An Evening of Confusion

Dol Amroth: The Crimson Lance Inn

The harbourside Crimson Lance Inn rests along one of the finer stretches of Dol Amroth\'s quays, the proud establishment\'s front facing the waters of the Bay of Belfalas, and windows of the guest rooms upon its upper floors looking out over both city and sea. Founded by House Bragollach in years past, perhaps in competition with the Girithlin-owned Lion Rampart, the Crimson Lance is a place of pleasure, comfort, and relaxation, where one can likely find both drink, food, and company in enjoyable quantities.

+inspect entry - For the entryway description.

+inspect main - For the common room description.

+inspect private - For the private seating description.

+inspect public - For the stage and bar area description.

Current Status: It is night, and the Crimson Lance is full of those who can both afford to rise above the cheaper dockside ale houses of the harbour, and spend their evening in the company of drink.

Contents:

Miyathel

Lominzil

Menelglir

Gwendion

Calardan

Obvious exits:

Out

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Weather:            Clear

Time:               Midnight <01>

Season:             Autumn

Date:               Oranor - September 11, 3054

Real Time:          Fri Dec 16 19:08:06 2011

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This evening, the Inn of the Crimson Lance has been altered. Tables have been removed from the main room and extra chairs have been arrayed in rows with the octagon stage at the center. Candles, lamps, and lanterns have been placed so that the light is soft throughout the room but for the stage, where all is well lit for the audience to clearly see the goings-on. Two sides of the eight-sided stage are chairless and remain curtained off for the actors. A placard proclaims them to be The Company of the Masque.

The ushers are working diligently to see that all are seated and waiting at the door to greet guests are Elusul and the producer of the night\'s entertainment. Seated in the front row of one of the sections of chairs is Elusul\'s wife the Lady Indiloth, dressed in subdued, but still elegant garments befitting the occasion.

\"Admiral,\" Menelglir says, looking around the guests as he enters and greeting Elusul. He glances toward the stage. \"The players have improved?\"

Elusul greets Menelglir with a handclasp and smiles. \"Let us hope. They are about to begin their scene in a few moments. Most of our guests have arrived, but I believe your place is waiting for you near the front row.\"

A moonlit night faintly flickers at the silvered temples of Hir Calardan\'s hair as he introduces himself by way of the main entry to the bar. He is accompanied not by his Lord, nor by his wife. It is simply he and his eldest daughter, Niphredil, who grace the Crimson Lance with their presence.

The producer steps forward while Elusul and Menelglir speak. He bows his head to Calardan and his daughter and greets them, \"Hail, gentles, welcome. Please be seated. The ushers will see that you are well placed. May I know your names first? I am Laurthil of Minas Tirith.\"

\"The front row?\" Menelglir smiles. \"I am honored....or perhaps I should be worried, particularly if the skills of the actors have improved, and yet not quite enough? Better that I should have brought my shield with me, I think.\"

\"Hir Calardan--\" On seeing the former Marshall, Menelglir turns greetings that way. \"And Niphredil.\" He holds further small talk as the producer speaks.

\"I am Hir Calardan of Tarnost, the Prince\'s Marshall, and this is my daughter, Niphredil, who serves in waiting to that selfsame Prince\'s youngest child,\" says the Hlorithain perfunctorily. \"Well met, Laurthil of Minas Tirith.\"

He extends the producer his hand.

Laurthil looks pleased to be offered the hand of one so eminent and he accepts with a grin. \"Please, your beautiful daughter and yourself honor us with your presences.\"

Elusul watches this exchange.

The Marshall and his daughter are dressed in subdued forest hues, so much so that the girl seems to disappear into the soft lighting and to her seat.

Calardan, however, remains.

Thanking the producer with a bow of his head, he turns to the Guardsman and Admiral, \"Forgive me. I have forced her to come, and she is none too happy.\"

\"Hir Menelglir,\" he greets.

Then, \"Lord Admiral.\"

\"Pity...I suppose my cousin Annadiel is here somewhere,\" Menelglir says, looking about warily. \"She might amuse your daughter for a while. But...in any case, I am told I have a seat up front. Care to join me?\" he asks Calardan.

A hand bell is rung, a signal. A few moments pass and then out of the actors\' area steps a man. He is a tall man, but he is also overweight. His hair is combed as best as it can be to cover its slow recession. He is dressed in a brown overshirt that reaches down to his thighs and grey tights. Standing forth, he smiles and greets his audience.

\"Gentles of Dol Amroth, welcome this evening to the Inn of the Crimson Lance. My fellow players and I will be performing a scene from the great play \"Much Ado About Something\" by that imcomparable scribe Finneglin of Osgiliath. Let us begin.\" And the man lowers his head, pausing long enough for stragglers to find their seats before his performance begins.

\"I shall want to find my daughter,\" says Calardan, looking through the faint lighting for Niphredil. His attention is drawn to the stage, however.

\"But, yes, let us take our seats,\" he concludes to Menelglir, after the actor\'s short speech interrupts his search for Niphredil.

\"This way, then,\" Menelglir says, gesturing for Calardan to follow him to his seat. \"I am certain there is room for her to join us. I\'m interested to watch this scene--I saw a rehearsal earlier this week and it was...interesting.\"

Elusul nods to Calardan and then moves to find his own place beside his wife, leaving beside the producer to stand in the back of the house and gauge audience reaction.

\"You know, I was once numbered amongst the ranks of your Guard,\" remarks Calardan aside to Menelglir as they take their seats. \"But not so young.\"

He seems to dismiss any notion of the play soon to commence.

Some distance away, awkwardly perched in a corner, Niphredil watches the stage.

Her arms cross over her chest -- guardedly -- and, beneath her skirts, her booted feet tap with anticipation. Or impatience.

\"You were in the High Guard?\" Nearly--very nearly--Menelglir\'s voice almost squeaks in surprise. He clears his throat, voice restored to normal. \"That is, sir, were you Captain before you were Marshall?\"

\"Captain, no,\" answers the Marshall, \"Hir Agrendir Ashenhand was my Captain as Hir Calimendil is...\" he pauses, \"Was yours.\" At mention of his boon companion, the Hlorithain looks away and ever so briefly catches sight of his daughter. \"My wife, Eilian, is his sister,\" he seems to note under his breath.

A woman comes out from behind the curtain and joins the man. The woman takes her place standing atop a small platform that gives her some elevation mimicking a balcony. The man raises his head and turns to look at the woman. He goes down on one knee and holds out his arm as he exclaims in rich tones, \"Dear Firiel! Life is like a walking shadow! We strut and play across the stage, our lifes but scenes all too short. Let us share a scene together, even for a short while.\"

The woman, with long lashes and pouting lips, listens to her beau\'s entreaty and then replies, \"Dear Romenzil...\" She pauses and then says again with more fervor, \"Dear Romenzil!\" which is quickly followed by a turn to the curtain behind her and a hushed \"/Line/!\" and an equally hushed, but clearly audible, \"If only we could be together.\"

The woman quickly regains herself and repeats, \"Oh Romenzil, if only we could be together!\"

\"I see, Hir,\" Menelglir answers, speaking slowly as he considers the answer. \"The Order...well, we are stretched thin, alas. Things will change, though--I am certain of it.\"

He, too, glances in the direction in which Calardan looks, though he reacts with a quick smile on seeing Niphredil. \"Indeed, she does not look as if she will tolerate much of a play....particularly...\" Menelglir clears his throat, watching the scene unfold on stage and lowering to a whisper, \"one such as this.\"

Her impatience, forgotten.

As the performers take the stage, Niphredil observes -- initially, with a bland sort of interest. Her brows creep upward, unimpressed, as she appears to prepare herself for a rather underwhelming experience -- until the actress hisses for help from her minders backstage.

Niphredil\'s eyes dart from left to right -- and close, briefly. A hand rises to innocently hold her fist over her mouth as she expels sudden -- quiet! -- laughter.

Calardan has turned his eyes to the stage, which he watches intently not only the actors, but the production too. \"It is the nature of this world that things shall change, Guardsman,\" he notes, \"Like the young lass\' memory.\"

\"But never you shall be, for Romenzil\'s scene will be shorter than he hopes! A HA!\"

A voice is heard speaking and then a man leaps out from behind the curtain, tall, young, and with lips too large for his face. When he speaks, it is with great vigor and even greater volume.

\"A duel!\" He holds two swords, one of which he tosses at the first man. \"To the death!\"

The two men begin fighting as Firiel watches from her platform, her hands clasped as she tries to look the damsel worthy of being won. Clack clack clack go the fake swords, the two men having learned a thing or two about swordfighting. And then Dear Romenzil lunches at his opponent and his sword pinches a finger!

\"Oh s---!\" The curse is clear as day and the actor breaks character as he looks both pained as he sucks a finger and embarassed at having cursed.

Indiloth has been reserved all evening. But this latest miscue seems to have tipped the scales as the lady first smiles and then laughs outright at the curse. Trying to be quiet as this is a play and the players are right up in front of her, the lady crosses her legs and tries to ignore the man sucking his finger, but she continues to giggle.

\"Tis true, all things must change,\" says Menelglir. \"And yet...oh...\" He clears his throat, stifling a sudden laugh. \"I\'m afraid that Hir Elusul did not teach them quite enough of swordplay...certainly not how a warrior behaves when struck with such a brutal injury.\"

\"No,\" replies the Marshall, bending one leg over the other.

He is not so amused as Indiloth or Menelglir, or even as his daughter.

From outside are heard shouts, \"Fire!! Foes!!! Fire!!! The ships!!!\"

The players on stage look dumb for a moment as they try to remember if this is part of the show.

Elusul though has his head as he gets to his feet and pushes past any who may be in the aisle to get to the door. He calls back to those behind him, \"Someone has raised an alarm. Are there men here who have brought arms?\" He pulls free his own sidesword with his lone hand.

COMBAT - Wielded: Longsword

\"I have, Admiral,\" Menelglir says, jumping to his feet. He does not yet free his sword from its scabbard, as he is in the front row and in a crowd of theater goers.

It is the curse that brings Niphredil\'s giggles to a louder volume. Her face is tipped to the side, laughing, when she hears the voice -- distant, outside -- shouting of fire, and then her head is turned, like a deer catching sight of an unskilled hunter. The smile is gone from her visage as her hand reaches for the greatsword on the empty chair beside her, all the while scanning the sea of faces for one in particular --

Her father. When she finds him -- and finds him, she does, with a sharp gaze -- she walks for him. If she is panicked, she keeps it hidden.

Until: \"Fire?\"

To all but these two, perhaps the word fire would question merely that which is without. But for Niphredil and Calardan, it bears a secret meaning.

For as the two meet, a blade is drawn into the Marshall\'s hands. His father\'s sword. Fire it was named, long, long ago. Fire. For nothing but it and fire could cut through trees so swiftly. Fire. Ancestral blade of the Lords of Tarnost, heirloom to the Hlorithain. Though Calardan is no Lord, he hefts the great sword nonetheless. \"Fire,\" he replies to Niphredil.

\"Have you brought your dagger?\" he asks her immediately afterwards.

There is the briefest look of awe, or longing, or some sad mixture of both, as Niphredil watches the blade of her grandfather be lifted into the elder Hlorithain\'s hands. And then, in a blink, it is gone.

Has she brought her dagger?

The girl nods her head -- once.

Calardan wields Greatsword.

Elusul calls back to Menelglir, \"Knight of the High Guard, guard those who remain here. Let no one rush out into the night until we return or another knight comes to fetch you all by my order.\" He looks around to the menfolk present and calls, \"Who all is with me? Let us go then.\" A glance is given to the admiral\'s wife before he slips out the door.

You head out of the Inn.

Dol Amroth: Harbor

The air here is thick with the salt tang of the brine and the pungent odours of gathered fish and sweaty sailors. By far the least illustrious of the city\'s harbours, nonetheless it is the largest, playing home not only to the fishermen but to the shipwrights of the city as well.

Beyond the fishermen\'s piers are set huge stone channels in which rest half-completed hulks of vessels like the backbones of huge animals rest other ships under construction between massive warehouses scattered throughout the area.   Traffic in and out of the harbour is nearly constant no matter what the hour, whether it is small pilot boats leading other ships in and out or fishermen returning or setting out for a day\'s work.

The creak and pound of tools working fills and echoes in the harbour, as the long straight wooden planks whine and creak in protest while shipwrights bend them to more pleasing shapes. Shouts of fishermen ring out--both in exuberance at making the catch and in anger at missing it--and mix with the raucous cries of seabirds as they light upon huge piles of the catch.

Contents:

Calarion

Salindil

Rothengil

Palanauth(#25110VXaeM)

A Prince\'s Resolve(#4957VaeM)

The Aearlach(#31308Vae)

The Rothinzil

Obvious exits:

North-NorthEast leads to Dol Amroth: The Rocks.

Crimson Lance Inn and Port Town

Niphredil steps out from the Crimson Lance Inn.

Niphredil has arrived.

Calardan steps out from the Crimson Lance Inn.

Calardan has arrived.

The smell of smoke is in the air, and everywhere confusion: sailors and soldiers run to and fro, with shouts from the ships in the harbor alerting those on shore to the presence of intruders as they are found. A wisp of black smoke rises from at least one of the ships in the harbor, and men are gathering to form a bucket line to quench any flames.

But the very shadows of the docks this black night seem to be full of lurking enemies--and suddenly there is a great cry from sailors on one ship as they point toward the shipyards--flames have begun to be kindled from that direction, lighting up the shipyard and threatening the materials and ships being constructed there!

Dark figures of men can be seen setting fires in the shipyard, then fleeing, but two are most clearly seen, struggling to set flame to one of the ships under construction.

In the midst of the confusion, Calarion rushes in. His sword, shining, is already drawn. The Squire pauses for a moment in the smoke, taking in the scene, before glancing about for any others who had responded to the call. Seeing none for the moment, he moves forward and comes alongside the bucket line.

\"What happened?\" he inquires of a petty officer who appears to be heading up the effort, \"What madness has struck us?\"

\"Hood,\" warns Calardan to Niphredil.

He is hot on the heels of Elusul out of the door, then, two hands upon his blade. It is raised but held only staggeredly aloft by the Marshall, not used to the weight in his hands. He grunts to him to take the lead.

Elusul looks around the harbor that lies directly out the door of the inn. The admiral takes in the scene, grey eyes surveying all as he calls to any who follow him, \"The ships and their crews will see to themselves. But the shipyards, we must see to them and the stores there. If they find and set fire to the pitch--\" He is interrupted by more shouts, but his intent is plain as Elusul lifts his sword and points for yards down the waterfront lane.

Rothengil is one of those clearly seen. The saboteur scurries out of a shadow carrying a large jar, surely from a storehouse. His destination is a large man o war on the slip, perhaps only days or even hours away from launch, if it doesn\'t burn first. Opening the jar, the saboteur pours a dark liquid with the sharp scent of fuel over a makeshift pile of wood under the bow of the almost finished ship.

\"Down that way!! Raiders, setting fire to the shipyards!\" the petty officer answers Calarion, pointing the same way that Elusul does. There, against the firelight, there can be seen at least two figures moving about, trying to set flames to the ships under construction.

\"More--more of that!\" urges the second man by Rothengil--in this case, named Salindil. He holds a torch, but it is sputtering, and he looks up at it, cursing. \"I\'ll find another,\" he says, running off toward a nearby pile of lumber that is starting to smolder.

Elusul runs down the lane, leaving behind any who linger outside the inn. He sees quite qell the men moving to burn one of /his/ ships and the admiral\'s grey Isilrim eyes grow fey as he brings up his sword. \"STOP THAT!\"

Calarion gives a brief nod to the petty officer before he turns towards the direction pointed out. As he turns, he looks to Elusul, \"Knight Admiral, Sir.\" he says, beginning to move towards the saboteur, his sword raised as he prepares for the worst, \"You!\" he calls as he approaches, \"Surrender yourself.\"

The jar of pitch empty, Rothengil glances at it a moment and then abruptly hurls it at the ship. The jar shatters. The saboteur nods to his comrade. When the shouts of two men pierce the air over the roar of flames, Rothengil answers them with a giddy laugh and starts back towards the storehouse filled with many more jars of fuel.

Smoking torch in hand, Salindil turns toward the shouts, quickly assessing the approaching men. \"Hurry you fool--get the job done and get out!\" he hisses to Rothengil. He throws his torch upon the pitch-covered ship, drawing his sword. \"I\'ll hold them off as long as I can,\" he says, eyeing the two soldiers of Gondor.

Reaching, Niphredil draws the hood of her cloak over her head.

As Calardan moves -- a collection of paces behind, his daughter trails, her feet pitter-pattering with all the deft lightness of a forest urchin. For her own protection, her right hand strays to her hip. There, she binds her grip around a plain hilt, but she does not pull on it yet.

-- A hiss leaves her mouth when she spies the culprits in the distance. She holds her free arm out, straight as a rail, and appears to aim with her thumb at Salindil\'s moving form as though her appendage is a spear to herself, she mutters, \"Should have brought the bow.\"

The girl hangs back.

Elusul sees the torch and goes right for it like a bull seeing red. Sword held up, he chops at the wrist that holds it, Salindil\'s sword ignored as the fate of the ship hangs in the balance.

You attack Salindil with your Longsword...

Salindil dodges your attack.

Calarion reaches the marauder soon after Elusul does. He swings his sword at the stomach of the man in passing, concern also bing given to the precious vessel of war.

Calarion attacks Salindil with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

The Knight-Marshall finally gets the blade fully aloft. He moves onwards.

And so Fire descends towards Salindil.

Calardan attacks Salindil with his Greatsword and lightly wounds him!

Sparks from his comrade\'s flame find pitch to ignite. Suddenly there is fire. Only the fuel burns at the moment. But the entire ship could be engulfed at any moment. Not hesitating, Rothengil emerges out of the storehouse with another jar and scurries across to his pile of wood and fuel. In haste, he smashes the jar onto the wood, letting fuel splash all over. There is no time for more pitch. Now, this saboteur must find a fire. The smoldering pile of lumber...

The attackers all seem to rush at Salindil at once. He weaves and bobs, his smoking torch going amiss, and even as his sword is held up to block the attackers, he stoops to try to kick the torch toward the fuel--only to stagger back from two blades slicing him at once, across the arm and across the chest. And yet, no blood is drawn there, and Salindil, standing up in sudden surprise, lunges toward the man closest to him, slicing his blade in wild defense.

Salindil attacks Calardan with his Longsword, but he misses by a hair.

Elusul rolls away from Salindil as the man holds off the other two. The admiral\'s attention is diverted to Rothengil. He locks eyes with the marauder and then follows the man\'s gaze to the smoldering lumber. \"You shall not pass!\" he calls, blocking the raider\'s path to the fire.

Calarion, having successfully passed by the attacker and made a strike to him, comes alongside his Knight-Admiral. He raises his sword at the man, leveling him with a steady gaze. However, he says nothing, waiting for the next move to be made.

Rothengil locks eyes with Elusul and Calarion and laughs. \"You fools. Pass or not, it is too late for you and your fleet. Too late! Our task is already complete.\"

Niphredil\'s dagger throw is knocked out of the air by Salindil and his longsword!

The dagger lies now on the ground at his feet.

Niphredil removes Dagger.

Elusul nods to Calarion and says, \"Don\'t let him get past you.\" Then he slowly heads for Rothengil, sword at the ready. A few steps closer, he lashes out slice the man\'s gut open.

With a brief nod to Elusul, Calarion looks again to Salindil. He brings his sword down, anticipating a blow soon to come. He does not move, standing his ground before the smoldering vessel behind him. In the flames and carnage, this Squire seems truely to be a scion of the Sudden Flame, his face reflecting the infernos he seeks to avenge.

Rothengil is quick enough not to die by Elusul\'s sword. But the blade still finds flesh, giving the saboteur a gash from one side of his belly to the other. Another laugh. But a nervous one. This man is unarmed! \"Another scar won\'t make a difference. I have so many. What is killing me going to do? Your ships will soon be gone and those who paid my price will soon be upon you.\"

\"Fly you fool!\" Salindil shouts to Rothengil, even as his blade slashes into the air to bring down a dagger thrown his way. \"Our work is done here and so many foes at once are beyond us! Flee now and live another day!\"

Calardan\'s blow is deflected by what little armor the man has, and by cunning as well. But the Knight is carried past by the heft of the blade and thus escapes the return. Turning again, he carries Fire towards Salindil.

Calardan attacks Salindil with his Greatsword and badly wounds him!

As Salindil speaks with his companion, Calarion responds to the man, \"Flight is for cowards.\" he says cooly, \"Yet, to be fair, your act was one of cowardice, no?\" The youth\'s face is confident, betraying little raw emotion, \"Yet, in the end, all cowards muct die. Or be taken by those who they taunt with their acts.\"

Then, as Calardan strikes, Calarion takes the moment and swings out also, swinging his blade down towards his enemy\'s shoulder.

Calarion attacks Salindil with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

The dagger leaves Niphredil\'s hand and is swatted -- like an oversized fly.

And so she remains where she is, staring after Salindil -- even as Calardan, with her grandfather\'s sword in his grasp, follows him with bloody intent. Her hands become fists as she watches, and begins to take backward steps, distancing herself from the fray.

A cry heralds the former Marshall\'s blade striking true, for Salindil now grasps at his midsection, his hand coming away bloody. He staggers back, not out of the way of Calarion\'s sword on time, blade swinging wildly, striking out toward Calardan\'s face. And then the man is falling, spinning and twisting, toward the smoldering ship frame, sword falling from his grasp as blackness closes around him.

Salindil attacks Calardan with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Salindil unwields Longsword.

Elusul charges Rothengil with sword high once more to slay the man with a stabbing strike at his torso.

Rothengil is run through. With a whimper, he slides off the blade and collapses to the ground. Just as the blackness takes him, wood is ignited by burning pitch and the unfinished ship starts to go up in flames.

As the Knight-Marshall tangles his blade in with Salindil\'s midsection, he is left vulnerable. The strike from the Companyman is true, but Calardan is able to evade it so it only carves a blood line across the side of his throat.

\"Bind him,\" says the Hlorithain, dropping Fire upon the docks and grasping one hand to his neck. It was close to a fatal blow and the Knight knows it.

\"Healer,\" he calls out patiently.

Elusul leaves Rothengil behind and calls out for whomever is near. \"Stamp out the flames. Don\'t use water, it will just spread the pitch! Stamp them out! Use your cloaks if you have one to smother them! MOVE!\" The admiral goes to work himself to fight the fires and direct the fighting of this new enemy.

In heeding the Admiral\'s order, Calarion moves away from the enemy and towards the flames of the vessel. He lifts his cloak and begins batting out the tounges of fire with it.

FADE OUT