Anadûnê - Númenor Free RP

[Moriel]

Anadûnê

“The Edain came at last over leagues of sea and saw afar the land that was prepared for them, Andor, the Land of the Gift, shimmering in a golden haze… And they called that land Elenna, which is Starwards; but also Anadûnê, which is Westernesse, Númenórë in the High Eldarin tongue.”
(Akallabêth, The Silmarillion)

“The land of Númenor resembled in outline a five-pointed star, or pentangle, with a central portion some two hundred and fifty miles across north and south, east and west, from which extended five large peninsular promontories. Those promontories were regarded as separate regions, and they were named Forostar, Andustar, Hyarnustar, Hyarrostar, and Orrostar. The central portion was called Mittalmer, and it had no coast, except the land about Rómenna and the head of its firth. A small part of the Mittalmar was, however, separated from the rest, and called Arandor, the Kingsland. In Arandor were the haven of Rómenna, the Meneltarma, and Armenelos, the City of Kings; and it was at all times the most populous region of Númenor.”
(A Description of Númenor, Unfinished Tales)

“They were mortal, still, though their years were long, and they knew no sickness, ere the shadow fellupon them. Therefore they grew wise and glorious, and in all things more like to the Firstborn than any other of the kidnreds of Men; and they were tall, taller than the tallest sonce of Middle-earth; and the light of their eyes was like the bright stars. But their numbers increased only slowly in the land, for though daughters and sons were born to them, fairer than their fathers, yet their children were few.”
(Akallabêth, The Silmarillion)


This is a Free RP for any location on, or time during the existence of, Númenor. Unless otherwise noted, all quotes below are drawn from Unfinished Tales. Akallabêth in The Silmarillion, The Tale of Years of the Second Age from The Peoples of Middle Earth (HoME vol. XII), and The Atlas of Middle Earth were also references in developing this thread.





Regions and Notable Locations of Númenor

Forostar (Northlands) – “The Forostar was the least fertile part; stony, with few trees, save that on the westward slopes of the high heather-covered moors there were woods of fir and larch. Towards the North Cape the land rose to rocky heights, and there great Sorontil rose sheer from the sea in tremendous cliffs. Here was the abode of many eagles; and in this region Tar-Meneldur Elentirmo built a tall tower, from which he could observe the motions of the stars.”

• Sorontil – A mountain near the North Cape second in might and height only to Meneltarma, and not bound by silence.

• Ondosto – A city in the southern part of the Forostar, with chief trades of stonecutting and masonry. It is located on the great road from Rómenna.

Andustar (Westlands) – “Rocky in its northern parts, with high firwoods looking out upon the sea. Three small bays it had, facing west, cut back into the highlands; but here the cliffs were in many places not at the sea’s edge, and there was a shelving land at their feet. The northmost of these was called the Bay of Andúnië… But much of the southerly part of the Andustar was fertile, and there also were great woods, of birch and beech upon the upper ground, and in the lower vales of oaks and elms.”

• Andúnië – A great haven on the Bay of Andúnië “with its town beside the shore and many other dwellings climbing up the steep slopes behind.” Initially the largest city of Númenor, due to the presence of many elves of Tol Eressëa.

• Bay of Eldanna – “Between the promontories of the Andustar and the Hyarnustar was the great Bay that was called Eldanna, because it face towards Eressëa; and the lands about it, being sheltered from the north and open to the western seas, were warm, and the most rain fell there. At the centre of the Bay of Eldanna was the most beautiful of all the havens of Númenor, Eldalondë the Green.”

• Eldalondë the Green – “Hither in the earliest days the swift white ships of the Eldar came most often, All about that place, up the seaward slopes and far into the land, grew the evergreens and fragrant trees that they brought out of the West, and so throve there that the Eldar said that it was almost as fair as a haven in Eressêa… Flower, leaf, and rid of those trees exuded sweet scents, and all that country was full of blended fragrance; therefore it was called Nísimaldar, the Fragrant Trees…Only here grew the mighty golden tree malinornë,... some were given as a gift by Tar-Aldarion to King Gil-galad of Lindon. They did not take root in that land; but Gil-galad gave some to his kinswoman Galadriel, and under her power they grew and flourished in the guarded land of Lothlórien… but they did not reach the height or girth of the great groves of Númenor.

• Nísinen/River Nunduinë – “The river Nunduinë flowed into the sea at Eldalondë, and on its way made the little lake of Nísinen, that was so named from the abunbdance of sweet-smelling shrugs and flowers that grew upon its banks.

Hyarnustar (Southwestlands) – “In its western part a mountainous region, with great cliffs on the western and southern coasts; but eastwards were great vineyards in a warm and fertile land. The promontories of the Hyarnustar and Hyarrostar were splayed wide apart, and on those long shores sea and land came gently together, as nowhere else in Númenor.”

• River Siril – “Here flowed down Siril, the chief river of the land (for all others, save for the Nunduinë in the west, were short and swift torrents hurrying the the sea), that rose in springs under the Meneltarma in the valley of Nooirinan, and running through the Mittalmar southwards became in its lower course a slow and winding stream. It issued at last into the sea amid wide marshes and reedy flats, and its many small mouths found their changing paths through great sands; for many miles on either side were wide whitre beaches and grey shingles, and here the fisherfolk mostly dwelt, invillages upon the hards and among the marshes and meres.

• Nindamos – the chiefest of the fishing villages in the Hyarnustar at the mouth of the Siril

Hyarrostar (Southeastlands) – “[Here] grew an abundance of trees of man kinds, and among them the laurinquë in which the people delighted for its flowers, for it had no other use. This name they gave it because of its long-hanging clusters of yellow flowers; and some who had heard from the Eldar of Laurelin, the Golden Tree of Valinor, believed that it came from that great Tree, being brought thither in seed by the Eldar; but it was not so. From the days of Tar-Aldarion there were great plantations in the Hyarrostar to furnish timber for shipbuilding."


Orrostar (Eastlands) – “A cooler land, but protected from the cold noeth-east winds by highlands that rose towards the end of the promontory; and in the inner regions of the Orrostar much grain was grown, especially in those parts near to the borders of Arandor.”


Mittalmar (Inlands) – “Raised above the promontories (not reckoning the height of their mountains and hills); it was a region of grasslands and low downs, and few trees grew there. Near to the centre of the Mittalmar stood the tall mountain called Meneltarma, pillar of the Heavens, sacred to the worship of Eru Illúvatar… The base of Meneltarma sloped gently into the surrounding plain, but it extended, after the fashion of roots, five long low ridges outwards in the direction of the five promontories of the land; and these were called Tarmasundar, the Roots of the Pillar… But for the most part the Mittalmar was a region of pastures.

• Meneltarma – “Near to the centre of the Mittalmar stood the tall mountain called Meneltarma, Pillar of the Heavens, sacred to the worship of Eru Illúvatar. Though the lower slopes of the mountain were gentle and grass-covered, it grew ever steeper, and towards the summit it could not be scaled; but a winding spiral road was made upon it, beginning at its foot upon the south, and ending below the lip of the summit upon the north. For the summit was somewhat flattened and depressed, and could contain a great multitude; but it remained untouched by hands throughout the history of Númenor. No building, no raised altar, not even a pile of undressed stones, ever stood there; and no likeness of a temple did the Númenóreans possess in all the days of their grace, until the coming of Sauron. There no tool or weapon had ever been born; and there non might speak any word, save the King only… The people were free to climb to the summit alone or in company; but it is said that the silence was so great that even a stranger ignorant of Númenor and all its history, if he were transported thither, would not have dared to speak aloud. No bird ever came there, save only the eagles. If anyone approached the summit, at once three eagles would appear and alight upon three rocks near to the western edge… They were called the Witnesses of Manwë, and they were believed to be sent by him from Aman to keep watch upon the Holy Mountain and upon all the land."

• Valley of the Tombs – between the south-east and south-west ridges of the Tarmasundar, “the land went down into a shallow valley. That was named Noirinan, the Valley of Tombs; for at its head chambers were cut in the rock at the base of the mountain, in which were the tombs of the Kings and Queens of Númenor.

• Emerië – The “chief region of the Shepherds”, a land of rolling downs and grass in the Southwest of the Mittalmar

• Rómenna – the great haven of Arandor, largest seaport of Númenor, 50 miles east of the capital Armenelos, the site of great shipyards. Many of the Faithful were either force to relocate here from Andúnië during the reign of Ar-Gimilzôr, or later drawn there by Amandil, and it is from here that the Faithful led by Elendil would flee the drowning of Númenor.

• Armenelos – the City of Kings, Armenelos the Golden. Capital city of Númenor, and largest, after the decline of Andúnië

Transportation

“In Númenor all journeyed from place to place on horseback; for in riding the Númenoreans, both men and women, took delight, and all the people of the land loved horses, treating them honorabkly and housing them nobly. Thet were trained to hear and answer calls from a great distance, and it is said in old tales that where there was great love between men and women and their favorite streeds they could be summoned at need by thought alone. Therefore the roads of Númenor were for the most part unpaved, made and tended for riding, since coaches and carriages were little used in the earlier centuries, and heavy cargoes were borne by sea. The chief and most ancient road, suitable for wheels, ran from the greatest port, Rómenna in the east, to the royal city of Armenelos, and thence on to the Valely of the Tombs and the Meneltarma; and this road was early extended to Ondosto within the borders of the Forostarm, and thence to Andúnië in the west. Along it passed wains bearing stone from the Northlands that was most esteemed for building, and timber in which the Westlands were rich.”

Weaponry

“Among the wrights of the Edain were weaponsmiths, and they had with the teaching of the Noldor acquired great skill in the forging of swords, of axe-blades, and of spearheads and knives. Swords the Guild of Weaponsmiths still made, for the preservation of the craft, though most of their labor was spent on fashioniong of tools for the uses of peace. The King and most of the great chieftains possessed swords as heirloom of their fathers; and at times they would still give a sword as a gift to their heirs. A new sword was made for the King’s Heir to be given to him on the day on which this title was conferred. But no man wore a sword in Númenor, and for long years few indeed were the weapons of warlike intent that were made in the land… In later days, in the wars upon Middle-earth, it was the bows of the Númenoreans that were most greatly feared. “The Men of the Sea,” it was said, “send before them a great cloud, as a rain turned to serpents, or a black hail tiped with steel;” and in those days the great cohorts of the King’s Archers used bows made of hollow steel, with black-feathered arrows a full ell long from point to notch.”

Sport and Seafaring

“Axes and spears and bows they had, and shooting with bows on foot and on horseback was a chief sport and pastime of the Númenoreans… Beyond all other pursuits the strong men of Númenor took delight in the Sea, in swimming, in diving, or in small craft for contests of speed in rowing or sailing... The hardiest of the people were the fisherfolk; fish were abundant all about the coasts, and were at all times a chief source of food in Númenor; and all the towns were many people congregated were set by the shores. From the fisherfolk were mostly drawn the Mariners, who as the years passed grew greatly in importance and esteem...It is said that when the Edain first set sail upon the Great Sea, following the Star to Númenor, the Elvish ships that bore them were each steered and captained by one of the Eldar deputed by Círdan; and after the Elvish steersmen departed and took with them the most part of their ships it was long before the Númenóreans themselves ventured far to sea. But there were shipwrights among them who had been instructed by the Eldar; and by their own study and devices improved their art until they dared to sail ever further into the deep waters. When six hundred years had passed from the beginning of the Second Age Vëantur, Captain of the King’s Ships under Tar-Elendil, first achieved the voyage to Middle-earth… Thereafter seafaring became the chief enterprise for daring and hardihood among the men of Númenor.”

“Above all arts they nourished ship-building and sea-craft, and they became mariners whose like shall never be seen again since the world was diminished; and voyaging upon the wide seas was the chief feat of adventure of their hardy men in the gallant days of their youth.” (Akallabêth, The Silmarillion)

Languages

The native language of the Númenóreans is Adûnâyê (Adûnaic). Quenya was also common among the nobility of Númenór, and its Kings and Queens had Quenya names in addition to Adûnaic ones. Sindarin was also an extremely common language on Númenor, as were Sindarin names for nobility, gentry, and places. However, a gradual envy of the immortality of elves and resentment of the seeming supremacy of their languages grew up among some Númenóreans, and in SA 2899 the twentieth king, Ar-Adûnakhôr became the first king to take an Adûnaic regnal name, and forbade anyone from speaking elven tongues in his hearing. Ar-Gimilzôr, the twenty-third king, outlawed elven tongues completely throughout Númenor. His son reversed the ban and took the name Tar-Palantir, but his daughter Míriel was not able to continue this trend when her throne was taken by her cousin Pharazôn, who renamed her in Adûnaic and forced her to marry him, becoming the twenty-fifth and last king of Númenor.

An Abridged Chronology of Númenor

SA 32 – Elros with his people and some Eldar sail to Númenor; he ascends the throne in Armenelos, founding the realm. A gradual migration of Edain to Númenor begins.
SA 442 – Death of Elros
SA 600 – Vëantur, Captain of the King’s Ships, makes the first Númenórean voyage back to Middle-earth
SA 750 – Aldarion founds the Guild of Venturers
SA 870 – Wedding of Aldarion and Erendis
SA 1098 – Death of Tar-Aldarion
c. SA 2000 – The Shadow falls on Númenor, and a division appears amongst the Númenóreans between the King’s Men and the Faithful
c. SA 2000 – Númenóreans begin constructing permanent havens in Middle-earth, such as Pelargir and Umbar. The Faithful tend to go north, and the King’s Men south.
SA 2251 – Nazgûl appear in Middle-earth
SA 2699 – Ar-Adûnakhôr becomes king, forbids the speaking of elven tongues in his presence
SA 3117 – Elves no longer permitted to enter Númenor, elven tongues outlawed
SA 3119 – Birth of Pharazôn
SA 3119 – Birth of Elendil
SA 3177 – Death of Ar-Gimilzôr, Tar-Palantir becomes king, Civil War, Prophecy of the White Tree
SA 3209 – Birth of Isildur
SA 3219 – Birth of Anárion
SA 3255 – Death of Tar-Palantir, Ar-Pharazôn usurps the throne from Tar-Míriel
SA 3261 – Ar-Pharazôn lands at Umbar
SA 3262 – Sauron brought as prisoner to Númenor
SA 3310 - Elendil, instructed by Amandil, continues to gather the Faithful in Rómenna, preparing to flee
SA 3316 – Amandil sails to Aman, is never heard from again
SA 3319 - Ar-Phrarazôn sails west and assails the shores of Valinor
SA 3319 – Downfall of Númenor, Changing of the World

Rules

-Please mark your RP as Private or Open To All. If you aren’t sure the privacy status of someone’s RP and want to join, talk to them first! The Minas Tirith OOC and RP Request Form thread are excellent places to do this
-Canon Characters: All canon characters are open to everyone. If it happens that two people want to write the same canon character, they are free to do so; all duplicates will be considered as existing in different universes and not interfering with each other, unless otherwise agreed upon by the players.
-Write in any year you please as is relevant to Númenor, from its preparation for the Edain the the aftermath of its destruction
-The above list of locations is by no means comprehensive, if you know of or can imagine/have created another location you would like to use, feel free!
-Please white out any short OOC comments at the bottom of your post; longer discussion should be taken to the Minas Tirith OOC or discord
-Please refrain from posting in overly bright/neon/extremely light colors, as they are difficult for some people to see and make reading your hard work challenging
-Icons and banners/images are welcome, but no moving gifs please
-Double posting is fine
-Have fun!

[Moriel]

Where Fire Sets
Mithlond. SA 32.
(Private)

The world was greatly changed.

In the fury of the War of Wrath, great destruction had been wreaked upon Middle-earth, and much of the western land: plains, valleys, mountains, rivers, lakes, and trees; cities and villages, spectacular mansions and lonely dwellings; once proud kingdoms; all now lay beneath the waves, the edges that once had defined them being slowly and irrevocably washed away. Soon they would be lost to history, and the memories of those who remained from the Elder Days. The world was greatly changed, too, in that there were far fewer of those memories left. Many answered Eönwë’s summons, and returned, or departed to, the Undying Lands with the Host of Valinor. Of those who did not, they scattered to the winds, fleeing the destruction, to find new homes, and establish new lives. Círdan chose to remain, and established the Grey Havens of Mithlond, from which to harbor ships, and guard safe passage for all who wished to sail. And when it became known that a new land was being prepared for the Edain in return for their allegiance to the Valar, an island far to the west over the sea, Círdan sought out his best and strongest shipwrights and mariners, navigators and pilots, to furnish and crew the fleet that would carry them over the waves.

Elrond looked sadly at his brother. Elros stood on the balcony of Círdan’s manor house, gazing out at the sea and the western horizon. The wind tugged at his hair, and at Elrond’s heart, for he knew that same breeze would soon carry his brother away from him. Not forever, not this time anyway, but there would be a forever, for Elros had chosen to live amongst Men, and with his choice, he had accepted the Gift of Men. One day he would die, in good fortune of old age, but die he must. And then… none knew. But then, Elrond suspected, they would be sundered for all time, and he did not know how he would bear it. At ninety years of age, they were both young, yet, in the lives that had been accorded to them- but Elros had so little left to live. Elrond still did not understand what had caused him to make his choice. He wished he could speak with Maglor. His foster-father might be able to explain, better than his brother could, why he had chosen a mortal life. But Maglor was gone, and they had to carry on as best they could. Elrond pushed away from the pillar upon which he head been leaning and strode to Elros’s side.

“Stopped sulking, have you?”

“I wasn’t sulking,” Elrond protested, but Elros was smiling, and Elrond snorted. “Are you ready, then?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. You could still come with me, you know.”

“No,” Elrond shook his head, “we’ve talked about this. I need to stay here with Gil-galad. He has need of all his supporters now, and I have a chance to learn so much from him, and from Círdan. But I can visit.”

“I know, I just thought I’d try one more time. I’m going to miss you terribly, you know.”

“What, you won’t be too busy playing king on some island in the middle of nowhere?” It was Elros’s turn to snort, and this ungentlemanly sound was followed by a booming laugh. Both twins turned to see Círdan walking towards them, having entered the terrace unnoticed by either.

“You lads are going to be just fine,” he said with a smile and a twinkle of his ancient eyes. Círdan was one of the few elves remaining in Middle-earth to whom that description could be applied. He had been born at Cuiviénen, before the Great Journey, and remained behind rather than cross the sea to Valinor. Though he had never seen the light of the Trees in the Undying Lands, the starfire of Cuiviénen was in his eyes, and they shone with a light unlike those who had come East from Valinor. “Elros, I have some news for you.” Elrond clapped his brother on the shoulder.

“I’ll be off, and let you two see to it, then.” They both protested, but he waved them off, and made his exit. It wasn’t that he was uninterested in his brother’s preparations or Círdan’s insight, but some days it was too much to be immersed in it. When Elrond had gone, Círdan looked back to Elros.

“I have found a guide for your fleet.” Elros looked at him questioningly, eyebrows slightly raised.

“I thought you had already rounded up steersmen for all the vessels?”

“Yes, and all of them expert at their trade. But I should like to give you a bit of extra insurance, and when she presented herself, I jumped at the chance on your behalf.”

“She?”

“Yes,” Círdan’s smile was broad, and there was an air of excitement about him just tinged with mischief. “I have found for you a guide whose knowledge of the airs of Ilmen is unsurpassed, and who has made such a journey before. One who is older even than I, and knows better the stars.”

“Nówë,” a voice admonished softly, underscored with a breath of laughter, “Is that any way to talk about a lady?” From a room just off the balcony emerged a nís, tall as the shipwright himself, with a fall of shimmering silver hair that fell to her knees, bound back from her face with a light braid over her crown. She was garbed all in white, with a robelike gown so light it almost seemed to float as she moved. Her eyes were merry, amusement flickering in their odd cobalt depths. Círdan took a pace back and bowed his head. Compulsively, Elros did the same.

“Tyelpelfindis,” Círdan greeted her, his voice full of respect, and this time she laughed aloud, a soft chuckle, and the light touch of her fingertips on his chin caused the shipwright to raise his head.

“I never could resist teasing you. Elros,” she turned to the peredhel and curtsied with a grace that startled him more than the action itself. “I will guide your ship to Andor. I am no great sailor or shipwright like my friend,” she smiled at Círdan, “but twice I have traveled the great sea, and the stars are my life’s companion. If by them I can bring you safely to this new shore, I will. And your father’s star,” this time she reached out to touch Elros’s face, “shall be the brightest light to guide us all.”

Elros stared at Tyelpelfindis, stunned by everything about her: her appearance, her words, her bold and gentle touch, the reverence with which Círdan treated her, and most of all her eyes. They were a color he had never seen before, a deep and fathomless blue, somewhere between royal and navy, and if Círdan’s eyes shone with the essence of Cuiviénen’s young stars, hers were alight with a starfire more ancient and unknowable, and yet bright as every star overhead at night. And more: it seemed to him that he could see in them the same light as that he perceived in eyes like Maglor’s, that had seen the Trees and reflected their glow. Twice I have traveled the great sea, she had said; older even than I, Círdan had said; and all at once Elros knew that he was in the presence of one of the Unbegotten.

“My lady,” Elros said at last, recovering his voice. He reached up to gently take her hand from his face. Her skin was smooth and young, and he could feel the strength in her hand, but was nevertheless compelled to keep his touch as soft as he could, as he turned her hand over and kissed its back. “It would be my greatest honor if you would guide my fleet. But have you not better things to do than concern yourself with the affairs of Men?” Again she laughed, and this time it was a rich and throaty sound.

“No, Elros, I do not! I know you are new to the race of Men, but I think we will see great things from them. From you. Besides which, I am homeless.” Tyelpelfindis turned and raised her hands to forestall Círdan’s protest even as he drew a breath to make it. “My friend, you have taken such good care of me,” she took both his hands in hers, and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “And I know I am welcome here as long as I desire. But this place is not my home. I do not know where is, but perhaps I will find it on Andor, and I find that I greatly desire to go that way.”

“Well then,” Elros laughed himself, finally recovering his humor as well, “It would be churlish of me to refuse such an offer, and to refuse a home to one such as you! As long as you wish, my lady, my new home shall be yours.” Tyelpelfindis smiled at him, and Elros felt he might sing.

“I am no lady, Elros.” Elros half opened his mouth to argue, but caught Círdan’s eye, who gave him a slight shake of the head and half a shrug, and he closed it again. After a moment, he spoke.

“Tyelpelfindis.”

“Just so.”

“Let us go together, then.”

“Yes,” she replied, “Let us all go together.” As they had been conversing, the sky had darkened to the blue-black that precedes night. The moon was visible in the sky, and the brightest of stars; a flash of gold over the water came, then vanished, and she stepped away from her two companions to lay her hands on the balcony’s smooth rail. Tyelpelfindis turned her head and her glorious eyes to the horizon, where the dying rays of the sinking sun lit her up in a riot of flames, the edges of her silver hair a coruscating crown of flickering red-gold.

“To the west,” she said, “where fire sets.”

[Baphởmet]

The Sun and the Storm

Rómenna, the Aradnorno Estate, SA 3254

(Private)

What was he doing here? He felt like such a fool. Balls, masquerades, cotillions, they were all far too fancy for him. Dressed as he was, a suit of the same color as one of those scarlet macaws the traders in the market brough up from the utter south with a plain white beaked masque covering the right side of his face, he felt like a jester ready to juggle balls and knives for the king. It was stiff and uncomfortable. He’d had everything fixed up. Even his hair was alien to him, wound up in endlessly intricate braids, each lock colored to match his rainbow explosion of a suit. His mother had insisted that, if he were going to go to something as spectacular as a masquerade then he must look the part. He felt like he was a part of, well something. He felt like a cat that had been dressed in a sweater. He forgot how to move, how to walk. Each step he took felt like he was walking on the moon. Númenyraumion was just counting the steps until he took a tumble and landed on his face. Each step he took increased his dread that the spill would take place in front of a hundred Númenórean nobles and he’d be shamed so deeply he’d be buried beneath the Meneltarma.

The closer he came to the estate, the more music he could hear. The song playing now was an older one but played on newer instruments. The song had to have been at least a thousand years old, judging from the timing and the lack of syncopation, but the instruments, a variety of strings, horns, and woodwinds, all developed over the last five hundred. An interesting admixture of new and old. But music, despite his passion for it, was not the reason the nimir had come to the masquerade and come alone. It had been decades, centuries since he’d been able to go out in broad daylight and feel safe. Often, he went out wearing a masque that covered the lower half of his face and his ears, but it chafed at his soul. He hated having to hide who he was, what he was. Yet the climate on the island of Anadûnê had been growing ever more hostile to him and his existence, an existence many in the capital saw as an affront to their mortality. He and his family were some of the last elves that lived here, and only because they had lived here so long that expelling them would have been seen as an ill omen.

Tonight, bemasqued and besuited, he could pretend, for a few hours at least, that he was just another reveler. Truth be told, he was not much of a partier, a drinker, or dancer, but cabin fever could be staved off so long. He had not participated in any ballroom dancing in centuries, he’d not have something stronger than brandy in just as long. Still, tonight was a night meant to be different. He’d heard that all the Elf-friend nobles were gathering here tonight; Lady Nellriel, the lady of Aradnorno, had managed to get everyone of influence, great or small. Rumors were that the king himself, Tar-Palantir, old as he was, would be making an appearance. Númenyraumion did not want to miss that.

The estate was vast, a sprawling expanse of elegant buildings all lit up in a hundred different lights. The manor, the crown jewel of the estate, was nigh a palace. How the ancestors of Lady Nellriel managed to create something that could out do the palace of the jealous kings and not be tried for treason he didn’t know, not that he’d seen the palace in sometime. Yet here he stood, a parrot about to mix with a hundred other parrots in an extravagant display wealth and prestige.

The lights! As soon as he entered the manor, he was assailed by such an array of lights that he thought he might go blind. The inside of the manor was a beautiful as the outside. Not a bit of carpet or flower petal was out of place here.

“Invitation, please?”

Númenyraumion had been so awestruck he didn’t see the doorman not even a full pace in front of him.

“Excuse me?” was all he could manage.

“Your invitation, to the masquerade,” the tone was notably less friendly that before, a white gloved hand held outstretched, expectant.

He gulped. Invitation. Invitation? Invitation! He pulled the heavily decorated piece of parchment from the pouch he had slung across his chest. “Of course, my apologies. I was a bit awestruck for a moment.” He handed the handwritten invitation to a very uninterested, stone face, clean shaven man.

The man looked at the invitation, then to the nimir, and back. A nervous ball began to form in Númenyraumion’s stomach. Why was the man looking so…?

“Carry on,” the man thrust the invitation back into his chest. “Next please, invitation? Lord and Lady Celondaer? I hardly recognized you under those masques. Enter, enjoy the party.”

Númenyraumion felt himself rushed through the hallway, spurred by a growing sense of unease and trepidation. Had that man looked at him that way because he was a stranger? Or an Eldar? Neither made him feel particularly safe. His bicolored eyes darting everywhere. No, no, he tired to calm himself. The tempestuous attitude of a single man was not going to ruin his evening. He had not come here for something so droll.

“Name, sir?”

Again, Númenyraumion had been caught off guard. “Sorry?”

This man, an older gentleman with thinning gray hair and a few liver spots, smiling congenially. The nimir felt a little more at ease. “Your name, that way I can announce your arrival.”

“My… my arrival?”

The old man smiled and chuckled. “Of course, this is a masquerade after all. It would not do that have a guest feel as though he did not belong.”

“That’s very kind,” the nimir said after a moment.

“I thought so, that’s why I was given the honor,” again the old man smiled, “that and I have a very good voice for these sorts of things. Is it just you attending? No lord or lady alongside?”

“No, no it’s just me. Do I give me name or a pseudonym? I’m sorry this is my first masquerade.”

“Really? I couldn’t have guessed.” The old man’s laugh was papery but warm and inviting. “Though I am surprised. You are an elf, right?”

“I, what? Wait,” Númenyraumion touched his ears. They were covered by the mass of colorful hair, “how did…”

“Your eyes,” the old man said, “colors like those aren’t found often in the men of Westernesse. So what shall I call you this evening?”

Númenyraumion thought a moment, then smiled. “Call me ‘The Fire of Motion’.”

“A fine name, sir, a fine name indeed. Follow me.”

He did, the old man was quicker on his fee that he would have guessed. He stopped at the top of a grand staircase. His voice boomed from there, surprising the nimir. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Lords and Ladies! I present to you, The Fire of Motion!”

On cue, Númenyraumion began to descent the stairs. There was scattered applause, more than a few people turned and watched him. There was a man in a tiger masque that even lifted a drink in salutations. Númenyraumion had never felt happier or more overwhelmed.