Into the Sewers!

Minas Tirith: Lampwright Street: By the Old Guesthouse

The cobbled way of Lampwright Street winds its way through the first circle of the city. Here, you have come to the place of the Old Guesthouse. Set wide with arms reaching back to the walls, it is a three-storied building with a cheery appearance. Unlike many of the other buildings of the city, it seems to be of more recent design, being made primarily of sturdy timber. Smoke streams out of its tall chimneys.

The street itself continues its march, and lanterns are set on the wide avenue allowing for business at all hours.

Orgaladh - September 27, 3045

[Gurtir(#30678)]

The streets of Minas Tirith are as good as empty this afternoon: a constant downpour forces people into buildings to scape the gloomy, wet weather. In Lampwright street, music and chatter come from the Old Guesthouse, though hardly any laughter. Gondor is concerned. Too many leaves have fallen this autumn. Too many men.

As the the avenue continues past the guesthouse, however, a group of soldiers is gathered, in spite of the rain, in spite of business. Theirs is more pressing. Mostly garbed in the colours of Ithilien, armed, carrying bags, they describe a circle around the entrance to the sewers, whence a foul smell rises, though is quickly dissipated by wind and water. They listen to a man.

Gurtir Carmayar speaks in a low tone, the last briefing before they set off, \"And so we will aid our brothers at arms in Osgiliath. Are there any questions?\"

[Tarachim(#19338)]       One of these men of Ithilien, with the gray-gauntlets of a March-Warden upon his hands and a mask over the lower part of his face, gazes silently into the entrance to the sewers that is, until Gurtir asks his question. The March-Warden turns his gaze to Gutir, an eyebrow arched for a moment. \"I would be surprised if there was. It is simple enough, is it not? I do hope no one wore their best, however...\" Tarachim Carmayar, for so his voice identifies him, falls silent as he adjusts some of the straps on his bag for a few moments.

No questions come from the Scout Ceredir, who is also gathered in this group. He only looks toward the sewer grate and grimaces just slightly. \"I expect it will be much like the tannery,\" he shrugs to Tarachim\'s comment.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

The Ranger glances at the face of his men, noting their expressions and what they might betray. An humourless grin is flashed at Tarachim and Ceredir, and he nods in agreement. Then another scanning glance... \"You all know what you are getting into. We might not come back. But it could be us trapped in Osgiliath instead of them.\" A nod is then given to the March Warden-- let the descent begin.

\"Let\'s fight for these brothers of ours as we\'d like them to fight for us.\"

[Tarachim(#19338)]       \"You know my opinion upon this, Gurtir. I would rather die with my brothers of the Company than stand and do nothing,\" Says the March-Warden before he turns his gaze once more to the sewers. \"Well, lads, look at it this way: if this is the worst thing to happen to you in your service to Gondor, then you can sleep well tonight, no matter how bad you smell.\"

That said, the March-Warden begins the climb down the ladder into the sewers below.

Ceredir lines up to wait his turn to descend into the sewers, staying nearby to Gurtir as he does so, though. \"If you plan to do this regularly, sir, then I would suggest a month-long apprenticeship at the tanneries for all new Scouts. Will cure them of any squeamishness over sewers right away,\" he says, attemping some humor, though he does not smile. Then, with more seriousness, \"I hope at least that I can be of help here. It is impossible to say what has happened in Osgiliath since I last left.\"

[Gurtir(#30678)]

\"Masks on, then, lads.\", Gurtir says after Ceredir has spoken. And he waits his turn to go down after Tarachim.

Sluice Chamber

Dark and dank would only begin to describe the great sluce chamber where all the sewers and drainage pipes of the great city of Minas Tirith meet in a gigantic junction. The stench of rot and decay and the odors of waste and offal are thick here, along with the chattering of rats ... at least they sound like rats...

[Tarachim(#19338)]       Stepping off from the ladder and to the side to allow room for the others coming down, the March-Warden cannot quite supress a cough and grimace under his mask. \"I take it back. Any who make it through this sewer will never face anything worse in their career for Gondor. I do not care what it is.\"

For all his talk of spending most of his life working in the tannery, Ceredir can\'t help but gag on the overpowering smell. \"Burn your clothes when we are done,\" he coughs. \"The smell never comes out.\"

[Gurtir(#30678)]

Gurtir comes down. He frowns deeply, repulse written upon his features. \"And I thought Ceredir\'s boots were the worst thing I\'d ever smell.\", he says, glancing around, his eyes getting accostumed to the dark, \"Light the torches already.\"

[Tarachim(#19338)]       Some amongst the party take torches from their packs, and over the next few minutes, they are lit. Tarachim looks away from them as the torches flicker to life, coughing once more. \"Clothes can be burned, but I do hope the smell does not linger on the person too long. That would be... unfortunate. I do hope someone knows the way I have not made it a hobby of mine to take strolls through sewers...\"

\"A bath,\" Ceredir grimaces in reply to Tarachim\'s comment. \"A very long bath with the strongest soap that you can find. Though a trip through the sewers alone shouldn\'t make it linger on your person once the clothes are gone. It takes working in it day after day.\" But the Scout shakes his head at the next question, only looking to Gurtir to answer.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

\"Are we all here? I want the hatch closed.\", Gurtir says, walking past the men and beckoning a scout with torch to follow him, \"It\'s this way\".

As they walk, the flames scare away the shadows, light fighting against darkness as if heralding the fights yet to come... the fight already going on at Osgiliath. Step after step, the orange glow reveals more and more of the pipes and cobbles of the sewers. And screeches fill the air as the mice flee.

Not long after, the Ranger stops. A crack on the wall, long though thin, barely wide enough for a full grown man, lies there, illuminated by the torch. \"Bags first, gentlemen.\"

[Tarachim(#19338)]       The March-Warden falls in step behind the torch-bearing Scout behind the Ranger, a scowl under his mask. \"Such an inconvience. I do hope not all of the Enemy is slaughtered when we arrive I am of mind to vent my displeasure upon them,\" He falls silent for a few minutes, looking around from time to time, before he responds to Ceredir\'s comment. \"Oh, that is good. Just a bath, then? Wonderful.\"

As he reaches the crack, the March-Warden eyes it for a few moments before he shrugs, slinging his back from his back and through the crack. \"See you on the other side, gentlemen,\" With that, he moves through the crack.

A scowl colors Ceredir\'s expression at the comment about fighting. With a quick glance to Gurtir, the Scout then unshoulders the pack that he carries, passing his bag through the crack in the wall and then squeezing through after it.

Lower Sluice Chamber

If the upper Sluce Chamber was dark and dank and smelled bad, then the Lower Sluce Chamber is doubly atrocious, for even though the upper Sluce Chamber is sometimes frequented by maintenance persons, they seldom venture so far underground as the lower chamber.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

And thus the downward ladder on the other side of the crack leads to an even worse smell than before. Luckily the smoke from the torches fights it somewhat... but still it brings unwilling tears to Gurtir\'s eyes. Pushing on, he says, \"We go further down. Move quick so we can leave quick, but I advise against running... It will make you draw deeper breaths.\"

[Tarachim(#19338)]       \"I am so glad I did not eat...\" Mumbles Tarachim, taking shallow breaths as he slings his bag onto his back and checks the straps. \"Try not to breath deeply at all... and keep your mind on the task ahead.\"

That said, he continues downwards.

Ceredir does not have to be told twice to move quickly. The Scout keeps moving, nodding to the words of the March-Warden and Ranger, but gritting his teeth and not stopping to talk--except for one comment, low, to Tarachim. \"We survive this and I will treat you to a day at the tannery, sir.\" He manages a grin.

Winding Tunnel

The dark presses ever around down this narrow path which descends deeper and deeper into the ruins of Osgiliath. Oh how many Men may have passed here in the days of old, none may say, but none have trodden hither in many long years. Here, the passage opens revealing many choices. With tunnels all about, and only dark for company, the lonely adventurer may be pressed to choose wisely.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

A thick layer of dust covers the ground, the air becomes staller and heat begins to build up. Time passes, a step after another taking the party closer to their destination. Then three paths present themselves: a path west, from where the hideous smell becomes even fouler a Winding Tunnel, which promises to be even hotter and a bigger tunnel, from where a cooler air comes.

\"Now now...\", Gurtir says, \"This way, thank the Valar\". He makes it for the bigger tunnel.

***********

Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Old Merchant Quarter

Once the bustling center of trade in Osgiliath, here at the point that the Great Royal Road first entered the city, there is now naught but broken buildings and a large open trading plaza, covered with scant grass and broken stones. Some of the buildings have crumbled in on themselves, but others are standing and in relatively good condition. It looks as if there has been an effort to keep a clear path leading to the east, and also to the southeast. Perhaps these areas are still in use.

[Bor(#30834)]

Their faces are gaunt, hollow-eyed, unshaven even as they valiantly man the perimeter of those few that sleep, they are shadows of the warriors they once were. Even the blood of their ancestors seems to have left them, these remaining survivors of the Osgiliath garrison.

Bor looks still to the skies, to the heavens, unaware of the turmoil that surrounds him. His sword planted firmly in the ground, his mail at his feet, he looks as a warrior of the olden days but perhaps not a leader.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Arashen is not among those who sleep or look to the sky. Though as tired and haggard as the rest, he gazes sharp eyed into the shadowy ruins. The sun has disappeared entirely now, and the sky above turns slowly from dark blue in the west to pitch black in the east.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

Six dots glint faintly into the shadows of the strong wall, as eyes staring and registering what is afoot... A low whisper-- or is it the wind? Then the wall gives birth: first a Scout, then a Ranger, then a March Warden.

The Ranger is Gurtir and he arrives armed, a bag on his back. And smelling dreadfully of rot, decay, waste... He holds up a greeting hand and speaks, least this be taken as an orc invasion, \"Help arrives.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

These men are nearly at the end of their endurance. Whispers and wind tease raw nerves taut springs unwind at the slightest movement - Arashen no less so than the others.

He reacts before the first gloomy figure emerges but not without discipline. Silently, he draws his sword in one fluid movement, his eyes scanning the area before him. The men of Ithilien are masters at not being seen and it is not until the third figure has emerged that the young Telpekhor has discerned that these particular shadows bear significance. Even as the welcome words are uttered, the Squire is alerting his brethren: \"To the south!\"

He lowers his sword and advances on the figures, but not at a run. The stench does little to dissuade him from the notion that these -might- be orcs.

The stench and stealth and shadow may well confuse the soldiers trapped here as to the identity of these men of Ithilien, but for the Scout that has emerged from behind the wall, the sound of the Squire\'s shout is all the confirmation he needs.

\"Arashen.\" Ceredir speaks the name calmly, but loud enough so that the Squire may hear him.

Like the rest, Ceredir, too, carries a pack and his sword.

[Tarachim(#19338)]       The March-Warden, Tarachim, pauses a moment after he leaves the wall to remove a soot-blackened steel helm from his belt and place it on his head. Once that is done, he slings his pack from his back, carrying it in one hand while the other rests lightly upon his sword\'s pommel he, however, does not seem to feel the need to speak at the moment, simply stepping forward to stand beside Gurtir, eyes flicking about some.

[Bor(#30834)]

The Knight-Commander is not quick to his sword he has slept but a few in hours in the days since the loss of the bridge. Yet he knows of sewers, and the filth from whence these new arrivals come. He comes across to greet them.

\"How many do you bring?\"

\"And what supplies?\"

Gurtir(#30678)]

\"Call the men out. We have found them.\", Gurtir tells Tarachim after Ceredir gives them the confirmation. Then he replies at the Knight-Commander, \"We bring twenty of the finest plus seven Scout carrying the heavy load: water, food and medicine.\"

\"I won\'t ask how you are being treated.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

The squire slows as he nears - a mind numb with fatigue seems to comprehend the truth before him at last. And as for the Scout, the sound of his friend\'s voice is confirmation. \"Ceredir!\" Arashen\'s voice is low, gravely. He sheathes his sword.

But he says no more than that for the nonce. His Commander has asked what rests on every survivors mind.

Behind them, the news of reinforcement ripples through the remaining men. Those guarding the perimeters do not leave their posts, but longing glances are cast towards the newcomers.

[Tarachim(#19338)]       \"Aye, that we have,\" Is the quiet response Tarachim gives to the Ranger before he nods nods, moving back to the wall and giving a few sharp, whispered commands. Soon enough, the rest of the relief party files out from the wall, the March-Warden watching to make sure little noise is made. Once the men are out, he walks quietly back to Gurtir\'s side, setting his own pack upon the ground.

As if to confirm Gurtir\'s words, Ceredir unshoulders his pack and sets it down on the ground with a small thump. \"Yes,\" he says, simply, to the Squire, but it is not his place to speak right now. Instead he quietly watches, a frown creasing his forehead at the state of the men and the makeshift camp.

\"The garrison?\" the Scout finally speaks up. He is looking toward Bor as he speaks.

Bor nods to Gurtir, though lamely. His eyes are sharp and narrowed.

\"The garrison is lost,\" he replies. \"And so are a great many men.

\"Here are your finest, I tell you, injured, tired, hungry. See to them.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

Arashen\'s eyes wander to the pack Ceredir carries and linger there, following its path to the ground.

His fascination with the rucksack is broken only when the scout asks his question. Curiously, he stiffens and looks to his Commander and his reply, his lips pressed tightly.

It lasts perhaps a few heartbeats and then his attention is back on is friend. \"Do you have water?\"

[Gurtir(#30678)]

Thus the men beckoned by Tarachim come out, as Gurtir described: twenty come well equiped, with good armor, spears or bows, and packs bigger than those usually used by the men of Ithilien. Yet theirs is small compared to the bigger ones the Scouts bring.

\"Where can we put it?\", the Ranger asks to Bor, a grim stare shifting from face to face as the knight speaks, then he speaks again, a firm tone that could perhaps bear optimism, \"I will send some of the scouts back for more. You can eat something now.\"

His own bag is removed from his back and he retrieves from it a canteen, which he hands to the Squire, before speaking again to Bor, \"Afterwards, I will need the figures here.\"

\"Water, yes, and food.\" Ceredir starts to unsling the waterskin he wears across his chest, but Gurtir has beat him to it. \"Are you injured?\" he continues to Arashen, though he glances to the March-Warden and Ranger as they speak, the Scout listening for further instructions.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"Thank you,\" Arashen manages to say as he accepts the canteen with a hand ingrained with dirt and blood. He unstoppers it and lifts it to his lips, tilting his head back slightly to take a long healthy draught. Water dribbles down his beard, leaving white rivulets the length of his dirty neck. Sated, he hands the canteen to the next man beside him.

The squire of the blue shrugs. \"I am alive.\"

\"What do you have to eat?\"

[Bor(#30834)]

\"The wagons are lost, and so too is our camp,\" says Bor to Gurtir, \"Put it where you will. Perhaps there are supplies enough to set a new camp.\"

\"As for figures, any one of these are unfit for combat. Battle has been constant, and at the least they are bruised and exhausted. If your orders are to relieve the injured, then you must take us all.\"

\"But I suspect you will meet some resistance.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"After a good night\'s sleep and a meal, I can fight,\" Arashen replies, in demonstration.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

Gurtir nods at Bor\'s words and looks at Tarachim, \"You heard him. Find a spot, have the men unpack and relieve the Knight\'s men who are in sentinel, Tarachim. Ceredir,\" his gaze shifts to the Scout, \"Organize the supplies and see to it that each man gets his fair share.\"

\"My orders were precisely those, Knight. To relieve the wounded.\", he speaks in a pragmatic manner, his eyes dart to Arashen as the squire speaks and he nods, \"In the morrow, whoever classifies himself as wounded may take his leave.\"

\"I shall now pass on the orders to the scouts who are to return, if there is nothing else.\"

[Gurtir(#30678)]

\"Ah!\", Gurtir adds, \"We have a man with experience at healing.\"

[Bor(#30834)]

\"While I remain command,\" states Bor, \"I would have the names of the men who stood with me after the fall of the bridge presented to me.\"

\"We are not yet out of the water, but I would know those men of valor so my lips can repeat their names whether upon my death or to their superiors.\" He looks to Ceredir.

\"Add this to your burden, Scout.\"

[Tarachim(#19338)]       The March-Warden nods to the Ranger before he turns, gesturing at the relief party. \"Find a place and unload your supplies. Afterwards, I want the veterans to take the sentinel lines and relieve those on duty. Quickly, now, I will be checking on your progress soon, so I expect it to be done.\"

The orders given, the relief party moves to carry them out. Tarachim turns back to the Ranger after handing his own pack off to a passing veteran. \"Do you have any other orders, sir? The men will need some rest, but can carry on if you order it. They have had longer marches in Ithilien, though admittedly the paths in the Garden are a fair sight better than those we took to get here.\"

The request from Arashen Ceredir can answer, and he kneels, opening his pack and handing up a hunk of bread toward the Squire. \"Here. Start with this while I get things organized.\" This last is said with a nod to acknowledge the Ranger\'s orders. \"Yes sir.\"

\"Not allowed to fight, but they have got me handling supply details,\" he explains hurriedly to Arashen before he stands once more. With a wave of his hand, he then gestures the rest of the Scouts to bring their packs over to where he stands near the wall, where he begins going through the supplies and handing them out.

Once more, then--as Bor directs words to him--Ceredir looks up from his work. He stares at Bor, then looks to the March-Warden for confirmation on the Knight\'s orders.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

\"No more, Tarachim.\", Gurtir tells the March Warden, \"Organize things the best you can. And serve the Knight in what he needs\", this last is said looking to Ceredir. Then the Ranger walks away to tend the other business.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Arashen takes the bread, saying nothing. He tears it in half and takes a bite. Instinctively sharing as they have these past lean days, he offers the other half to Bor.

Then to Ceredir, he says: \"After all that you can watch me sleep.\"

Hollow eyed and gaunt, there is a the faintest ghost of a smile on the hard-bitten squire\'s lip.

\"What\'s that?\" Distracted, Ceredir looks up from his work as Arashen speaks. He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing on the Squire, then some humor glints in his expression and he pats the hard ground with his hand. \"Right here is your pillow. I will be here all night, so make yourself comfortable and I will watch.\" He grins lopsidedly and only somewhat appears to be joking.

But the Scout\'s attention is taken up by a list on a piece of parchment he has pulled out, and tending to the packs before him, supplies being slowly handed out and accounted for. Again, at Gurtir\'s words this time, he looks up and nods.

And then Ceredir turns to Bor. \"Yes, sir.\" He holds his gaze on the Knight just a moment longer than he should, then attends once more to the supplies.

[Tarachim(#19338)]       \"I will see to it, sir, no worries,\" The March-Warden nods slightly to the Ranger as he departs. \"Just camp order, Gurtir does not take the Captain to see it done well.\" A brief note of dry humour is injected into Tarachim\'s voice before he turns his attention back to matters at hand. \"If anyone needs me, I will be looking after the sentinels.\" With that, the March-Warden moves off to do just that.

[Bor(#30834)]

The Knight-Commander accepts the bread and, surprising as it may be, pats the Squire on his shoulder. He takes the bread off with him, but says:

\"I will not forget you, Squire.\"

Cryptic, this, and its meaning passes off with Bor, who leaves to his own counsel.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Arashen stares after the knight, clearly sunk in thought. But there is naught but fatigue written on his countenance and so he too keeps his counsel in the end.

He sits down, and after a moment\'s hesitation, removes his helmet - the first time since surrendering the garrison. His greasy hair hangs limp. The squire runs his fingers through his hair, wraps himself in his cloak, and lies down. \"Wake me up when you have more food for me, Ceredir or the orcs attack - but not before I have to draw my sword.\"

He is asleep instantly.

\"I...\" Ceredir starts, then checks his words, as Arashen is already asleep. The Scout frowns, but his own duties are now pressing heavily on him, as well, so he turns back to them.

The Squire, situated as he is next to the relief supplies, will be well watched in his rest this night.

If the orcs allow for any rest.