DARKNESS DESCENDS: Banditry

Belfalas: Men Ernil - Outside the Marble Gate

The Men Ernil, the Prince\'s Road, comes to an end here where the narrow bottleneck of land (no more than two thousand paces wide) begins to widen westward to the rocky promontory upon which is the city of Dol Amroth and the Castle of the Prince. North and south of here are the waters of the sea - even here the smell of salt tang and the cries of sea-birds fill the air.

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.

The cloud hangs heavy over the hearts and minds of Dol Amroth. The rain hangs over their heads. A torch, which flickers at the droplets that fall to it, is held in the hand of Calardan Hlorithain, who bears a fur-lined cloak upon his frame to bite back against the cold for in Belfalas, it is now a cold summer. The Knight is atop his steed and calls back to his companions.

\"Bandits near Tarnost! If we ride hard, perhaps we shall catch them!\"

Two High Guardsmen accompany this group, among others--one at rearguard the one in front is Menelglir, already mounted on his brown mare, which prances about nervously as the young man leans down to pat its neck to soothe it. But the knight cannot help look up at the sky more than once, puzzled, frowning.

Arashen swings up into his saddle, cloak tossed over both shoulders. Grim as an impending battle can be, the Telpekhor Knight seems eager, relieved even. He glances at his Squire, Lominzil. \"Dark skies and dark duties, but I cannot help feeling lighter of heart. I detest idleness and uncertainty.

Lominzil, who has been leading both his own mare and the horse of his Knight, hands Arashen the reins. He is wearing a thin scarlet cloak that does not hold well with the mist, and leans close to the warmth of his mare\'s flanks, crouching down in the saddle.

\"I thought Tarnost was hidden,\" he frowns.

Glinech is learning looking over scrolls near the scene hearing the cry of bandits, he cannot help but act placing the scrolls back. The young man throws on his gear as quick as he can and moves out prepared as the others, his gray eyes show his determination and his first chance to prove his oaths sworn to be true. He readies himself to ride with the others.

\"Dol Tathren, the keep of the Lord of Tarnost, is hidden,\" explains the Hlorithain Knight, \"But not Tarnost. You shall see it this eve, Squire.\"

His eyes cant to Glinech, whom he regards with an inquisitive eye.

\"Are you ready?\" he asks that Squire in White.

\"We ride under an ill-favored sky,\" Menelglir says softly. \"And what it means I cannot say--but my heart is heavy with it. What say you, Hir Calardan? Or shall we save our breath for the ride?\"

The mount is ready for quick travel with the others. The young man going over everything once more before turning back as he\'s spoken to. \"Yes sir, I will serve to my best.\" Glinech answers respectfully unable to help himself but shift where he stands with energy.

\"We are not quite ready,\" says Lominzil, frowning. \"I think we ought to wait a little.\"

Lominzil looks behind him to the gate.

A more subdued figure, a green hood shrouding the face, pulls upon the leads of a small palomino mare, guiding the mount towards the rear of the party. Slender fingers slip from below the hems of her sleeves as Calenloth steadies the horse to a gentle clip.

Straightening, Lominzil smiles at the Marshall and says, \"We can go now.\"

\"What answer would I have? Darkness descends,\" says Hir Calardan tersely.

\"And we ride into it, for better or worse.\"

\"Fly!\" he cries out to his steed at Lominzil\'s smile. He has not one of his own to answer the Squire and merely spurs his steed on with his heels.

\"Into it, yes,\" Menelglir answers. And he would follow right on the heels of the former Marshall--only the arrival of one in a green cloak stops him up short. He stares, brows lowering. But then, with a shake of his head, he turns to duty, and after Calardan he speeds. A wave of his hand signals the group to move forward and follow.

Glinech takes in all of the information he can while the others finish their preparations. He tries to spot one his cousin in the gathering but doesn\'t immediately see him, he doesn\'t have time really to worry about this now though. He hops up easily, and steadies himself for riding now. \"The darkness may not stand, before the light of good men.\" He speaks under his breath perhaps a motto or something read before he spurs himself behind the higher ranks.

The older Telpekhor Knight spares a curious glance for the hooded woman, then spurs his steed forward.

Silent, Lominzil speeds his horse, tailing the palomino palfrey.

***********************************

Belfalas: Gwalothris

A ravine-shaped valley, whose thyme-filled hillsides, overgrown with tall lupins, stretch to the top of the Hills of Tarnost.

Slopes with dark forests guide clear springs downwards, carrying pine and fresh air, running together at the fertile land in a crystal stream that flows past a manor of dark stone vines grow aplenty on charcoal walls and tall double doors are always being watched by a pair of guards.

Onwards the twisting torrent runs, turning into a shallow pool near a cluster of houses, fields and fenced pastures, before it runs out of the valley on its way to the sea.

The Hills of Tarnost are splayed before the party, having ridden hard to reach the lands of the willow trees. Hir Calardan slows the party\'s pace here and looks back to those who follow, \"Slow now. Be prepared with your blades.\"

In the middle of the arriving group ride Menelglir and the other High Guardsman, the pair conferring briefly. Some sort of agreement is made, for the pair then split up, each riding along opposite sides of the group, but always near to those known to be branded. Menelglir rides again to the front, near Calardan.

\"Close to me, Calenloth,\" murmurs Lominzil, perhaps too low to be heard by even the girl. He keeps a tight grip on the reins so that the Guardsmen can see his hands, though his swordhilt is near.

Arashen pulls his blade from its sheath several inches, making it easier to draw in a hurry should it be needed. Then first sparing his \'shadow\' an annoyed glance, the Telpekhor returns his attention to the countryside. He surveys the area, near and distant, looking for anything amiss.

Her fingers grip upon the leather strips, no gleam of weapon shines readily within the young healer\'s grip. Though not the determined look of the armed men she accompanies, Calenloth sits squarely upon her saddle, the small mare graceful yet among the group.

A nod replies to Lominzil, perhaps more of a response flashing from her eyes. Alert, she surveys the horizon, making no mind to the men she cannot ignore watching her every move.

The party makes their way along the trail that leads through the hills of Tarnost. Willow trees seem to sag and sway towards the riders as they pass.

Then, at last.

A group of men stand clustered around the remnants of a fire, numbering ten or so. Their clothes seem to blend in with the darkness and, too, the colors of the hills themselves. They seem to converse, until...

The muted patter of hoof fall draws their attention.

\"Who goes there?\" asks the group\'s leader, cutting a youthful figure.

\"Riders to the aid of Tarnost, by order of the Prince himself!\" Menelglir calls back through the gloom, his blade already at hand as he answers, speaking clear and loud--and before Calardan can respond.

\"Be you friend or foe? Show yourselves in this gloom.\"

Gervais\'s head snaps around and his sword is out of its sheath in the same instant.

Silently, Arashen draws his blade and indicates his squire should follow. Then slowly he urges his steed forward and to the side, fanning out to, if not flank them, then put himself in a position where he easily could.

Lominzil follows, a hand on his hilt, his sweating horse\'s hoofs tracing Arashen\'s.

The young woman shifts serenely upon her mare, the leather straps of the halter passing to one hand as her other disappears slowly back under her cloak. The horse shifts from one foot to another, steadying under the slight weight of her rider.

Glinech hears the call from infront of the line of riders, and slows his horse stopping for a moment, and brings his hand to the hilt of his sword. The squire urges forward to keep in line with the others. The answer to the challenge heard he waits to hear the answer for this question.

\"I am Hir Calavorn Hlorithain, Lord over the lands of Tarnost, and if you are on errands from the Prince then I have his Captain with me now,\" states the Knight. It is strange that Calardan seems to rescind into the background now.

\"We have found what we believe to be the bandit\'s encampment here.\"

Through the gloom, forest-clad men are seen about a fire, among whom the Lord Hlorithain now speaks.

As the horsemen from Amroth approach, Lominzil\'s mare sidesteps and he gazes into the forest of living willows, a sudden glimmer in dark eye.

A keen ear could perhaps hear the sound of footfalls in the mud before six break from the darkness, clad in the blue and silver of Amroth, three from the west, three from the east. A seventh follows from the east, the Captain of the Swan. Gwenedion\'s face is clear, his helm apparently elsewhere, rainwater beading upon his skin, hair dark and matted sable.

He eyes the group at the fire, greeting none, only reporting, \"The rain masks their tracks... thus far, no sign that they left when the ground was soft.\" He takes a moment to survey those who are here, his gaze hanging longest on the Marshall.

The answer seeming to be friendly allows the squire to sit back in his seat a little more, though he still holds his hand on the hilt of his sword unsure of when it will be needed. Glinech halts again making room for others and simply listening for the moment. The approach of more knights gathers his attention that way once more.

Gervais looks keenly at the knights, but keeps his sword out and his horse where it is positioned near to Calenloth. \"My lady,\" he says softly, \"Are you well?\"

\"Are there injured?\" Menelglir asks, nudging his horse forward as Gwendion comes forth. \"We have brought a healer with us, if you have need of one. Lady Calenloth,\" he says, twisting around briefly to the woman, then back forward once more.

\"Hir Calavorn, I am Hir Menelglir Telpekhor of the High Guard, and we have brought many strong warriors with us. But if there are no marks for us to follow in this gloom--then tell us how they attacked.\"

\"There are many trails leading to and from the valley,\" Gwendion adds, \"Only none that we can see deeper into it. But we have not checked to the north.\"

\"It is my guess, they have left the way they and you came,\" he says simply, frowning, \"That should be the direction of their return, if they did not see you arrive.\"

\"The High Guard,\" says Calavorn, noting this but not commenting upon it.

\"We welcome your assistance. The healer, well...\" he stutters here.

\"We have our village\'s own but I doubt she is of the same quality.

The dark night hides many things but it often amplifies sound, and no matter how quietly someone tries to move inevitably the sound carries. This night is no different. Out from the dank woods around the camp emanates a soft noise that could be many things. Perhaps it is the brush rustling in the rain as horses walk through it. Perhaps it is many men slowly approaching with swords drawn. The only odd thing contained in this night time noise is a soft rhythmic tap that occurs every few moments.

\"I am fine,\" Calenloth murmurs to the Squire. Her reply may sound distracted as her head turns to the strange sound the girl looks to each of the sounds of the night as if she tries to place each one in turn. Yet the repeated tap echoes unknown, still... She frowns.

\"I can offer my skills to my ability,\" she speaks, finally, to the stumblings of Calavorn.

Arashen offers the Knight-Captain a nod but otherwise falls silent as the others talk. Thus less distracted, a whisper of noise comes to his attention, then another. He glances at his Squire meaningfully, then wheels his steed around to face the clearing edge, back the way they had come from. His hand moves towards his hilt as the searches the shadows keenly and listens closely for any other sound that might confirm his suspicions.

Answering his Knight\'s glance, Lominzil turns his horse gently, one palm on his sword-pommel and the other on the reins.

\"We encountered noone and nothing on our way here, yet we were riding swiftly. Were they many in number? Stealthy in their escape?\" Menelglir asks. But movement of Knight and Squire catches his attention--Menelglir turns his head to look, then turns his horse about, sword still drawn.

\"Perhaps we are about to have our questions answered.\"

Glinech turns as more sounds from the night reaches his ear. He reacts turning in the direction of the sound the best he can. He waits silent though he finally draws his sword into his hand as he waits not wishing to be taken off guard anymore then can be helped of course.

\"Good tidings is that, Lady Calenloth, for they turned their blades on several for their coin,\" Gwendion answers, then looks to Menelglir, his brow tightening as his attention is drawn to the south. A frown and then he steps back thrice, out of the light.

The soft swishing noises continue to get a louder as does the rhythmic tapping. Joining the sound is a strange smell. Sharp and pungent it is. Perhaps it is a torch made of some odd smelling wood, yet no glow of fire can as yet be seen.

It a noise that trickles through the willows, those who know this blade.

Calardan Hlorithan draws his sword.

\"Ware the south!\" Arashen calls out to his breathren and draws his sword with soft snick. His warhorse dances eagerly, sensing what is to come.

For those closest to Gwendion, should they have the chance, they could see him turn and dash into the night.

\"Strange,\" says Menelglir, maneuvering to the flanks of the group. He glances to check the position of Calenloth, but then looks toward the approaching noise, sniffing the air. \"That smell....almost familiar...\" He does not spot Gwendion\'s retreat.

The Lord of Tarnost calls out, \"Who goes there?\" for a second time.

Ever louder do the noises grow. Perhaps whoever it is that approaches does not realize there are armed men waiting. Or perhaps the noises are some type of diversion. The rhythmic tapping continues unabated.

\"Name yourself, bandit,\" calls out Calavorn with a youthful braggadacio. \"So that your parents may know when you die.\" He draws his longsword.

Gervais catches a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye, and turns to stare at Gwendion... running away?

\"It is not an army of men,\" Lominzil utters, hair standing on end.

\"The day is dark enough without wild speculations, Squire!\" Menelglir snaps, \"and it does not sound like an army to me.\" He shouts once more into the gloom. \"Who goes there? Friend or foe! Show yourself!\"

\"Bandit?\" Comes a muffled exclamation from the woods. The soft noises continue and out of the gloomy night a dark form appears, though it is hard to make out who or what it is in the darkness of night. \"I have been called many things but seldom a bandit.\" The form says with a derisive chuckle.

\"There /is/ something odd about this,\" Arashen says to Lominzil, his voice lower. But there is no need to speak further for the nature of the odd noises becomes more apparent. He glances at Lominzil when the voice calls out, arching one brow - but he does not lower his sword, not yet.

\"Then show yourself so that we may judge for ourselves,\" says the older Telpekhor Knight.

If the knight-captain doesn\'t stand his ground... Gervais swallows hard, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. He glances behind him, then looks back at the suddenly appearing figure, and squares his shoulders.

\"It is I that travel alone by night, and all of you that travel in numbers. Has the hospitality of Gondor changed so much since I was last within this fair realm that you harass travelers on the road?\" The dark form takes a couple of steps forward so that others may see him better. With a soft sound of indrawn breath a soft orange light reveals the old man\'s craggy features as the pipe in his mouth, source of pungent odor from before, glows as he draws in a deep draught.

\"\'Tis but an old man,\" laughs Calavorn, sheathing his sword.

\"Much has changed,\" Lominzil says, turning uncertainly to Arashen his knight, \"but not our hospitality. Would you give us your name, sir?\"

\"A strange old man, indeed, to travel alone in the lands. And that--\" Menelglir points to the man\'s pipe, \"I have enountered that before, but not here in Gondor. A name, as the Squire asks, sir, and where are you from and what business brings you here? There is trouble about.\"

\"Hir Gwendion, were the raiders...\" He turns about, looking for the missing Captain.

In the darkness the sound of steel being drawn sounds from behind the old man, \"A old man perhaps, but the young are oft lead by such to do terrible things!\" comes the cry of Gwendion from the dark over the sound of the rain pattering among the trees.

\"I see none but him upon the road! But, the light from the fire casts your miens from across the valley! Be wary!\"

\"You perhaps thought I was some dragon out of legend?\" The old man replies to Calavorn and chuckles as he looks around the gathered men. He then glances at Lominzil, \"I am Gandalf the grey young sir, and my business is my own.\" Gandalf says as the rain trickles off the brim of his tall hat.

Arashen narrows his eyes at the old man, his brow furrowed in memory. He lowers his sword, but does not sheath it. He chuckles. \"I know you as well,\" he states simply.

\"You travel wide,\" he says, \"And appear to have walked with good fortune, and remained unseen by the men we hunt.\"

\"Dragons are louder,\" Lominzil says, a little hurt by the old man\'s comment. He turns his horse towards the hills. \"We are of Dol Amroth, chasing bandits, of which you are fortunately not.\"

Glinech looks around hard trying to pierce the darkness to see who approaches. He looks about to the others for their reactions but it\'s hard to tell he\'s content to remain silent and listen as the voice is confirmed he continues to listen the stranger speak the name brings more motion as it does seem to mean something to the young man perhaps in stories he\'s heard only however.

\"I am not convinced as quickly as you, Arashen,\" Gwendion says, stepping up from behind the man, ruby hilted blade drawn and held low at his side, \"I know no Gandalf of these parts and I am afraid your business is unfortunately not your own this night.\"

\"Speak of your reasons for being here.\"

\"Arashen--how do you know this man?\" Menelglir says, blade still drawn. \"After he has answered Hir Gwendion\'s question, tell me who he is and what you know of him.\"

\"And Hir Gwendion--he may not be of these parts,\" Menelglir says, looking to the Captain. \"Think of The Pony on our travels, and the customs there. But, I will say no more, so that this man may give us his answer without making up a tale based on mine.\"

Gandalf is clothed in a grey robe with a gnarled staff held easily in one hand. He glances at Gwendion as the man approaches with a drawn sword, \"I see the hospitality of Gondor has indeed changed when old men are met with drawn steel in the night.\" With a hummph he shakes his head reprovingly at the approaching Knight. \"It has been years since I was last in Gondor. I have come on a personal errand to view materials in the libraries of Dol Amroth and then Minas Tirith.\"

\"What is he /doing/?\" Gervais breathes, staring at the odd stick in the man\'s mouth. At the sound of his own voice - soft though it is - he flushes and shuts his mouth abruptly, lifting his chin with an attempt at dignity.

\"Do not think it a dishonor that I hold my blade ready for you, Gandalf the Grey,\" Gwendion replies, rounding him slightly, \"But in that old you may be, I do not assume you feeble in mind -or- body.\"

\"This man is no threat,\" sighs the Lord Tarnost, \"But the bandits remain.\"

He digs his heels into the earth and looks to Gwendion.

Arashen leans back in his saddle comfortably. Speaking over his shoulder, he answers his cousin as he observes the interaction between the stranger and Gwendion. \"I saw him in Ithilien when we returned from the Poros campaign. I did not speak to him, but the officers seemed to welcome him. He moved freely about our camp, at least.\"

Evenly, Gwendion answers Calavorn, ere Gandalf speaks, \"Your opinion is noted.\"

\"You say you go to Dol Amroth?\" Menelglir asks of Gandalf--with a quick nod of his head to Arashen\'s answer. \"Then I say come with us, be you bandit or library scholar, and let the judgment of Prince Imrahil be our guide as to your true identity.\"

\"Hir Gwendion--will that suffice? There is another of the High Guard here to ensure that this is enforced.\"

Gandalf chuckles at Calenloth, \"Ah yes you are right about the scent of Dragons young lady.\" Gandalf replies cryptically before turning to reply to Gwendion. \"Well at least you are wise in that evaluation sir, looks can often be deceiving. Ah what land am I from. You might say that I am from many lands and none. I answer to lord of this realm or any other upon middle earth.\"

The blue squire, seen and not heard, as squires ought to be, sits silently and listens.

\"If Lord Gandalf is willing to go on such a trek with you, and answer what questions our Prince puts to him, then, I think unless he is to volunteer any information of this place to us, he should leave.\"

Gwendion slowly puts his blade back into its home, \"There is murder and deeds most foul to be found too near. If he is part of it, the Prince shall see it soon enough. If he is not, best to escort him from this place before harm comes to him.\"

\"Will you go, with Sir Menelglir, Lord Gandalf?\"

\"Hir Gwendion,\" asks the Lord Tarnost. \"Who is to track these bandits?\"

\"No lord am I, Simply Gandalf will suffice, and yes I find that solution entirely satisfactory. It will be good to again speak with your fair prince. Until then, I have long been on the road and would enjoy some company.\" Gandalf replies to Gwendion. \"I would hear news of your realm, as we travel since it has been many years since I have traveled to in Gondor.\" He says as he turns to Menelglir.

Gervais nudges his mount forward and stops near Menelglir, whispering, \"... ... ... ... that everyone ... ... ... ...?\"

Hir Calardan pushes forth, \"I will join this man back to Amroth.\"

\"Of course, Lord Gandalf,\" Gwendion says, motioning him further towards Menelglir, \"Safe journies,\" a suspicious eye for the old man before he looks to answer Calavorn, brushing rain from his brow. \"For the bandits, if they were to returned, they have sped away already, with our shouts and standing in plain view. We will ride to the edge of the and look for fresh tracks. If there are none, we will wait for a time near the edge and see if they return. Perhaps, Menelglir,\" a glance to Calardan as he speaks up, \"Or the Marshall, can send hounds once they arrive in Dol Amroth.\"

Sheathing his sword, Lord Telpekhor nods to Gwendion, \"Aye, Captain. We have been obvious. But such is the nature of cavalry. Are these bandits ahorse or on foot? Perhaps a more stealthy sort of hunt is required.\"

\"I once had some skill in the woods - though past years have been spent at sea. I will be glad to help track them.\"

\'Gandalf the Grey, then--we will travel to Dol Amroth, and ..so will Hir Calardan...\' Menelglir looks curiously at the latter for a moment. \'And if you will hear the news, I would like to hear of your travels in Gondor and how you know our Prince, as you say. But our horses must rest, and so must men who travel, particularly if they go on feet. I think it will have to wait until morning. \'

\'Certainly, I will have men and hounds sent to you, Hir,\' he continues, glancing to Gwendion.

Finally, Menelglir looks to Gervais and shrugs, dropping his voice and turning slightly away from the others. \"... ... ... .... ... claims ... knowledge ... ..., ... of ... .... ... it ... ... truth. ... ... case, he has agreed ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... the Prince\'s ..., ... ... ... see ..., ..., ... ... is.\" He too, sheaths his sword. \'We must tend to our horses, at the very least, before we return.\'

Calavorn appraises his uncle before he returns his gaze to Gwendion, \"The Marshall will do as he pleases. Tarnost shall send assistance once the lands are levied.\" He turns to Menelglir, \"Bring the Prince our thanks, Hir.\"

The words are spoken without hesitation, so calmly that one must consider the speaker. There, a boy of twenty years, the youngest lord of Tarnost.

\"And I should stay behind, and tend to your wounded, Hir?\" Calenloth offers to Calavorn. \"If you are still in need of my assistance, that is.\" The young woman grants a small smile.

\"Safe journeys to you as well and good hunting.\" Gandalf glances to Menelglir and Calardan, \"Shall we be off then?\" The old man asks and his weathered face appears unfazed by his reception. Without waiting for a response he resumes his walk away from the camp his gnarled staff making a rhythmic tapping as it strikes stones or seemingly grass alike, his face lit as he draws in a deep pull from his pipe.

For Calavorn\'s comment of the Marshall, Gwendion says but, \"Clearly.\"

\"Very well. Arashen, with me. A pair of men to escort Lady Calenloth back to the village to tend to the wounded, yes. Any else confused in their tasks?\" he asks with a brief nod for Gandalf as he begins to take his leave.

\"I see,\" Gervais replies, his voice raising to a normal tone. He watches the old man start to leave, frowning, then turns to Gwendion. \"Sir, what shall I do?\"

Menelglir glances to the other High Guardsman, who nods. \"And I shall stay here,\" says the man, Hir Naldir. Menelglir, who has dismounted now, turns and hurries after Gandalf, leading his horse behind him and letting the others sort things out.

A simple nod answers Gwendion. Arashen gestures for his Squire to accompany him and prepares to depart when the Knight-Captain does.

Calardan seems drawn to the old man, riding up beside.

\"The days are dark as well,\" he admits to Gandalf.

Then, the trio disappear.

\"Douse the fire, Gervaise. We move.\"

The Knight-Captain gathers up his things and he too goes to find his steed and set off down the path.

\"Yes, sir.\" Gervais dismounts and tends to the fire.