next to Indilzar there stands Huan the Wolf-Hound, and it is clear that to this hunt, the Hound of Adrahil shall not be denied.

\"Yet where shall we go m\'lord?\" says Indilzar, \"Those words are a riddle to me, save only some few words which come down the haunts of history.\"

With a quick shake of his head, as if to dispel the dark thoughts of the evil that lingers heavy in this place as mist in the air, Doran speaks up, \"And I as well, lord! Unless you would wish else of me. My might in arms may not be as great as some, but I have a stout heart.\" The squire\'s voice strengthens even as he speaks, and he sits up, proud once again. But now he falls silent and looks questioningly on at the Knight-Herald as he suddenly rides off.

Indilzar\'s eyes follow Thorondur, \"He is mad...\"

\"To Minas Tirith, where the Lord-Steward will counsel you, for he is learned in such matters. And Squire, stout heart will win through where might of arms may not. You will go if you desire it.\"

Silent then, Imrahil strides to his steed and mounts -- for indeed, there is little more to be said. And he stays but a moment, to cast one glance to the company -- hunter no more, but Warrior-Prince and Captain of Men, \"You will ride forth at dawn. May the Valar look upon you with favour.\"

And he is gone into the darkling woods.

Indilzar nods and says, \"Yes m\'lord. It shall be as you say, and may we avenge this wrong, on the morn of day.\"