Lond Daer - Free RP

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
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In the early days of the kingdoms the most expeditious route from one to the other (except for great armaments) was found to be by sea to the ancient port at the head at the estuary of the Gwathló and so to the riverport of Tharbad, and thence by the Road. The ancient sea-port and its great quays were ruinous, but with long labour a port capable of receiving seagoing vessels had been made at Tharbad, and a fort raised there on great earthworks on both sides of the river, to guard the once famed Bridge of Tharbad. The ancient port was one of the earliest ports of the Númenóreans, begun by the renowned mariner-king Tar-Aldarion, and later enlarged and fortified. It was called Lond Daer Enedh, the Great Middle Haven (as being between Lindon in the North and Pelargir on the Anduin).


(Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth)



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The early settlement of Vinyalondë, or "New Haven" was established at Lond Daer by Aldarion of Númenor in approx 750 SA. Perfectly located as a harbour at the estuary of River Gwathló, it's primary function was a convenient timber harvest for the Guild of Venturers. Consequent deforestation of Minhiriath and Enedwaith incited hostility amongst the natives but repeated attacks by these ferocious Dunlendings could not properly see off the Men of the Sea. Lond Daer was frequently referred to as Lond Daer Enedh, serving as a middle harbour, south of Lindon and north of Pelargir, and it was effectively employed by Men arriving to support the Elves in the Wars of the Second Age. However Sauron ravaged more of the local woodland than the sailors had, leaving the land barren, and though trade persevered for a time, this slowed considerably after the Fall of Númenor. Tharbad evolved into the new power of the Greyflood.

Following both floods and plague which devastated the region, now Lond Daer little resembles it's former glory. A waterlogged ruin, it festers in the third age as one of so many barely recognizable remnants of the past. None now dwell here of great note and those who do dare venture through the haunted graveyard of stone works, do so at their peril. For memories are all that now remain, and not all memories are fair.


This is a Free RP thread. Feel free to RP your own stories, set in whatever time/year you like, as long as you follow a few simple rules.
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(Content of OP, courtesy of @Ercassie 🤗)
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Sep 02, 2021 12:40 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Uhta Halsad
Approaching Lond Daer


The muzzle of the beast broke first through the smothering gloom. It bellowed in it’s silent prowl the undisputed advance of a predator, and silence reigned, perhaps in breathless intrigue of this, the latest trespass. There had been no predecessor to their arrival in years now uncounted, and the ship might have gone utterly unmarked save for a pair of roosting birds, that took up to the sky, vomiting an eerie echo of alarm. Maybe the brute head of the ferocious figurehead had been enough to spook them, for the oars of the black-hulled carrack merely licked the cheerless depths of dark forbidding water. The vessel manouvred with a stealth that belied it’s impressive stature, all voices aboard were stifled. Maybe in awe of the alien landscape. Or in wonder at the motive of the Man who had mastered this cargo to such shores.

Uhta Halsad drank of their surround, one hand boasting a curved cutlass, to make plain his hostile intention in the foreign land. Not that he expected to find much here in the way of opposition, not in the first place. That would surely come in time, as word spread, as he hoped it might. Still, there was a nagging sense of being watched and the corsair would not have them look anything less than imposing. First impressions counted, particularly on your first venture as Captain. Being raised in Umbar had taught him the benefits of offence as a sure defense. In the young man’s experience, if your very visage discouraged folk from daring to stand up to you, then half of your job was managed by sheer reputation and rumour, before you ever were required to lift a finger. That sort of thinking was enough to raise a smile in his round, sun-painted face.

What depth do we have ?” he broke the silence, and was assured enough that he ordered the ship fold her sails, like a bird tucking away her wings. Oars were resumed, as was the dare to allow their steady stroke, prodding the sleeping titan of the ghost town. The ship itself was named the ‘Spectre’ and was one of three crafted by the Gameela logging industry. While Uhta’s father was abroad, caught up in clandestine occultist endeavours, the pirate’s mercenary mother Jenahda had oiled the allegiance with their affluent neighbours. Jenah’s father was a chieftain of the Jackal tribe which scavenged Far Harad, and had paved the way for Kfir Gameela to obtain much timber of the southern jungle, in return for the schooling of her three sons on the high seas. After just as many years as the students and their instructors could manage alike, the Halsad triplets had been rewarded with a command each their own.


Matsu, the eldest, had wasted no time in naming his the ‘Scourge’, taken from that young man’s own nickname (which he had himself insisted folk call him). Keket, middle child, had elected for the ‘Scythe’, and established a trend in accordance to his brother’s flagship. Uhta had desired to call his craft, in his turn, the ‘Spook’, for the supernatural was as fearful to the youngest triplet, as anything upon the earth, or sea. But he had been encouraged to tweak this toward ‘Spectre’, which he was assured, would strike fear in the heart of a far wider audience. Uhta cared little for the specifics of language, but found his ship had been dubbed in paint as his brothers’ decided, and had yet to get around to altering the fact. Still the ‘Spook' he called her, to himself at least. Thus was each ship granted new identity, as much as ever their respective Captains, though all three bore the same brutish and identical figurehead of a snarling jackal, a condition of their grandfather’s involvement.


Jackals were not indigenous to Lond Daer, and indeed the climate convinced Uhta why the inhospitable land was empty, of nigh all life. Death though lurked here in droves. It whispered in the wind that left it’s moistened handprint on the sailors’ skin. It stared impassively out of the gaping crevices, forgotten doorways and glassless windowframes. The half-crumpled carcasses of buildings and the broken bridges, like skeletal spines that rose out of the dark tide, .. the tapestry of neglect fanned out all along both banks of the almighty Greyflood river. An avenue of black-barked trees extended their clawing reach, with thin twitching limbs that gestured abruptly in the breeze like an arthritic conjurer.

The ‘Spectre’ did not stall but stared back, emanating a primal vulgarity of disrespect for the failed attempt to civilise this bellicose domain. A hush bore as testimony to the dregs of defiance. Lond Daer was a long abandoned battlefield, which had been fought over until there was naught left to entice further conflict. Well, that was about to change, now that Uhta was arrived. He had been sent hither with a purpose, with a clear goal. And Lond Daer was about to find that even at the state it had been warped unto, war was not yet quite done with her.



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Gwandhyra Harion
Wandering, .. thereabouts …

Almost as though compelled to present another faction, to ensure that dissension was ever the flavour of Lond Daer, … a lone figure came at last to reason for his long and lonely watch. The Ranger had never laid his eyes about a corsair ship before, but there was no mistaking that this hulking beast of malice was the advent of some new storm to rain down upon the ancient harbour. Gwandhyra wound the stained hood of his weather-beaten cloak so that it capably shrouded his features. Just as surely as the long unlooked for sight had cast a shadow over the Man’s heart. He had encountered the sigil of the jackal before. Last time he had scarcely lived to tell the tale. Last time he had lost … everything. Now that he had finally recovered some semblance of a life, of things that would matter if he were to lose them, now the menace from his past had exhumed all his worst fears.


History has a terrible way of repeating itself, after all. And every action has a reaction, a consequence. The Gondorian exhaled a curse not heard outside of Harondor for some twenty years. The south had ventured to remind the north what lay beneath, beneath the thinly layered pieces of recovery from an abhorrent beginning. Would there ever come an end to such an emnity ? Not when darkness follows light as dusk will follow dawn. And so the world goes on …
Last edited by Ercassie on Thu Sep 02, 2021 12:25 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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(OOC note; I have updated the OP to include rules and fancy content. Doesn't effect anything already posted though)
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Gladhron and Gwestion

"But we don't know that, Gladhron!" Gwestion protested, walking alongside his brother as the two traveled, a pair of horses trailing along after them. "Our sister has some skills in fighting. We saw evidence of that, remember, and she has always been rather good with a bow and a sword." the young man pointed out. "She may well still be alive, somewhere--"

"It has been two years, little brother, nearly." Gladhron interjected. "I wouldn't get my hopes up to high, were I you, of ever finding her again. Much less of finding her alive." He spoke less optimistically than his younger brother. "It would be wonderful, were we to find her again, but it is very unlikely by now. And you know that Gwilithiel would not have us wasting our entire lives searching for her in vain. There are other matters to attend to, now."

Gwestion kept his jaw clenched shut. He knew that to argue with Gladhron was like arguing with a rock. But he was not going to give up on their little sister, as Gladhron would have them do. He was determined that he would search the entire land until he found some sign, one way or another. If she had been killed, he wanted to know that at least; for closure. But if she were alive, he would do all in his power to rescue her from whatever prison she was in. Still, the brothers could not seem to agree on the matter.

The brothers walked on in silence, leading their horses, for a long way as a mist threatened to swallow them up if they ventured too far from one another. Then, suddenly, a distant bird cry shattered the silence. Gladhron stopped. Gwestion looked up from under the hood of his cloak. "What is it?" he whispered, peering through the gloom. He could barely make out the shapes of the broken parts of what was once a bridge, but he knew something else had startled the bird, and it was not the brothers, for it was further away than where they were.

"I am not sure," Gladhron replied softly. "Let us move closer, but quietly." The brothers paused to tie their horses to a nearby tree. "Whatever is ahead may be dangerous." He made sure his sword was ready, in case of danger, and crept forward more cautiously.

Gwestion squinted through the darkness as he peered ahead, intently. Was that a ship he saw? Frowning slightly, the young man followed his brother, as silently as he could manage. His own hand strayed briefly to his sword hilt, but he had no need to draw it at this time. He moved to one side, separating from his brother so that they came toward the shore from different directions. He thought it might be useful to flank the possible enemy from each direction, though he had no idea who they were dealing with, at this time. It could be some innocent ship that had gotten lost somewhere on its way to the Gray Havens, though he seriously doubted it. The shape he saw through the mist had a menacing look about it, though he couldn't tell much about it from here.

As he took one careful step after another, doing his best not to make any noise, a sudden sound startled the young man. He froze in his steps at the sound of a curse uttered from somewhere just ahead of him. Did the ship have enemies already waiting on the shore, or did they post spies ahead of time to fight off any foes who may try to intercept it? Gwestion's blue-gray eyes searched the darkness ahead of him, trying to find where the man was hiding. One hand rested on his sword, tensed and ready to defend himself if he must. Where was Gladhron? Was he still within range to hear if Gwestion called for help? He took a quick glance toward the direction he'd last seen his brother, but he didn't see him anywhere. Well, perhaps he was on his own. He debated whether to speak out and confront the stranger, and demand that he show himself, or just wait and see what happened. He preferred stealth, so he decided to go with the latter.

That is, until a bird nearby suddenly noticed the person standing nearby, and took off in fright. Gwestion cringed slightly at that, and had a feeling this would give away his position to the other man. He gripped his sword hilt, preparing to fight if he must, his heart racing with the prospect of danger.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:55 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Gwandhyra Harion
Many Meetings. In the mist.


The hulking vessel stole all thoughts of the Man. It robbed him seemingly of all warmth also, for he shivered, as though some iced bone had trawled like an insect down the length of his spine. His own curse echoed in his ear, all sound amplified by expectation. Apprehension. He was as reluctant to move as he was to stay stood as he was. Where he was. Alone ? He felt at once both alone and exposed for all to see.

The clap of bird’s wing close by gave him cause to startle, and Gwandhyra’s dark hair cloaked his pale face as a low crouch took him to grasp the ground in both his hands. It was cold to the touch. Cold and crumbling. And he might have begrudged the instinct to cower, here of all places. In a land which had stood once a pinnacle of his peoples’ ambition, pride, success. No more. Still, finding his head bowed, his knee bent, the Man rose on principle, gathering a hunting knife from where it had been stowed. The thicket of mist swallowed his dramatic reveal. It rendered him near blind, or else devoured all the world around him until there was naught to see.

The sole consolation he might muster to bestill the hammer of his heart, was that any else cast adrift in the same tide of fog, would surely prove as affected as himself. Slow as ever silence dictated, he unearthed the sword of his ancestors, so that the great blade which rose forth in his free hand soon shamed the humble, and battered scabbard which none would imagine housed such awe. As eyes proved here little use, the Ranger turned to ears to guide each hand. He was so absorbed in moving without any sound which may betray him, that he heard not the soul who was far easily more practiced in the art.

In the very same moment that Gwandhyra leant his knife against the side of Gwestion’s neck, he was spared the triumphant crow of some witty remark. The Man of Gondor slumped in some amazement toward the strange Man’s shoulder, as a voice brought words, and no sight of their speaker, to the promise of a fray.

You are lost,” the surround informed them, like a distant storm beheld on the horizon. There, but not yet breaking upon those within his reach. “Lay down your arms,” the disembodied voice added solemnly and then, with a sigh and a good deal of frustration at his own self, repeated the command in Common speech.

Gwandhyra gave a wry grin without relaxing his stance against the man at hand. Never thinking but that the Elf – for hopefully his mysterious unseen aide was an Elf - was here to succour him rather than the Strange man he had found.

You had better do as he says,” the Ranger suggested to Gwestion, marrying an odd but deliberate blend of accents to cloister his own origins. He at least had recovered his humour, recognising the presence of an ally, in the moment that he were faced with an unknown threat. “Then we may better see what we have caught here.” the man proposed, already scrutinising the stranger at hand as far as he could in the miserly light. And utterly unaware that the unseen Elf believed he had caught Gwandhyra, as well as the strange man he himself had caught (Gwestion).
Last edited by Ercassie on Thu Sep 02, 2021 9:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gwestion

The noise of the bird taking flight was still echoing in Gwestion's ears, sounding far too loud for his liking. Then many things happened, seemingly at once, or else very quickly following one another. The young ranger suddenly found that the man he had thought he was sneaking up on had actually turned the tables on him. Gwestion thought he heard the sound of a blade drawn, or perhaps two, nearly all at the same time, which made it harder for him to be sure how many blades were drawn. 'Did I just walk into an ambush?' The young man wondered, just before feeling the cold blade to his throat. He tensed, swiftly thinking about the best thing to do in this situation. Through the fog he could make out a hooded man before him, but he couldn't make out any features of his face. And there was another person, nearby. He heard a soft voice of..was than an elf? He couldn't quite tell, as he could not see the speaker, but they had spoken in elvish first.

Gwestion's eyes searched through the fog to find where this other speaker, while listening. Were they referring to himself as being lost? Or, perhaps the other man? Gwestion was ordered to lay down his arms, which was reinforced by the stranger who had a knife to his throat. Gwestion's heart raced as he assessed his situation. He was far too young to die now, and very much did not want to. He might be able to get the knife away from his throat, if the man were distracted, but there was also the risk of cutting his throat by accident, in the process. He could try to draw his own weapon and fight, perhaps, but then there was that ship, and if this man was with them, he might be able to call for allies from it. Should he surrender? And face...what? Being questioned, perhaps tortured..and possibly killed without a chance to fight?

Gwestion couldn't tell by the way the stranger spoke where he might be from. His manner of speaking didn't quite sound right, to be a ranger, yet Gwestion couldn't determine what sort of place he might have come from. However, the man's comment about seeing what he had caught annoyed Gwestion. He thought he'd been caught already, did he? 'Not yet, I'm not...' He thought, defiance flaring up against accepting that he had been captured by these unknown enemies. "You have caught nothing yet," He replied softly, and acted swiftly after, hoping not to give them a chance to prepare for his move. Hoping the man, feeling confident in thinking he had captured Gwestion, was distracted enough for him to succeed in his attempt, Gwestion flung one wrist up to strike the other's in a motion to knock the weapon safely away from his throat, taking a step back while the other hand reached to draw a weapon of his own. He couldn't be sure where the other enemy was in all of the mist; It was hard to be sure of very much, with hoods shrouding faces and mist shrouding everything else around them, but he knew the man with the knife was right in front of him. Gwestion's main thought right now was getting out of this tight spot he had found himself in.


Gladhron


Crouching behind a bush, Gladhron watched the ship move silently through the waters. It should not be there. He couldn't quite think of where it might have come from, partly because he could not make out very much about it in the fog. Yet, he knew it was not one of the ships of the elves, and did not belong here. Its purpose for being here, he did not know, but he was sure it was not a good purpose. Venturing close enough to make out the figure head on the ship. The young man frowned. What sort of creature was that? Some sort of wolf? He had not traveled very far past the borders of Rohan, so had never seen such a creature as that before.

Retreating back toward where he had last seen his brother, he walked softly. At first, his thought was to sneak up on his little brother and have a little fun with him, despite the serious situation. He considered Gwestion to be still 'learning the ropes', although he had proven he could do just as well as Gladhron, in stealth and other matters. Yet, when Gladhron approached where he believed his brother to be, he heard various sounds which he did not expect. Someone informed..someone that they were lost, though he couldn't see who had spoken thus. Swords were drawn, and low voices spoke of laying down arms and someone being captured. And that someone may have been Gwestion. As swiftly and silently as he knew how, Gladhron ducked behind the nearest tree so as to stay out of sight. He couldn't tell anything about the people involved, but he heard Gwestion's voice briefly among them, stating that he had not been caught yet. Yet. Gladhron could only guess the worst; that some enemies had been lying in wait on the shores and had captured his little brother while he was investigating the ship.

He was a little worried, although he knew his brother could handle himself. Still, they had not expected to encounter any other person here. It could be someone from that ship yonder. And he was sure that they were enemies, therefore it seemed entirely likely that these on the shore were also enemies, particularly given the words that he had overheard. He had no idea how many enemies there were at hand, but if Gwestion was outnumbered, he might be in serious peril. Gladhron knew he must do something to assist his brother. That's what big brothers are for, isn't it?

Coming to a decision, the ranger eased his own blade from its sheath. He held it ready in his hand as he stepped out from behind a tree, moving forward with all possible stealth, his heart hammering as he thought of all the ways this thing could turn out, some of which being rather unpleasant. As he moved through the fog toward those he believed were enemies, his eyes finally made out the shape of someone; a slim person, which at first he thought might be Gwestion, but as he drew closer, saw that this person had pale hair, and wore colors which he knew Gwestion was not wearing. This was the enemy, then. And he was turned away from Gladhron, aiming a bow at someone. Gwestion, most likely.

With his heart pounding in his ears, concerned lest this situation should turn to their disadvantage, Gladhron took a large step to close the distance between himself and the person whom he believed to be threatening his brother, whereupon he put the point of his sword against their ribs, enough that they should feel the blade at their back, too close for the archer to turn and shoot him, he estimated. "Nay, it is you who are lost," He spoke in a soft voice, with almost a tone of amusement. Glancing to see where the other had been aiming his bow, he now saw a figure holding a sword which was most certainly nothing which Gwestion had ever owned. Gladhron paused as he realized his mistake, and now wondered where in all of this his brother might be. Hopefully, he was not injured or otherwise harmed. "And where is this other, which you spoke of capturing?" He asked, a little harder edge to his voice. If his brother were harmed, someone would be paying dearly for it.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
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'Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him'

(Lothlorien, The Fellowship of the Ring)


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Gwandhyra Harion and Celedir
Lond Daer.

Nothing .. yet ..Gwandhyra returned with some humour toward the man he had ‘caught’. He might have offered yet more mirth at this fellow titling himself ‘Nothing’, save for what sounded like a second intervention not too far away. His Elvish ally (the Southerner assumed at least) had clearly been accosted himself, for a further (fourth) voice had now entered the fray. The odds of this unlikely circumstance threw new light, which was to say cast all into confusion, regarding friend or foe. The veteran Ranger was already thrown offguard some as a consequence, even before the youth capably manouvred out of any immediate harm. Gwandhyra scarcely felt his own arm cast aside, knife clutched the tighter for all that it had no need save to not fall. Now he brought his other hand up by proxy, brandishing the great sword higher to dispel the pup, there was now good cause to stall and gather what he might of what in fact was occurring. Slow breaths pumped his chest as he raised the almighty weapon of his ancestors before him, to deflect any return threat.

Nothing yet … though perhaps you may one day come to be something of worth,” the grizzled man mused moments later, when he might have tired, or else relented concerns. Administering a lazy, back-handed scratch with his knife about his lantern jaw. “If you live long enough ..” he added, throwing out in Sindarin himself now to urge the Elf come back to play. Or Elves.


Nay, it is you who are lost …

A fourth voice, an unexpected foe. Celedir blushed crimson as though Tirindo had been here to witness the younger Elf's failure. Perhaps Celedir had been hit in the head more times than he had registered, by the last men he had encountered. His hearing was clearly affected. Although, admittedly, he had been so concerned on the first two men that a single other might have been dismissed as the lesser of the two ‘evils’. Potential evils. The Elf relaxed his tools as Gladhron declared himself friend, not foe. He cast a wary glance over one shoulder even as his bow arm fell lapse into the muted glow of his silhouette. And then he laughed.

You are not wrong there,” the Immortal’s fair head shook to sides in his honest admission. “And yet, we are all found as much as lost. Your arrival is both timely and fortuitous, if not expected. For you are Rangers, are you not ?


To be fair, he was basing an awful lot on sight here. But he’d seen the likes of these strangers before, they looked something like the Rangers he had seen in the valley. Or indeed they looked unlike to the men whom he had been evading, anyway. Desperation had driven him out to discover more, for he was nigh out of all other options. Else he would never have dared out from his hiding place at all, but to seek for their aid. He could not imagine what he might look like to them, and it had been a thought unconceived until now. The lightweight white garb which he had rode out from the valley in had been since soiled by mud, and blood in places. Parts of the more superfluous material had been ripped off to stem bleeding at various points over the last few days, revealing now a grazed elbow, one exposed thin ankle. And other parts of his once pristine clothing had been ungraciously torn without need, but from duress. His hair was more tangled string than silken stardust and his lip was swollen on the left. Still his eyes were bright, and his face glad, beneath the yellowing bruises that lit up high cheekbones. Rangers after all, meant aid, of a kind. Admittedly he had never spoken to a Ranger before now. And he might still not be, but he hoped it was so !

Regardless his merry release of relief was punctured by the Man’s demand of quite who he had ‘captured’. And as the answer to this was not quite known, or even possibly accurate, the young Elf did not know how to answer. And so he did not. Nor did he have to.


Gwandhyra’s laughter at that point startled several more birds, before he recalled that they all stood still in some state of peril, with the ship yet ghosting in the backdrop. The abruptness of the silence he then came to was as eerie as if he had become ghost himself. It might of course be fortunate that he could not be too well seen. For though his face bore no signs of abuse, the Man of the South was draped in clothes whose crumples betrayed far more nights sleeping on the ground than the unexpected Elf. His already dark cloak was stained so many shades of sodden that it was a worthy camouflage and the Man's worn boots had clearly been trenched so deep in mud that there were now tide marks that spoke of a harassed passage through the wilderness. His hooded face might have been similarly speckled by mud or else bristles of a beard that thrived in places without mirrors, or women to complain about for who knew how long. He let his sword hang low where it hovered between he and where the stranger had last stood, with a low nod of belated resignation about his shaggy head. Though if any had believed him cowed to fatigue, they would regret the assumption !

A right collection of fools,” he concluded, in answer and In truth. Rangers were so rare of course in such days that a one could spend his whole life traversing the same wild lands and not spy another of his ancient kindred for months, years at a time. Or if he should chance upon a one, it was not known they would ever then meet again after. The young man he’d discovered here looked lesser in age than himself, possibly even half his count of years if he was honest, though clearly garbed likewise as a nomad, now that he was afforded the chance to see properly. If not a Ranger then at least no novice traveller, used to drawing no great attention upon himself. Recalling the bird, Gwandhyra leant toward the first option. A Ranger then, though young. Tourists certainly did not tend toward such a desolated tourist trap as this. Until now … until the ship …



We might see better, out of this mist,” the Elf put in, with hope and dared to edge around toward facing his ‘captor’.

Confusion has made itself the captor of us all,” the Gondorian relented in agreement and in further answer to Gladhron’s enquiry. Though he contemplated holding out a hand to meet his recent ‘catch’ (Gwestion), he chose to not. He did stow his knife away from sight, though not the great sword. Not yet.

There is a tower, yonder,Celedir nodded in it’s neighbourly direction, to prove himself truthteller if naught more. “Unless you would rather the ship ..

None seemed eager to take up the latter


To the tower then !" Harion supposed. "At any rate, we ought not come at one another out here for all with eyes to see and ears to hear.” With a shrug he narrowed eyes to spy whatever tower the mysterious Elf had been holed up in. For who knew how long, or why ..

Follow with your ears, if Mortal eyes are veiled here,” the Elf suggested. “To where we shall all find ourselves and none be lost, stars willing. May I lead ?

He addressed this last toward the most latterly arrived man (Glahdron), raising now his bow clearly and harmlessly in one raised hand, the unspent arrow loose against his other palm. Rangers though they were, Rangers were dangerous by their own admission. He had no wish to be run through for the sake of good intentions. He might have been able to flee them on any other day but this one. Still, he had hope. He had to have hope. It had kept him thus far, against all odds. Long may it continue to do so. For all their sakes.
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Gwestion and Gladhron

Confusion was, indeed, abundant in the fog which seemed to be thickening slowly as the evening grew darker and gloomier, blocking out what light might have come from the setting sun, or the rising moon; it was hard to say which was present. Ordinarily the light of the moon and would have helped matters, casting light upon the land so that more could be seen. Tonight, if such a light existed, it was shrouded and smothered by the damp gloom that had brought about such confusion to the four of them. Still, in a situation with enemies at hand, the fog was just as much a help as it was a problem, for it would surely prevent their enemies from seeing them, if they could not even see one another properly.

Gwestion still felt tense even after the stranger had let his knife hand drop. Noticing the man didn't try to attack or engage him in a fight, Gwestion began to wonder if perhaps he was not such a foe as he had first thought. Even so, he kept his sword ready, in case he should have to defend himself. The stranger was still unknown to him, and for all he knew, he might be trying to get Gwestion to let his guard down.

Before the young ranger had a chance to ask who he might be, his brother's voice could be heard, replying to that of the elf. Gladhron sounded quite serious, demanding to know what they had done with the one they had 'captured'. Gwestion frowned to himself, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Gladhron must think Gwestion had been captured. Considering that was something along the lines of what Gwestion had thought was happening, moments ago, he didn't blame him for that misunderstanding. But what exactly was going on here?

Gladhron did not quite expect the elf to reply as he did, and was more than a little surprised to hear what he said. The elf had guessed rather quickly that he was a ranger. Rangers, he said. Then he must know that Gwestion was also a ranger, but where was his brother? For all Gladhron knew, Gwestion might have been slain by now. There was another man, somewhere near. Gladhron could hear him laugh; what was he laughing at? He liked a good joke as well as anyone(except perhaps his little brother, who rarely found anything funny), but he'd like to know what the joke was. A thick fog separated the brothers, though in actuality, they stood not too far apart. Therefore, the elf's suggestion of getting out of the mist was rather a welcome one to him, but he still worried about Gwestion.

Gwestion, in the meanwhile, had debated whether to speak up, or see how things played out. He was contemplating the words which the elf spoke, suggesting they remove themselves from the fog, when the man facing him suddenly laughed. It was a rather unexpected sound, and startled more than the birds. Gwestion noticed how the one he had initially thought was a foe now lowered his weapon. Gwestion followed suit, though he could not help but remain on his guard. One could never be too careful, he was convinced. Furthermore, who was the elf referring to when he suggested that they were rangers? Himself and Gladhron? Or the stranger and another? How many others were there, in fact, besides the four he knew stood here? There could be a dozen elves, perhaps, or a small army surrounding him. As thick as this fog lay about the place, he'd never know as long as they stood silently and did not speak.

Lowering his sword as Gladhron realized that the elf was clearly no enemy, the inexperienced ranger debated an apology, but did not get that far along in his thoughts before the elf was inviting them to follow him to someplace more safe; a tower, where they might shed some of the confusion which had beset them all. But there was still no sound from Gwestion, and therefore, no evidence to sooth the older brother's worries. "But wait... you have yet to answer what you done with my bro-" Gladhron protested.

"I am unharmed." Gwestion spoke up at last, to Gladhron's reassurance, a bit too late in preventing him from spreading information he might have rather left unknown. With a wry smile, he added, "What would I ever do without you to come to my rescue." Through the fog he stepped toward where his brother's voice had come from, revealing himself so Gladhron could see for himself that he was unharmed.

Gladhron started slightly at the sound of his voice, surprised as Gwestion emerged from the fog so close to him. He recovered quickly, giving a soft laugh. "If you think you have tricked me, you are mistaken." He informed him with a grin. "I knew you were there all the time, of course..." He sheathed his sword, seeming to have no use for it, at least not yet.
"Yes, of course you did." Gwestion agreed quietly, glad that the fog hid the rolling of his eyes.
"Lead on," Gladhron answered to the elf, in a tone far more friendly than before. "But not so swift that we might lose sight of you," Gladhron added, hurrying after the elf once he had set off toward this tower he spoke of. He knew that elves walked so softly that it would be difficult to follow by hearing alone, despite what the elf here may have thought. "This fog is far too easy to get lost in." He explained, trying to keep his voice down for fear of those on the ship overhearing.

The brothers both remained silent after that, until arriving at the shelter that they seemed to be heading for. Sheathing his own sword without a word, Gwestion paused to allow all the others, including the man with the sword, to set off ahead of himself, silently bringing up the rear of the group. He thought it possible that they might be walking into a trap where many more enemies lay waiting to ambush them. Thus, he felt it might be better if the brothers didn't go in together, just in case.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:55 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Gwandhyra Harion and Celedir
Seeking shelter, Lond Daer.


They fell into an uneasy procession, Celedir for his part trusting that if these Men behind him were not Rangers, if they were, in fact, foes; then they would have easily overcome him by now, when the one had got the drop on him. This was not entirely the most comforting thought. However their unusual introduction had made clear one thing at the least, there were two parties of Mortals at hand; a pair and another one alone. The Elf could see no point to their having pretended to not know each other. There was only one ship threatening the horizon, so common sense would reason that at least one of the unknown companies could not have come from there. Hopefully neither of them. For after all, Celedir had been watching the ship for some considerable time, from his tower. He had seen no one yet take to land from the vessel in that time.

At the least now, when he glanced at times, nervously behind him, it might seem as though he was checking that they had not lost him, rather than check that they did not intend any harm to him.


Gwandhyra saw the one man fall in behind the Elf, and glanced for better scrutiny at the other, his erstwhile ‘opponent’, for comparison. There was a twang about the way this newer arrival spoke, not so dissimilar to the first youth. They were of a kind together or he was a mewlip. At the very thought of such beings, the fog knitted a tighter mire which swallowed their feet all. The Elf was right. They could not sit in uncertainty and wait for who knew what else to leap out of the mist upon them !

The second stranger waited until the Southerner had taken up steps in his own turn, before then shadowing those steps. Gwandhyra might have rolled his eyes or laughed aloud again, at the feeling of being so ‘escorted’. But he was glad to not find both of the unknown elements at his unprotected back. Whoever these other men were, it would not do for them to be captured by the evident Umbarians, and be forced to give up his whereabouts. And if fates should prove that the pair were in fact not as they seemed at all, if they were scouts perhaps from the ship .. was a possibility he tripped over belatedly … they would be more easily dispatched in some concealed refuge where all should be finally revealed for what it was. At least he had never heard of an Elf working with Corsairs before.

The memory of a Jackal, of what it meant, as though such a beast had reared out of the gloom to bite him, made the Southerner flinch, and one hand caught at the wall to steady himself. The cold stone infected his skin with a soothing calm, and he took a couple of deep breaths, berating himself. Too late now to do aught else but dare onward.


The stairs wound up the height of a neglected tower, the echo of the Rangers’ vigilant steps gathering now to treble up their deceptive number. Celedir made no noise, for such is the way of Elves, and he marvelled at the sound of what sounded now near to a dozen men behind him. He fled as fast as he could not make obvious, to at least find them in the light, in an environment he had become accustomed to the last few days. He hoped there would come no cause to regret ever making himself known to them. Honestly, he had run out of other options until this calculated risk was all that remained.

By the time he passed through the door into a dilapidated, round room, it sounded as the men had closed some of the gap between he and they and one another. He could but hope they had not borne witness to his fleeting fear.

It is not much,” the dishevelled immortal shrugged, a little defensively, as though the tower were in fact his home, rather than merely his makeshift shelter. He gathered up and hung some dirtied rags over a series of wooden rails that he’d been leaning against, and indicated three large, and newly dusted, wooden boxes on the floor which might serve as seats. “Still it is a comfort to have means of watching, without being watched.” A nod signified the window where a sliver of space fractured the wooden shutters. The wind screamed through that crevice, no compensation for the glass which was long absent. “I have seen you in the valley before now, with …Celedir glanced at the older of the three Men but his face, which had conjured hope from even a sparse recognition, darkened suddenly, and Gwandhyra frowned, not least of all as he took in a better understanding of the state of the Immortal.


I have not seen you, in the valley,” the Ranger put out quietly, insisting on his own silent inspection of the refuge, as though he expected for Dunlending squatters to leap out from under boxes, knives in hand. The Southerner at length cast off his dirtied hood and the shadow of subterfuge gave way to a pair of potent, tawny brown eyes. “What brings an Elf here, alone and .. ?” The Ranger did not exactly demand an explanation, but rather allowed his doubts to explore the room, then slowly settle. Like dust after a gust of wind. He loitered close to the shuttered window, glancing out at what little he could view at intervals.


Not alone,” A gesture indicated the small gathering of Men and a smug expression raised Celedir’s smooth chin even as he shook his head. Liberated from the shroud of fell climes, the Elf’s feathered hair fell more clearly to frame his long face. “Now we are four, now we are not nothing. Now we are something !

The Elf sounded naively optimistic. After a short and somewhat awkward moment, Gwandhyra took his unspoken questions to the other Men. “I have seen neither of you pair, in the valley,” he put in, pointedly, inviting an introduction of their own part.

Take rest. And a seat,” the Elf bade all, as though to awkwardly dispel the atmosphere. “That we may come to know each other now where it is safe to do so. To start, I am named Celedir and I would not have any of you fine folk poke holes in each other outside, blinded as it were to the truth. Welcome clarity and put up your feet.” the kind invite, as close as he could replicate of ‘mantalk’, dwindled to nothing as he and Gwandhyra’s eyes met, across the state of that Ranger’s actual feet.


None here shall thank me for removing my boots,” the Ranger threatened in a grim jest, and moved backward protectively, against the wall. Indeed, he had worked hard to shroud a camouflage of the wild desolate lands he frequented.

You have questions,” the Elf smiled, selective of what he engaged with, and glanced between the two younger men as a preference now. “We, I think, all have the same, and most important, question on mind.

The shipGwandhyra watched the youths for a reaction. “What do you know of it ?” he wondered, if that telling would speak anything of they themselves, a subject just as compelling as what had seemingly brought them together.
Last edited by Ercassie on Fri Sep 17, 2021 7:24 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Gwestion and Gladhron

Bringing up the rear, Gwestion arrived at the door to the tower, glancing up at the structure. He had not even seen it, through the dusk and fog, and was surprised that such a tower still stood in these ruins. This being the first time the young man had actually come to this particular place, he was a little surprised to find that there was a tower here at all. It nearly seemed out of place in this ancient, crumbling harbor. Gladhron started up the stairs ahead of the stranger, eager to get out of the fog. While waiting to allow the other man to go first, Gwestion tried to peer through the fog, toward the ship. He had yet to see much about the mysterious vessel, and hoped to learn more about those inside it.

Once the brothers had both arrived in the top of the tower along with the other two, both young men took a curious look around the interior. The elf's words did not slip past Gwestion, who caught the term 'the valley' immediately, realizing he must mean Imladris, which his father had told him of, and had promised to take the brothers someday. He had died before 'someday' came about, however, much to Gwestion's dismay. Following the conversation, he also was curious to note that, in observing that the stranger had been there before with someone, this fact seemed to trouble the elf somewhat. He wondered what this could mean?

Gladhron smiled as the elf declared that he was not alone, now, that there were four of them and that they were now something. "Indeed, together we ought to be a greater match for any foe, than if we were each alone." He agreed, quite ready to consider these both friends and allies, despite his earlier misgivings. For they were all gathered here for the same purpose, it would seem, and to help one another would be wisest, rather than continuing in their previous confusion and mistrust.

After a moment of quiet, the unknown man addressed them, almost as if in accusation that he had never seen them before in the Valley. Gwestion regarded him somewhat warily, and did not answer. Not that he had any need to, for Gladhron spoke readily for the both of them.

"Indeed, you have not," He answered with a regretful smile, after a brief moment of surprise that the stranger had mentioned it. "Though you may have seen our father there, in times past." He added, perhaps a bit hopeful to find some connection, someone who may have known his father, perhaps even been a friend of his. "I am Gladhron, son of Gwedhion Delior, a valiant ranger in his time, and this is my younger brother, Gwestion." He introduced the quieter of the two, who was giving his brother what might be interpreted as a scowl of annoyance.

"You speak too freely, Gladhron." Gwestion muttered, in a vain attempt to rein in his brother's 'loose tongue'. He ought to have at least given Gwestion the option to introduce himself as he saw fit! It irritated the younger brother to no end when Gladhron did these things. Would he never learn caution?

The older brother rolled his eyes, ignoring Gwestion's quiet rebuke. He couldn't help a small grin upon overhearing Gwandhyra's response to Celedir's suggestion that they remove their boots and relax. "I must agree with him," He told her. "None would thank any of us, I should think, in that regard." He shook his head with a slight smile. "And I think that none of us shall be taking the time for such leisure, anyway. There are other matters more pressing, if I am correct?" At this he looked toward Gwandhyra, the most senior ranger present, perhaps as confirmation that he was right in his guess.

Gwestion meanwhile, frowned deeper still, unsure it was good for these potential allies to accept them so easily. Would they do the same if an enemy declared themselves friends, trying to work his way into their confidences? That could be deadly, after all, and something he kept trying to warn his brother about. "We are strangers to you," The younger brother pointed out, speaking at last, in a quiet, serious tone. "It seems to me that you trust us too readily. My brother has simply declared the two of us to be rangers, and you take his word for it? How then can you be certain that we are not enemies who have assumed the identity of rangers, to better deceive you?" He questioned, his demeanor clearly more solemn than his brother's. He didn't mean it as a challenge or threat, but as words of caution. His intense blue-gray gaze moved from the elf to the man, curious how they might react to this suggestion.

Glancing in surprise at his brother, Gladhron shot an annoyed glance at him as he tossed his hands up in a sort of 'why?' gesture. "Pay him no heed," Gladhron added to the others, with a slight laugh. Turning back to Gwestion he lowered his voice a little as he addressed him now. "What are you doing? Why would you say that? Do you want them to think us enemies?" He wondered, astonished that his own brother would say such things to those they hoped to have for allies! He turned back toward the other two, shaking his head a little. "My apologies, my brother can be far too... suspicious at times." He added, a bit awkwardly.

Gwestion gave his brother a small frown, wanting to say, 'yes, actually, I do want them to question us, and be sure that we are who we say we are.' Instead, he fell silent as the question of the ship was brought up, and remained silently studying the other two during the conversation that followed.

Gladhron spoke up in answer to the unnamed stranger, relieved to change the subject from the previous one. "I know little about it," The elder brother answered, "for we were on our way elsewhere, and spotted the ship out there and decided to investigate," He explained. "This ship," He frowned a bit as he recalled what he had seen. "I was able to get near enough to study it more closely. There is a figurehead upon the bow which is in the likeness of no animal I have ever seen before. I feel certain that it is some enemy, but I know not what enemy it might be. Alas, this is all that I can tell you, for I did not venture any nearer." He turned to Gwandhyra. "Do you have any knowledge of this ship, or its occupants?" He inquired, feeling a little troubled concerning this thing unknown to him.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Gwandhyra Harion with Celedir
Abandoned Watchtower, Lond Daer.

The round room brewed a collective forged of fate, rather than of choice. Still, all were curious enough to break words at least, and here they could do so without fear of alerting further ‘surprises’ to their presence. Swords were sheathed, in a manner of speaking. A period of sizing one another up was inevitable, and doubtless all those gathered here were more in truth than was obvious at first glance. Years past, ages now renowned, Men and Elves had co-existed and campaigned side by side, through the most epic chapters of their each respective peoples. But those peoples had both since dwindled and wandered from regular alliance. Men and Elves now viewed each other as strangers, as did Men and other Men, even of the same apparent ilk.

The two young brothers met the barrage of questions which were hurled at them, and returned the favour in kind. Gwandhyra observed how they answered, both in what they said, and what they did not have to. Gladhron made no secret of their being siblings, and himself clearly the bolder as well as the older of the two. He was evidently used to speaking for the two of them. The younger, Gwestion, seemed to wait on his turn, or rather to give himself enough time to concoct thoughts of his own upon each matter which he would then express, with less regard for alarm or etiquette. When he did utter some offering, it was as though hindsight which the other ought be reflecting too late. By waiting and berating the frankness of the other, he did not save either of them, but to possibly reveal only some contention that brewed far beneath the surface of they two. Perhaps not so far beneath after all, as the pair almost fell to bickering amongst each other. Gwandhyra glanced toward Celedir just once throughout this performance, but the Elf’s face was impassive. And the Ranger jarred to notice the bruising of that countenance, which he had failed to mark out in the fog. Here, the muted glow of an ancient lantern was enough for the eyes of his kind to discern greater detail. But when the Immortal turned to met his gaze, the Man span his eyes away, swallowing his questions. There were other issues far more relevant at hand.


One thing was certain, at least. Harion had not merely imagined his seeing such a ship, strange though it may be, within these waters. He had believed it at first to be some fell memory or half dream of an imagined dread. But the atypical appearance was the one thing that all gathered had in common, for the ship had conjured mutual curiosity and/or concern. Gwandhyra was not entirely sure yet whether he ought be relieved or perturbed by the fact.

The vessel is of Umbar,” he allowed, freely, “And it’s folk are known collectively as Corsairs, when they trek the waters of the world. ‘Pirates’ may be a word you would better know here in the North. In the south, those two terms have been long synonymous. Since the Kinstrife they have been our foe, fallen in with dread foes and revering their mutual fell motives. One of my own kinsmen sailed with Ecthelion of Gondor, and with Thorongil the brave, to besiege the harbours of their hostile city. We were led to believe that the strength of that Enemy was thenceforth diminished.” The Ranger cast his eyes to find the other Mens’ boots, as though he could not face his fellows when even uttering the grief.

But that was nigh on thirty years past now. It is my sad duty to assure you that they have begun to clamber back out from aneath their rock. The animal you saw,” he flicked a none-too-happy explanation for Gladhron; “it is a ‘jackal’. A wild dog, if you will, of the distant lands where such things scavenge and tear their own kind to pieces, for scraps. That should provide some hint of what I fear we are up against.” he sighed.

That the Man had no thoughts of the intruders having ‘chanced’ upon the harbour by some strange errantry or luck, was apparent in his tone. There was not a tinge of mercy or the slightest doubt in Gwandhyra’s mind, that the Umbarians must be dealt with, and by that he meant decimated. That even the thought of them ought be banished from Northern shores. The question though was the best means to manage this, particularly when so many factors of their strange scenario were yet up in the fog-drenched air.

You have walked the southern stretches of this world ?Celedir caught what the Gondorian had been too proud of his ancestry to omit.

I have walked far,” the Ranger agreed, in an effort to now muddy the waters of any hint he’d spilled. “As my boots shall clearly testify. Far enough to know that there are those who are not as they do claim, or even as they do seem. Why do you imagine that anyone has taken you at your brother’s word ?” The Ranger took his gaze to find Gwestion, who had voiced such doubts. “Noone has said yet that they believe you. There is no word which can not be a lie, as much as ever it may be the truth. Know then that I do not hold with what Men say and do not say. But rather with what they do, and do not. You harbour as much suspicion as your brother does courage. Both and neither one are any use when wielded alone. So I would advise you learn well from each other, and never believe that you are never wrong. For we all are, at one time or another.

Celedir ran this latest counsel over and blinked away the trial of trying to iron it into plain meaning. But the Elder man's advice and information had already concluded with eyes to regard Gladhron before Gwandhyra shook off what might have been a cold embrace of concern for his own part. “Now we can sit and test each other’s wits all night, or we can set our wits against that which must be handled," the Ranger concluded. "How would you suggest we make the best use of our chance encounter ?
Last edited by Ercassie on Sun Sep 26, 2021 10:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Gwestion and Gladhron
An abandoned watchtower, late third age


"Jackals.." Gladhron repeated the word thoughtfully, pondering over the information given by Gwandhyra. He had not heard of such an animal, but that made sense, seeing as he had never been to Umbar, nor to Harad. The description offered did not sound very pleasant, and if that was to represent what manner of men these on the ship were, Gladhron was more determined that they should not reach these lands unhindered. Yet, he was reluctant to battle them with only four against however many were likely to be on that ship.

"My answer is that we must ensure these foes do not reach their destination, else they may pass by this place unhindered and move on to trouble other lands, such as Tharbad, where they may gain control of the North/South road, and thus cause further trouble for innocent travelers. Left unchecked, they could become quite a menace and bring a great deal of trouble." He declared. "We cannot take such a risk. We four must do all in our power to stop these foes from whatever evil designs bring them to these shores. We must work together, of course, but as to the best means to do so... that may take some thought..." He paused, considering, while giving a very light nudge into his brother's side. Though it was unlikely, given that one is an elf, he attempted to make the gesture unnoticeable to the other two.


Gwestion had fallen silent, for a little while, deep in thought as he listened to the others. He gave a vague nod of acknowledgement when Gwandhyra replied to his statement. It was good to know, at least, that they were not merely being trusted blindly, however annoyed it might make Gladhron. It was some comfort to Gwestion, for if the man trusted anyone who says he's a friend, how good of an ally could he truly be? Even as he reflected on those thoughts, he noticed his brother 'bumping' his side slightly, during a brief pause in his statement of what Gwestion felt was the "obvious". With a brief sidelong glance at him, Gwestion understood that his 'gallant' elder brother was giving him an opportunity to voice his thoughts. Translated as, 'I can't think of a good plan, so you come up with something and help me out'.

Clearing his throat softly as he refrained from rolling his eyes, Gwestion glanced around. "If I may," He spoke again, softly, coming to his brother's rescue. "Perhaps you will all disregard what I say," He was aware that he was the youngest one here, and that except for Gladhron, they were both far older than himself. "We have an advantage on them, I think, in that we have seen them in their ship, yet it is unlikely that they have seen us... therefore, we can use the fog to our advantage." He added. "Stealth and confusion may be our best weapons against their greater numbers." He paused briefly. "Though I am sure they do outnumber us greatly.. suppose we utilize this one advantage we have, and somehow draw them out, a few at a time? Those could then be dealt with, by ones or twos, until we have diminished their number to better match our own?" He suggested. Having spoken his thoughts on the matter, Gwestion then fell silent, though his gaze passed from each person to the next, watching to see how the others would receive it.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Gwandhyra Harion and Celedir
with the brothers
Abandoned Watchtower, Lond Daer.


Gwandhyra, having said (more than) his piece, allowed in silence for the brothers to seize on what was shared. If they were not to at least try and work together, then they might as well all go their separate ways now, and fret amidst the fog of what and where all others might be brewing. If any amongst them wondered how the Southerner knew so much about their assumed invaders, naught more than the Elf’s surprise was said upon the matter. Gwandhyra lowered his blade, that the flat edge tapped against one leg, thoughtfully. A reminder that the weapon was yet at hand, as much to reassure his allies as threaten any foes.

You speak my mind,Celedir mentioned, with a nudge of his head towards Gladhron, approvingly. The fortune of his having run into what seemed like as many as three Rangers at once, was just one reason the Immortal was failing to seem as wary as his new acquaintances. As though a fog was lifting here within the ancient tower too, the forms of Men he had glimpsed had begun to form into more distinct shapes of character. Even as he watched. “We have enough nests of foul things already lurking about these lands,” he swallowed a discomforting sigh. “And those do not require any encouragement nor allies from stranger shores to test us

The Man come of those same strange shores leant glanced back through their meagre watch-window, bemoaning (though mentally to himself) that there only was the one. Enemies could easily creep up upon the tower from a direction the window did not gaze upon. They’d hear the rise of footsteps on that treacherous stairwell sure enough but then, short of each jumping out of the single window, they would be trapped. Gwandhyra broke out of his musings though as Gwestion cleared his throat, hoping that the fellow would not take his elder's reactions too personally. Particularly as the youngest amongst them proceeded to utter a good dose of sense.

I imagine that you are correct in this,” the Gondorian smiled, albeit as he tightened and relaxed his hold upon his blade. The youth had capably listed the assets they had at hand to thwart their noted foe. Moreso, he raised the point of numbers which, despite their celebrated gathering, still saw them likely short in comparison to the shipfolk. Gwandhyra rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, as the other man proposed a plan. Celedir, however, furrowed his fair brow.

Elves may see through fog as sure as day’s bright dawn,” he interjected, as Gwestion conjured a thought of providing some bait. “But the blood of Numenor are long since diluted from even coming close to that advantage. I worry for you walking back into blindness. Already you have come close to annihilating allies for the sake of seeing not what stands in front of you.” He ran a gauntlet of the gathered Rangers’ eyes before swallowing.

I do not mean to question your intention,Celedir ducked his fair head towards Gwestion, respectfully, “but would it not be wiser to keep watch and wait a while before plunging back into the mire of the unknown ? Or gather our own strength at least before we chance alerting them to our presence at all ? I might stay here with at least one of you, and hold watch, while the others go gather reinforcements from Imladris. For we may not know how many of them there are, but I never heard of a ship that size being managed by a number equal to our own. So yes, they shall outnumber us,” he agreed with the young stranger, at least at this last.

It is true that our chances of thwarting the Enemy would much improve with a swollen number to match their own,Gwandhyra allowed, in response to Celedir’s idea. “For the might of the Free peoples would come at them, then, from both head and tail But Gwestion is correct that the corsairs are still likely unaware of us as yet,” he considered their predicament and did not forget to fold the younger men into the conspiracy. “There are other ways than gathering up allies, to see the odds a little better balanced in our favour.

The Southerner could see there was a hesitance in the Elf’s steady silence, but he had to say his piece and disagree. “If even some of us stay here to observe on the Corsair’s progress, slow as it may be, then any others who may go a-seeking reinforcements shall return here .. only to find no Corsairs, no allies, for our having moved off in the meantime, in stalking them elsewhere. Thus to reap no benefit for all our reinforcements’ trouble in turning up in the wrong place !

Gwandhyra could see the temptation in the Elf’s idea, but sitting on his hands and waiting for others to arrive and ask him why they had not at least done something … that did not rest well within his thoughts. Gladhron’s bravado that they could in fact do damage to the Corsairs was infectious. More than that, Gwandhyra yearned to. Gwestion was conducting their minds toward a place of careful action, and still it felt .. not enough. Not to the Gondorian. It was beyond the fact they faced his homeland’s ancient foe. And yes, so maybe the deepseated want that he was teetering toward now, that was his alone. But really the only thing they’d all agreed on yet was that they ought ‘stop’ this alien ship from gaining any further ground in this land. He was simply taking the next step further from what had already been broached, was he not ? He could only voice his motion, as had each of all of them in turn.

The moment that even a few of their number are lost to them, they may decide not to risk any more,” the Ranger dove back in, avoiding Gwestion’s watchful eye. “And the same fog which would shield us, may also shield them if we lure them off their float. We can not control what or how many we may contend with on land, without knowing what or how many exactly there are hid aboard.

The Ranger strove to read his little audience, aware that he had commandeered the spotlight for some time now as though he had any more right than the others. Still they were listening. And if only to punch holes in his argument after, then they were buffeting closer with each option considered, toward one they would use.

So what if, some of us stay here as a backup and a watch, ready to run for reinforcements," he supposed, "while others of us use the dim visibility to sneak aboard the ship. Then find means aboard to slow or halt their passage utterly, so that then any of us whom do go for aid, shall know that our foe will still be grounded where we stay her until they return,” he nodded toward the younger brother, conspiratorially. "We keep them from threatening this land. Indeed, we cause them such confusion that they dare not leave their ship, and unable to flee upon it either. We shall learn far more of what is hid aboard that vessel, and they shall know no more of even where our base here sits. It shall not be without risk, I give you that, for those who set out to sabotage in secret. But, should the worst happen, there shall remain still enough of us here to go for help. Or come and help. If it should be that the few are caught, we are not utterly without the means to still obstruct them.

By speaking last Gwandhyra was humbly enough aware that he was tying all the thoughts already shared together with only a slice of his own thrown in to accompany the rest. It had taken all four points of view to conceive what he felt was a worthy plan. Finally he leant back, failing to properly conceal just how excited and eager the ideas were setting him. Perhaps it was the company. It had been a long time since he had debated his next move with anyone but the voices in his head, in the wilderness. Or it could be, of course, that other thing. The fact of vengeance, and the want .. nay, the need, to hungrily devastate anything that even dared incite the thought of Umbar ..this far north. Not while there remained blood in his veins ! But he could not do it alone. Who indeed among them could ?

"What say you ? Gladhron ?" he asked first of all.
Last edited by Ercassie on Wed Oct 13, 2021 8:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Gwestion and Gladhron
An abandoned watchtower, late third age


After having made his suggestion, Gwestion stayed silent and listened as the others gave their input, noting that his idea was not exactly rejected, yet it seemed the other man had another idea. Keeping his face as unreadable as he could manage, the young ranger filed away tidbits of information for later, listening carefully to the plan that Gwandhyra outlined, nodded slowly, thoughtful... He rather liked the plan which was suggested, as it would give them the chance to learn more about their enemy before it came to any fighting. Nodding slightly to himself, Gwestion considered the idea and all that it entailed. He believed his brother would be better suited for the job; as the older brother, Gladhron was more experienced and, often boasted of being more skilled in various things than Gwestion. Whether that was true, they had yet to prove. Still, he looked to his brother to give him the chance to either decline or volunteer to go along. Gwestion would rather not be left behind on "guard duty", yet he would do what was necessary if Gladhron decided to go with Gwandhyra.

Gladhron, meanwhile, could not help feeling pleased to hear approval of his words, coming from an elf. That must be high praise, after all. As the suggestion was made by Gwandhyra that they split up and spy on the ship, whilst the other half remain in vigilant watch, ready to ride for aid, Gladhron began to smile, nodding to show his support of the plan. He readily spoke up, voicing both brother's opinion as he replied to the thus-far-unnamed man. "I like it." He declared, once the man had finished speaking. "The corsairs would surely never expect such a daring move. Especially since they doubtless do not know they have enemies near." He grinned, intrigued with the idea of them sneaking on board a pirate ship. What sabotage might they contribute, to thus ensure the corsairs remained where they were, like sitting ducks waiting for an army from Imladris to come upon them? All the while the pirates would believe that their voyage into these parts had gone unnoticed!

Finding it unnecessary to repeat what his brother had just said, Gwestion added only what he felt was missing. "Indeed, it is a good plan." The younger brother agreed. "But there still remains to decide; which of us shall go aboard, and which shall remain to watch?" He inquired with a slight tilt of his head, curious whether Gwandhyra had anyone in particular in mind. Perhaps he intended to take the elf, whom he may feel more comfortable trusting, and leave the brothers behind... for although Celedir had been more in favor of keeping watch, he was still far more qualified for the job than any of the three Men. Unless, he reflected afterward, the man had been inviting Gladhron to accompany him, rather than merely inquired his opinion? In which case, he felt mildly disappointed, though understood as well, naturally, one would choose the elder brother for such a thing.

Gwestion's question set Gladhron to thinking quickly, assuming that it would be one of the two brothers to go along, for naturally, Gladhron thought, they would want the elf to stay in the tower, where he could watch the enemy. He alone of the four of them had the eyesight for such a thing, in this fog. Though Gladhron agreed with the older ranger's plan, he wasn't so sure he wanted that job himself. Observing the enemy's movements from inside the tower seemed a far more appealing task. But Gladhron certainly didn't want to appear too eager to claim it, so instead he took a moment to consider how to graciously decline and give Gwestion the job that he didn't want. With a glance at his brother, he saw that Gwestion had glanced at him, as if expecting him to volunteer. Just because he's the older brother, most likely. He turned to Gwandhyra, "I believe I shall step back, this time, and allow my younger brother the chance to accompany you. I have no doubt he would benefit from the experience," he looked at Gwestion with a smile. "Alas, you shall have a chance to investigate this corsair ship ahead of me." He said, as if a bit regretful. "As much as I would enjoy participating in this adventure, I shall let you have the chance. Seeing as someone must stay behind, ready to ride for help, I shall just have to miss out, this time. My horse is swifter than yours, anyway, which is an advantage, should I have to rush for aid." He pointed out, adding more strength to his argument for why he was the better choice to remain here.

Though surprised, it was all Gwestion could do not to roll his eyes, and decided not to point out that having a swifter horse meant nothing if he did not know the way to where he was sent to get reinforcements. Instead, he merely inclined his head in acceptance of the 'offer' before turning back to Gwandhyra. "Then I shall accompany you, unless our elven friend prefers to go along?" He glanced toward Celedir, offering a chance for him to take his place, though in truth he hoped he would pass. Gwestion would much rather go with Gwandhyra than to stay behind anyway, although it somewhat irked him the way Gladhron made it sound as if he were new at this sort of thing, and needed the experience. In fact, he decided it might be best to get away from Gladhron for a while. Gwestion found that his brother was beginning to grate on his nerves, as he was prone to do when they were in disagreement about some matter. Besides that, perhaps Gwestion might be able to learn more about Gwandhyra, this way. He still had no name to assign to him, but even if he had, that would tell Gwestion little about the man himself.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Gwandhyra Harion and Celedir
at the Abandoned Watchtower, with the Brothers


The debate was not quite done, but it was a different decision they must now move onto. Who of them would assume which roles ? Gwandhyra did not even realise he had relaxed, the exchange between the two brothers causing the stained Southerner to smile into his beard. Brothers. A sadness numbed the edge of the sentiment, and he spared a moment to ponder upon his own brother whom he had not seen for nigh on twenty years. Still a myriad of memories assailed him, as though they were leaned upon the door of the name, Addhor; and no sooner had Gwandhyra thought it, but the past was summoned. A myriad of memories indeed, of his elder brother telling him what to do, or assuming that he knew best, within any situation …. Or so it had seemed back then, so very long ago. As he might have expected, Gladhron, the eldest, came to a conclusion for both of the brothers before him. Either Gwestion were by now wearied of arguing, or else he was holding out to say he told them so, remained to be seen. But his fellow younger brother felt for him all the more than he had moments before.


I shall stay,Celedir surprised no one by agreeing with his own standpoint. “My eyes can see from here what it shall take you the going there to match, and I know the ways well to the valley, to our friends. Perhaps we shall all come to call one another friend, if we each dare to trust a stranger.” This last was not a question, but the Immortal hoped that it inspired thought as a response. If the two Men he’d never seen before today were in fact in league with the foes on the ship, then they ought not be allowed to report back on what, or rather who, they had found in the harbour. So, split them up. If Gwandhyra, though, was in cahoots with the Umbarians he seemed so very familiar with, then he should have the most suspicious of their companions to test his true condition. If naught else, Celedir could be assured that the prospect of spending time with Gladhron seemed the most congenial of all his choices.

Gwandhyra nodded his head mutely to acknowledge the positions of his comrades, for that was now what they must be. He might have remarked that they all assumed he would be one of the two heading for the ship .. maybe he had given off more of an impression that he knew what he was doing here ! Still, he was eager to see for himself what was on that ship, or rather, who. Meanwhile, an Elf would certainly be the better watchman or the most hardy to find their way back to Imladris if it came to that. And splitting the two mortal siblings up would half their threat, until he could properly determine if they were in fact a threat at all.

Gladhron’s generosity was not what the Southerner had expected but, perhaps tellingly, Gwestion was either resigned or resolved to his fate with no clear shock at all. Gwandhyra began to wonder if he might not have gotten more information out of partnering with Gladhron, but he could hardly use such a guess as reason to insist. Their plan thus fashioned, the Gondorian lit out and commenced down the winding staircase, assuming he need not call for Gwestion to follow. It was Celedir who raised a cry after him, to learn of some name that they might call him, at the last possible moment.


I am known in these parts as Gwandhyra” the Gondorian admitted, though it told them little for he was no hero or infamous warrior. His name was little known. What Elves he knew preferred his company for that very reason. “Fret not,” he met his new accomplice, a lone hand raised between them, before aught else might. “For I say you guessed true of me. Of a sort. And if you be of a mind to safeguard this realm from those might come here uninvited, and for ill, then you are in good company. That ought be enough for now at least.” Still it was not, quite, and never was.


Gwandhyra walked a line against the ruined ramparts of a fallen wall for shelter. Shadow blended there with shadow, to allow the younger man to locate his accomplice unobserved. “One thing,” the elder Man stopped short, and maybe with deliberate intent, as he then searched the stranger’s eyes. “You have a sword, do you not ?” he thought aloud, recollecting for them both how Gwestion had stood his ground when first ambushed. As though by way of suggestion, the vast broadsword, ‘Reaper’ caught in the rare glimmer of a chance of moon. It beckoned, an invitation. But toward what end there was only the one way to find out.
Last edited by Ercassie on Mon Oct 18, 2021 12:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Gwestion
Setting out from the abandoned watchtower, late third age


There was little else to be said as for who would be going, and who would be staying, for the choice had already been made for Gwestion as to who was to venture forth. He was pleased with the turn of events, regardless of how they came to be. This way, he would be better able to try and learn something of his new ally, and hoped to become more sure that he was, indeed, an ally. He had little preparation to make before he left the tower; he had not removed his boots, nor his cloak, or his weapons. With a nod of farewell to first his brother, then Celedir, Gwestion silently turned and began to follow his companion down the stairs. A sudden thought caused him a little worry. If Gladhron let his mouth run too freely, what might he tell in Gwestion’s absence that would be better left untold? With that thought in mind, Gwestion paused briefly in hesitation, glancing back when he heard the elf call after them. His inquiry reminded him of another matter. Indeed, what should they call the man? With his ears attentive to the reply, Gwestion filed away the name that was given, in case he should need it later. Gwandhyra. The younger man thought carefully on what he knew of languages, particularly elvish. It did not seem to be an elvish name, however, at least none that he could place.

Not expecting much conversation, Gwestion was therefore was somewhat surprised when the older man began to speak almost as soon as they had arrived at the bottom of the tower. He remained silent, listening until the man had finished. “...if you be of a mind to safeguard this realm from those might come here uninvited, and for ill, then you are in good company. That ought be enough for now at least.” The words spoken by his comrade brought forth a silent nod from Gwestion, the only reply for now, when the elder ranger glanced back. That ought to be enough to acknowledge that he had heard and understood. He felt there was no need for further speech. Following his new companion closely enough that he did not lose him in the fog, Gwestion still remained guarded despite Gwandhyra’s assurance that he was no enemy, and that the two were on the same side.

At his next words, however, the young man paused in his stride. The observation that he had a sword, followed by the glimmer of moonlight upon the stranger's weapon, made him wonder a little. “Indeed,” The younger man answered softly after a moment, uncertain what the man might be suggesting. He returned the stranger's gaze, wondering what to expect next. Had he been lured out here to be slain? But the way that was said, it did not quite seem like a threatening statement. And besides, if Gwandhyra had wanted to kill him, he might have done so before, when he had his blade to Gwestion's neck. Though, of course, if he was an enemy, perhaps the elf's arrival had surprised him... Thoughtful, he added, "As do you, clearly." He kept his voice low, fearing that it might carry across the water and alert their enemies. “Though my blade is, by no means, as fine a weapon as yours, it serves me well enough.” He fell silent after that, having nothing else to say.

If the other man were making some threat, his statement ought to make clear that, despite his weapon not being as grand as the other's, he could certainly put it to use. If it was not a threat, then it stood as a simple observation in return. It crossed his mind that perhaps Gwandhyra might be fishing for information of some sort, but he wasn't sure what exactly. Whatever the case, he wasn’t about to volunteer any information, and thought it best to limit speech for fear of being overheard by enemy spies. Still, one couldn’t help noticing such an impressive sword as the one Gwandhyra wielded. He only hoped he would not soon be forced to defend himself from it.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 2 times in total.
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**Previously reposted out of order. Now corrected. To continue.


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Uhta Halsad, Captain of the ‘Spectre’
Setting up camp at the river’s built-up bank


They had jilted the sun and all that warmth which was it’s merry ensemble. Far away and distant the sweltering climes of home would encourage all Umbar to bask in the baking heat. Here, the clouds had sunk it seemed, heavy with despair, to ground, and although the ship had come to nest amidst the raw rushes of a neglected riverbank, the world all about them swirled still. A dank, colourless sea of wet mist spilt all across the deck and painted it in shades of shiver. Like a cat, the vapour curled about the sailor’s ankles. Uhta knew, for so he had been schooled, that he had brought his folk to a point of advantageous landmark. Still he frowned and pulled his massive coat close around shoulders. The result was to enhance a well-built man to the point of solid boulder status. Mist sashayed around him, like a stream around a rock. But for all the layers he felt plastered to his form with damp, it seemed that the weather carried right on through even the strongest man. It seeped through skin, gathering about bones, and encouraged a fear of fumes drowning thought, though the Umbarians stood on firm ground.


Uhta stamped his feet as though he might see off the cold. “Four” he surveyed the crowd and decided. When none moved, the vast bulk of their leader bowled toward them, casting two on either side as he made passage through. Turning then where he stood, the youngest (and largest) Halsad brother crossed his arms. The unhappy men who found themselves separate from the flock shuffled amongst themselves and as Uhta was forced to take steps toward them, they fled to press backs against the gunnals.

Without warning, he made full use of his bear strength and saw two of the four over the side of the ship. “You are wet and you are cold,” he laughed at so naming the pair of unfortunates. Those two who had narrowly escaped such a fate were swift to join their captain in expressing amusement. They were wise to stifle it as Uhta made his demands. “Search for warmth in our landing. We must know if there are any eyes about. Return with news."


Both of the remaining ‘volunteers’ then gave the jubilant Corsair a wide berth, not stalling to witness their soaked and dishevelled friends scrambling ashore. “There will be a watch,” they were bade to mind their own instructions, or meet others they would like rather less. “Port. Starboard. Lanterns shall show the length of the Spook’s great size. Ghouls creeping in this gloom will think twice on what a thing they may wake.

Few were aware of the Corsair’s unease with the supernatural. Matsu though had teased his sibling with stories of barrow-wights and mewlips which were said to prowl the north. Uhta had no proper understanding of what either of things things might be. Still he must have fallen to thoughts of the eerie and unknown when he forgot to not call his ship the ‘Spook’ in public, as he just had done. Still, as half the crew at least had not been raised to recognise a term as ‘elegant’ as ‘spectre’, he felt sure that they would know what a ghost was. And the notion of their vessel being the largest and scariest of any things about, was something he could get behind.


All the rest to rest,” he declared, meeting a wave of applause from those about him. “A second watch will take the place of the first. At dawn we shall see what the mist would hide from us.

Turning with a flamboyance of amused authority, Uhta hastened to his cabin. Away from the cold unpleasant land they’d come to, and whatever might be lurking thereabouts. He would hope upon the sun returning come the dawn. And if they were fortunate, news from the scouts as well.
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Gladhron
Out in the fog... near an abandoned watchtower, late third age


As Gwandhyra and Gwestion made their exit, Gladhron turned back to the elf who had become his ally, smiling reassuringly. “I have all confidence in my brother,” He confided. “He will do all in his power to accomplish their mission, and he is quite skilled at many things. Though, of course, I mustn’t speak too highly of him in his presence, lest his head grow too large.” he joked, though he wasn’t sure if Celedir would get it. Crossing the room to take a look out of the small window, Gladhron thought about how much nicer it was here in the tower than out there in the fog. “He will ensure that the mission is completed, rest assured.”

Suddenly, while thinking on how glad he was to be comfortably inside out of the damp, gloomy fog, Gladhron remembered the two brothers’ horses. Being half Rohirrim, his horse mother had instilled in him the same love for horses as all of her people. Gaeroch was very important to him. The young man did not like the idea of his beautiful horse being left in this cold, damp weather. Gwestion was sure to feel the same about his own horse, he knew. With that thought in mind, Gladhron spun away from the window, alarmed as the recollection of the animals hit him. “Alas... our horses!” He lamented, his hand slapping his forehead. “I must retrieve them, I shall return swiftly!” He informed the elf, hastening down the stairs before the other had a chance to reply.

He had noticed on the way in that there was a place for horses to be sheltered near the base of the tower. With any luck, it would not take him long to find the horses. But where did they leave them? He took a moment to think, then nodded to himself and set off. He attempted to remain cautious of his surroundings as he hurried toward the place, but thought that speed was of more importance at the moment. The pirates would surely not venture into this fog, he told himself.

Soon the young ranger had located the two horses, standing patiently in the cold fog. Gaeroch, the larger chestnut horse belonging to Gladhron, fled away a few paces upon seeing the cloaked man hurrying toward her out of the fog, but soon Gladhron was able to reassure his mount that he was no threat, and patted her neck softly before going to grab Mael's bridle as well. Leading both horses, Gladhron returned as hastily as he had come. He did not like to leave the tower undefended even if he did not think it likely that there would be any danger. He also did not like to think of Gwestion and Gwandhyra returning to find him gone, even if he was doing something useful.

It was just then that Gladhron learned that he was incorrect in believing that the pirates would not have left their ship and that all was safe enough right now. As he came within sight of the tower, a shadowy figure leapt out of the fog at the unwary young man. The horses were startled and fled from the immediate vicinity as the shape came out of nowhere, lunging at Gladhron. With a startled cry, the young man raised his left arm to block the blow on instinct. He grimaced in pain as the enemy blade cut a deep gash into the ranger’s forearm, slicing the lacing on the leather bracer he wore for protection. The next instant, his own sword was out and parried the next blow, while his injured arm hung by his side, throbbing painfully. “Identify yourself!” He cried, recalling the confusion from earlier, immediately repeating the command in Sindarin. Just in case.

A foreign language greeted him instead, and it did not sound friendly. An enemy then! Thus satisfied he was not being ambushed by an ally, Gladhron aimed a slash at his opponent, which was met with a clash of steel. After a brief exchange of attacks and blocks, Gladhron was surprised as yet another enemy appeared out of the shadows. A second shadow moved and Gladhron barely had time to duck. His foot lashed out and caught someone in the stomach. Wondering how many more assailants he would be facing, Gladhron worried that he might be outmatched. But for the moment there were only two of them. So long as more did not come, and his arm was not bleeding too heavily, he thought he would be alright.

His sword flashed in the dim moonlight, and he caught a glimpse of the face of the first man. He appeared to be an Umbarian, and the ranger guessed he had come from that ship. So they had sent scouts after all. He gritted his teeth as he felt a dagger pierce into his thigh, and stumbled a bit. His sword found its mark in one of the men at last, and he had only one to deal with after that. Unfortunately, the elven-made weapon was knocked from his hand a moment later, and he found himself grappling with his opponent to prevent the other’s dagger from becoming far too well-acquainted with his ribs. His wounds made things more difficult for him, but at last, he managed to wrest the knife from the enemy’s hand. He thought of taking the man prisoner, as it occurred to him that they might be able to gain information from him.

But the fight was not over there. The man pushed Gladhron off of him with such force that he stumbled back, knocking his head against something hard. Seeing stars for a moment, the young man nearly lost his grip on the newly-acquired dagger but tightened it once again when he felt the enemy trying to regain it. They struggled over the weapon for a moment, until at last Gladhron prevailed. Breathing heavily, he looked down at the two dead foes, relaxing now that the fighting was ended. Then, a thought presented itself to him. Could there be more of them in the tower? Perhaps these two had been left outside as sentinels. Was the elf being swarmed by enemies from the ship?

Forgetting his pain for the moment, adrenaline lent him the strength to pull himself to his feet, though he favored his right leg somewhat. Limping, Gladhron moved swiftly toward the tower door. He smiled grimly to himself upon catching sight of the two horses sheltering inside the gatehouse where a portion of the wall had broken, allowing a large enough gap for the two horses to pass through. Apparently, they had taken refuge there when the fighting began. This was a relief because that was where he intended on putting them anyway. Now assured that the horses needed no caring for, at this time, Gladhron focused all of his efforts on returning to the tower with all haste. Perhaps it was too late, but he would fight any enemies who may have made their way into the tower. A sense of urgency led him to push himself despite the pain in his leg, though he attempted to use caution just in case.

However, upon entering the tower, tensed and ready for battle, gripping his sword in his good hand, he saw nothing out of place, though he did not see Celedir, and wasn't sure what that might mean. Breathing hard, Gladhron glanced around, then slumped down against the wall in relief and exhaustion. Closing his eyes, Gladhron tried to will his wounds to stop hurting, and bleeding. Not that it did any good. Maybe if he rested for just a few moments...
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:51 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Gwandhyra Harion
On the prowl, with Gwestion

Dressed in shadow, the two Rangers shuffled in their dirt-caked boots, the dried mud here muffling their steps upon the fractured stone. Having made much of it’s presence, Gwandhyra grasped his sword aloft in one hand, as though it might prove some understudy to the torchlight that they ought not dare to risk. If naught else, the weapon fuelled it’s bearer with a strength of comfort. Of familiarity. The young Man here, Gwestion, seemed to have marked the broad blade as was; a set apart from typical more agile weapons, which would see him better to identify his ally if they were abruptly accosted by foes. Rather more though, ‘great’ should warn the youth of what a strength the tool demanded, to wield with any skill. It had been a labour of love for the once young Gondorian to become accustomed. By all accounts though, the other Ranger was equally as confident in his own evident skill, which Gwandhyra had recently witnessed. Neither was then likely to underestimate the other.

Your sword is not your weapon,” the Elder mused though, and his words were those of Addhor. Much repeated. Long treasured. “You are the weapon. You but make use of the sword. If you are robbed of a sword does that then render you no use ? It ought not.” Of course, his brother had no doubt lectured Gwandhyra so, to keep him from stealing the ancient heirloom for his self. To no avail, as it had turned out in the long run. Still the sentiment stood as sense. A more ironic sense than Addhor had ever intended it. And one that Gwandhra would see shared with Gwestion, lest he be harbouring any sort of doubts.


Isolation had bred more of a want in the Gondorian, to indulge in company. More than he had expected, and more so than was wise to allow with conversation. For all that Gwandhyra might tell himself he was just probing the young Man, truth was that Gwestion had found the better wisdom in restraining his tongue. It was not beyond the old dog to learn a new trick, and he wondered how quick was the young man’s mind ..

The willow-wren bird is rare heard this far from Nin-in-Eiliph,” the Southerner mentioned, seeming random. Before Gwestion might imagine though his ally to have lost his mind, or perhaps to secure such an assumption, the Elder man shaped his lips about the call of the small bird. Not a decent effort, if he did say so himself. He was far more adept in the mimicry of birds native to Gondor, but the willow wren was a bird of the north, a bird that Gwestion should have heard before, if he was as travelled as his garb suggested. The Corsairs by contrast would not yet have met with such a sound of song this far down river. "So if you require to seize my attention .." He repeated the example, pointedly.

Lending an ear then to see if Gwestion might embrace their secret alarm, it was some other sound which the Man caught. A Swordsong. More than one sword by the sound of it. Had the Enemy observed or, more likely heard, them after all ? Could Corsairs be now heading toward the very tower where their friends were ?



Halting not to attempt birdsong or some other means of clandestine exchange, Gwandhyra put thought and feet toward retracing their steps. All that greeted their breathless approach though was the somewhat satisfaction of observing a distant Gladhron limp, victoriously, back toward their secret base. The elder of the two spies turned a corsair corpse over with one foot, and without ceremony. Both had been effectively dispatched, and their valiant murderer seemed injured but alive. Surely the best place for him to recover was where he already was headed.

He shall have a tale to tell of some doubtless valour when we return,” the Gondorian smirked, knowingly. “But come, we must at least endeavour to match it. For see, your brother’s trials have ended our own.”

Kneeling beside one of the fallen Corsairs, Gwandhyra tore at the dead man’s crimson cowl and proffered it to Gwestion, returning that young man’s own supposition from earlier now. “For how do you know that we are not enemies who have killed two Corsairs and assumed their identity ?"

He wondered if the young man would now recognise encouragement within the wolfish glare of a most dangerous game. He wondered if the younger brother would run to check on his sibling. He had set out upon their task, wondering what manner of a man Gwestion was. Since it was proving quite futile to barrage the stranger with questions, or even to hurl assumptions in hope of correction, .. it might be worth challenging his dare. What a man does, after all, was worth far more than what he said.

Men in Umbar converse in their own dialect of Westron, spattered with a heavy emphasis of Adunaic,” he made more clear his intent, and demonstrated a bold example of this latest intention, and practiced accent. It had been more than ten years since he had played this game, but it didn't hurt to at least confuse an enemy, if it earned them even a few essential moments. “They are no doubt expecting the return of their scouts
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Gwestion
Setting out from the abandoned watchtower, late third age


“Your sword is not your weapon. You are the weapon. You make use of the sword. If you are robbed of a sword does that render you of no use ? It ought not.”

These words left Gwestion thoughtful, listening carefully as they traversed across the dark land toward their goal. It reminded him of just the sort of thing his father might have said. He missed his father more than he could have put into words, though he would not speak of it. Quite often, the younger of the two brothers wondered what sort of advice their father would have for his two sons, were he still with them. Gwestion could not speak of this to his brother, of course, but it often frustrated him that Gladhron frequently failed to remember things that he ought to have learned while he traveled with Gwedhion. In some ways, Gwestion harbored a little bit of jealousy of his brother, not that he would admit to such. The older brother had spent more time under their father’s tutelage, learning valuable tricks and experience, yet too often he neglected to commit such valuable lessons to memory. And now that their father was gone, Gladhron claimed their father's sword for himself, which Gwestion sometimes felt he did not quite deserve. Admittedly, it did seem proper for the eldest son to have first claim, but sometimes Gwestion wished he were the elder. Many times, in fact. The brothers had compromised by Gwestion claiming their father's bow, which he had left on Mael, he thought regretfully.

Realizing that Gwandhyra was speaking of birds now, Gwestion returned his attention to the man, briefly puzzled. For an instant he cast a glance around, half expecting to see the bird the man had mentioned, for what other reason would he have for bringing that up? But then his meaning became clear, and the young man listened intently to the call. He did a fair job imitating it, Gwestion thought. He was pleased to note how observant and resourceful the other man was, at least. It showed that Gwandhyra had experience, if nothing else. A back part of Gwestion’s mind suggested that he might have a few useful tricks to teach a younger, less experience ranger... Before the young man had a chance to make an attempt at the bird cry himself, the sound of fighting drew his attention. Gwestion whirled, his hand finding his sword handle. The sound came from the direction they had just come from, which alarmed him. Rushing back toward the tower, Gwestion was not far behind Gwandhyra, with many thoughts and concerns racing through his mind. The foremost being that his brother may be in danger. Perhaps the tower had been encircled and they knew it not. Their foes may have waited for the two rangers to leave, thinking that the tower would be weaker now.

Upon arriving, he was relieved to catch a glimpse of Gladhron retreating back into the tower. His brother must not have been injured too badly then, though he did look to be limping. Kneeling, Gwestion picked up a leather bracer which had a smear of blood on it, the laces cut open. He knew it to be Gladhron’s, and that told him that he had more than one injury. Still, he knew his brother was steadfast and resilient. He would be alright, surely. Gwestion looked down at the two that his brother had left dead. Gwandhyra’s remark about Gladhron having 'a tale of valour' to tell brought a faint, wry smile to Gwestion’s face. “You don’t know the half of it.” He muttered under his breath, somewhat amused. He had little doubt that by the time he returned to the tower, Gladhron would have exaggerated the foes to be triple in number, and quadruple in size. In truth, one of the two pirate scouts were closer to his own build, while the other was similar to Gwandhyra’s. Even as the idea was forming in his mind, Gwandhyra was acting upon the same thought, suggesting the very thing Gwestion had mentioned as a possibility earlier.

The cowl was accepted, though Gwestion hesitated a bit at the mention of the accent. He had never before attempted to change his manner of speaking... could he do it? He’d practiced throwing his voice since childhood, and mimicking bird cries was easy enough, but not altering his accent. Still, it was worth an attempt, anyway. “I understand... do you mean like thus?” He made an attempt, thinking he might sound ridiculous but it was better to practice a bit to get it right. “I have never before attempted to speak in a false accent,” He admitted quietly, cringing slightly as he attempted to adjust the accent to sound as Gwandhyra had described. If necessary, he could just become mute and let Gwandhyra do the talking, nodding in support of anything he said.

But there was still the issue of their faces. The pirates may have dimmed lanterns on board that ship. They might have the scouts come into the cabin to make their report. If the rangers were to disguise themselves, then they ought to do it properly. Thinking on this, Gwestion shed his cloak and began to put on the pirate’s gear, enough to cover his own clothes up and make him appear like the other. “You might want to put away those,” He spoke to Gwandhyra with a nod to indicate the bracers the other man wore, “if you do not wish for them to spot you as an imposter.” He still attempted to practice the Umbarian manner of speech. Then, he paused as he thought of an idea to help conceal their faces a bit better. It was a foggy night, certainly, and one unaccustomed to the shore might easily lose his footing. The dead man before him was streaked in mud, after all. Had he been thrown overboard? It appeared so, for his clothing was soaked as well, and he looked as if he had crawled through the mud to get out of the water.

Turning toward his companion whilst the two of them donned their foe’s clothing, the young man took some mud into his hand, waiting for just the right moment, and then, with a swift motion, reached unexpectedly to swipe a generous amount of the mud onto Gwandhyra’s face. Gwestion kept his own expression neutral, though he struggled a bit not to grin. Amusement and a bit of playfulness twinkled in his blue-gray eyes as he watched to see how the older man would react to this. “We must disguise our faces as well, so not to be recognized,” was all he offered as an explanation for his action.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Gwandhyra Harion
Adopting a desguise, with Gwestion


They fell about the bodies as a pair of vultures, scavenging for the best means to create a disguise. Gwandhyra was glad to note that Gwestion had not rushed with all heart of concern to check on his brother. He would not have blamed the young man should that have occurred; family was family, after all. But it was the practice of a far more reasoned man to do what must be done, before a reunion with kin. Might be that Gladhron had heard the rumours about Elvish healing, and thought that he might find comfort and marvel from such an act by Celedir. Based on what he’d personally learnt of Elves and expectations, the Southerner held his tongue.

Gwestion was practicing his own tongue, falling from his humour to providing some for his companion. An expression conveyed Gwandhyra’s alarm at the first attempt, still it was hard not to laugh. And when the young man admitted that he ‘had not before attempted to speak in a fake accent’, the older ranger was glad he had not laughed. For it was not commonplace at all to do so and the lad could hardly be expected to have so prepared.

Like this, do you mean ?” he translated what Gwestion had already, placing emphasis where the other Ranger might not have else. “Curb the want to fall into a flow as you will have heard Elves tend to,Gwandhyra seized upon the chance to recall Celedir’s attempts at westron as example, of another difference. “Instead be abrupt and punctuate your vowels. If in doubt, keep your words as though a low sputter of punches. Your own accent has a touch of something else already,” he confessed to noting, though Gwandhyra could not recognise quite what it was. He had never been to or spent much time with the Rohirrim, after all.

Recall my words from the tower. Corsairs are in this age of a much mottled blend. There may well be members of an Umbarian crew come all the way from most distant Harad who comprehend little of even his fellow’s speech..”


This brief guidance and, hopefully, reassurance, granted, the men concentrated upon their disguise. It was a poor exchange, their filthy garb for the sodden costumes of the scouts, but at least the fit was not far off. The Gondorian had just fashioned the Corsair’s belt to ensure the hang correct when he considered the sword. His two-handed heirloom was of a fair difference to the curved scimitar of an alien foe. Could he bring himself to forego the one for the other, lest it cost them their dangerous ruse ? Even as he debated internally, Gwestion remarked upon his bracers. The older man ran a finger along each reluctantly, for the youth was not wrong.

One of the Southerner’s bracers was hued in deep bottle green, a symbol though lacking an insignia, for the Forest of distant Ithilien. The other, his right, was of a contrasting shade; darkest navy blue, as a sky bereft of light, though etched with the most delicate of silver borders. At it’s epicentre was a single seven pointed star, woven of both gold and silver strains. This was reminiscent of another alignment still most treasured by the Ranger. He had come so far from where his life had started, that those few small touches of the milestones he’d known since, each had value. Gwandhyra was not a one to carry a great heap of gear, nor more than a spattering of coin. An oiled skin pouch for water, a whetstone and small but worthy knife; to butcher small game, dig out edible roots, and perform at need as a last ditch weapon. These were the few items he was rarely found without. Needle and thread, yes, for mending clothes and broken flesh alike. Hook and line for catching fish, or setting snares. All and each of these had been replaced a hundred times over, with little thought leant to the matter. But his bracers ?

There was a little-known reason why even his second wife had never seen him without a pair of bracers. The scars went so deep into his being they may as well never have closed. Some things did not heal. Some hurts would not be helped. Gwandhyra removed the bracers and forced himself for the briefest of moments to gaze upon that lost memory. He kept his back set against Gwestion until he had donned replacement bracers of a dark crimson hue. His own he stowed stubbornly by the laces through the loop of his belt, at the back. Underneath his cloak they would be hidden, for he could not properly lay them aside. Now though the dilemma of the sword ..


Returning to face toward Gwestion, Gwandhyra was robbed of any thought but shock, as he was met with a face of wet mud. It sat as a sludge across the older Man’s left cheek, and dripped off the end of his nose. To say that the younger Man had accepted the disguise plan with good grace was still to fall short of the truth. This was above and beyond what Gwandhyra had dared to hope that Gwestion would tolerate ! A moment was permitted to pass where the Gondorian remained as frozen. Gwestion, left in the vacuum before a response, offered up his explanation with small hint of any sure remorse. The older man drew one finger along the mess of his face, slowly and seeming in some conflict on whether to be furious or fine with the bold outburst. At the same time, he cupped his full other hand with a generous serving of mud, and deposited that with great satisfaction upon his ally’s brow. He had to admit, whatever the dead corsairs had looked like, in life, there was no easy means to be sure now that the Rangers were not them, not with all but the barest features dredged behind such a dripping mess of mask.

We are only effective if we are properly authentic,” he grinned, and his teeth shone through his altered countenance.

Finally they were both satisfied, or else run out of any more resources to add further confidence. Gwandhyra secured his heavy sword about his back and fashioned the wet cloak to veil it’s head as far as he was able. “Should we become separated or you need to sound alarm without revealing yourself.” the Ranger offered up the same mimicry of the willow wren to conclude his sentence and his meaning. “We get in, we take a look about, and we get out again. We are only to gather details this time, enough to plan our next move. Understood ?
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gwestion
Adopting a disguise with Gwandhyra, late third age


It was not often that Gwestion did such things as he had just done, being the more serious of the brothers, rarely getting involved in what some may consider a prank. Though, of course, it may be argued that it was not exactly a 'prank' here. It was a fact that they did need to disguise their faces, but the way he went about it.. well, he wouldn't actually blame the guy if he was furious. Thus, he waited in suspense for what felt like far too long to see how he might react. As glad as he was for Gwandhyra’s assistance in correcting his fake accent, he worried now that he had overstepped his bounds by offering ‘aid’ in their disguise. Not everyone would take mud in the face graciously, after all. Perhaps he had ruined any chance of a friendly alliance, and now the mission would become strained...

Before Gwestion had decided on whether to apologize, he was greeted with a handful of mud in return, along with a grin from Gwandhyra. He certainly did not expect that, though he had to admit it was justifiable. The young man grinned in return, more out of relief that his companion wasn’t angry than anything. The whole matter was rather amusing, in fact. Were Gladhron watching, he would have been laughing uncontrollably. Best that he wasn’t there, lest the pirates overhear him! In fact, his brother might have been tempted to start up an all-out mud fight. Struggling not to laugh himself, Gwestion’s hand went to the mud on his brow, then smeared it more fully as he ran the hand down his face. “Indeed.” He replied with a grin himself, agreeing. “We must be authentic.”

Standing once their disguise was complete, the young man set his mind to adopting the corrections given him by Gwandhyra in his speech. The comment of another accent in his speech was left unanswered. He guessed it to be an attempt at fishing for information which Gwestion cared not to divulge, at least not at this time. He did not know the other man quite well enough, but perhaps in time. Maybe next time they flung mud at each other’s faces, he would feel comfortable enough to tell Gwandhyra more about himself, Gwestion thought with amusement. With his attempts at the Umbarian accent now greatly improved, he replied in that accent, “Indeed, understood quite well.” He repeated the bird call, showing he also had practice in such things. With those matters settled, he nodded for the elder of the two to lead the way, and they set out for the ship.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Gwandhyra Harion, with Gwestion
‘Sneaking’ aboard the ‘Spectre’ (Spook) Ship


There was only one figure to be observed at the side of the ship, until the two Rangers had approached almost upon the gangplank. Then the second of the two on sentry came to support his colleague, and to learn of what, if any, thing the scouts had found upon their first foray abroad.

What have you to tell ?” the first barked, as though he were Captain. “This strange land has reason for us to fear ? Or a reason to fear us ?”

Looks as only you have found a bog,” put in the second sentry, sniggering over the shoulder of his friend.

Wait !” the first sentry held up his hand and lantern both. He peered about the pulled cowls and the muddied faces of the two men on the deck. “I must know. There are stories of such monsters that lurk in this sun-less shore, that the rain makes wet and foul to look upon. The smell alone is enough to overwhelm it’s foes. Did you see … ” he exchanged a much entertained glance with his accomplice, who as good as drummed the first man’s shoulder with his hands, to get to the punchline all knew was coming. “I see now. It is come to eat us !” mocking was the joke, and at the two bedraggled mens’ expense.

It has come to kill you,” Gwandhyra corrected the Corsair, snatching his crude lantern with all the speed of a striking snake. The Sentry, not expecting such a response, stepped back and reached for the sword at his hip. But it took less time for the Ranger to dash the lantern hard into the front of the other Man’s head. Glass embedded the man’s cheek and hot wax made him cry out in surprise. Even before the small flame was introduced by a thrust into the sentry’s cloak. Sword forgotten, he pounded the width of the deck, a shriek like a shooting star taking him that far, and lifted one leg to make for a watery escape. Fear for a second combated with pain, and that was all the chance that the Ranger had required to catch up. He planted his small knife into the back of the Corsair’s throat. He retrieved it calmly as the dying man dove to his death. Small sizzles of the flame extinguished by the cool dark waters amused the Gondorian. As though Lond Daer itself were disposing of the evidence that Umbar had dared trespass. The Corsair's bones would never again see light of day.


Dispatch with the other,” he encouraged Gwestion, to consider the second sentry. Only to observe that this was already in motion. The first man’s head, having been thrown back into his colleague, had delayed the sailor this long. He wiped a now bloodied nose with the back of one hand, and reached for his scimitar with one hand, a cry ready to erupt from his throat.

Be swift,” the Gondorian hissed advice, as he paused at the neck of a winding down stair case. A sure glance checked for any evidence of folk from below roused by the raucous. But as yet there was none. “We require a clear departure, without complications, for when we are done” he justified the assault, absent of apology. Avoiding the younger man’s expression. Gwandhyra’s hand was trembling, and not from fear.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gwestion
Aboard the ‘Spectre’ (Spook) Ship

It could not be denied that Gwestion felt quite nervous as they approached and boarded the ship. It seemed large, and he was not familiar with ships in general. He knew not how many corsairs might be aboard, nor what they might do if they caught the two scouts on board. There were so many ways that this might go wrong that Gwestion cared not to count them. He knew of a certainty that were they recognized as being imposters, they would be quite well outnumbered. Pirates, he knew, were notorious for being cruel and ruthless. What if he spoke wrong, or if they were forced to clean up... or what if the two scouts whose clothes they wore had a friend on board who would recognize an imposter? The young man had many things racing through his mind as he followed Gwandhyra across the gangplank. Still, he was not to be swayed from this mission.

Greeted by two sentries, Gwestion froze as the two men shared a joke which, admittedly, went above Gwestion’s head. He got the idea that it was intended to tease the two scouts they were impersonating, but he didn’t really see the humor in it. Should he laugh? It was decided that he would take his cue from Gwandhyra. And such a cue it was, in fact. The assault surprised Gwestion almost as much as it did the sentries, but he reacted immediately in support of his comrade. After only a moment’s delay, Gwestion’s dagger emerged, and even before Gwandhyra had spoken to tell him to deal with the man, the younger ranger was working on doing just that. The sentry was about to raise an alarm which Gwestion knew that would prove fatal to their mission. A stab to the ribs, positioned just right to puncture a lung, left the sentry unable to take the breath to make such a cry. It was then both practical and merciful to end his suffering with a final blow to the throat. With a soft sigh, Gwestion dragged the dead man to the edge of the ship and sent him to join his buddy. He had not intended to have to slay anyone just yet, but that had become necessary.

“Has the alarm been raised?” He inquired quietly as he rejoined Gwandhyra at the top of the staircase. After wiping the blood from his blade, he returned it to the sheath and lightly touched the other man’s arm, at the elbow. ““We get in, we take a look about, and we get out”,” he quoted Gwandhya’s own words, in a soft whisper and a vague smile, “I was under the impression that was the plan... has there been a change to it? Have we really come, the two of us, to dispatch them all by ourselves?” Despite his slightly sarcastic words, he knew it had been necessary to deal so with the two sentries, and added in a more sincere tone, “Do you suppose there are any other sentries on deck?” He spoke softly, glancing around, though it was hard to see much with all the fog.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Celedir and Halyanis
Hollin >>> Nin-In-Eilph

A lone bird, doubtless some native to these reaches, struggled high above them as it's wings were snagged upon the biting rush of wind. Already the air itself was rimmed with a nameless chill. They had left the sanctuary of the fair valley behind them and, as had become custom, Celedir had found himself revisiting a want to travel Southward, of course. Southerly lay home, or once a place that had gone by that name. He half turned, to replenish the memory of Eregion, and found only the knowing face of his darker-haired associate.

It might not be so wise to cast your eyes toward that which would grieve your heart,” Halyanis counselled gravely, though her want to protect him was softened by pity, for his heartbreak. She had never come unto the land which folk now named ‘Hollin’, not until the point of it’s evacuation. Not until it had already begun to unravel. That day, come with Tirindo to locate his lost niece there, she had found instead a re-enactment of the crisis last endured the day that niece had fled. Conflict, slaughter, death and fear. The irony of timing was a cruel hand of the fates. They had found their missing relative however, in the refuge of Imladris after. They had found Celedir too, for the first time in that den of despair and desperation.

What the younger Elf now laid his eyes about was a very altered sight to that seen by Halyanis. She could not see past that dread recollection. But the kingdom of Eregion had been home to him before it had devolved unto a ruin. He had been born there, within the cultural metropolis of Elves and Dwarves, during a period of glory and might and power for both kinds. Until they had all of them been betrayed. His father lost, his mother soon thenafter giving in to grief, Halyanis had taken him up, still a small child then, and swaddled him in comfort. Never pity, never sorrow. For she and her husband had lost their son in the War of Jewels, in the first age of the Sun. To her, the now orphaned boychild was a lost piece to fit the puzzle of her heart. She without her son, he without his mother, they had found what each required in each other, and been gladder always for that gift.

Tirindo of course had been less swift to unlock his heart, long drawn cold and bitter. He suffered the presence of Celedir for Halyanis’s sake, or so it seemed to the youth. And so as much as he wanted to make the ancient archer proud, it was a long and hard war of a thing. Far easier and far more joyful was the time he spent alone with Halyanis. As was this day. A time apart. A time to be glad for all they had, not begrudge what they lacked. Yet still he had led her along these paths. Yet still, he had come home as though his memories carried him, rather than his horse.

It no longer looked like home, and it was not. Yet still it was. And for all that she had not denied his want to see them here, now Haly fretted. For the eve was drawing dark and their hearts were hung heavy. The younger Elf bore eyes of iron that were melded to his torment. To all that now stood in Hollin. To all that now did not.


Unsteady terrain played mischief even as they turned back to the safety of the valley, across an expanse littered with the very real danger of perilous footfalls. For soon the land beneath them clambered ruggedly and also tumbled unexpectedly, where perilous cracks and ditches sought to snag unwary feet. The horses slowed without ever having to be told. Time stood, and could not shift the weight of hours to a more pleasing surround. And so they lingered long when they ought not. And so they found themselves in company of darkness, and all that walks in that shadow.

A dread horn bayed against the falling sky and the horses took fright, liquid eyes come wide and animated in their heaving panting terror. When they faltered, when they floundered, the Elves walked them without any word spent toward such a plan. The one simply following the other. And so leading their beasts with gentle snatches of song, the dark haired and the fair haired Elf each dared steps, their own haunting melody raising chills. The good earth fell away in chunks to ever widening meres of water until the marsh surrounded them. Still they both sang and they each found a comfort in the other, and a resolve to keep on.


The invisible tug caught Celedir at both ankles, hauling him off balance to a hard and bracing splash against his back. The water was not more than knee height, but more than enough to keep him under as he was laid horizontal. The last thing he saw was the sharp turn of Haly’s dark head, the abrupt loss of their fragile peace, and the burn of the horse’s reins along his palm as he was snatched away from it in surprise. After that it was a case of gasping for the surface, flailing with both hands, as whatever had snagged him at each ankle was now towing him along through the marsh, carelessly beneath the murky film of scum and mud. Reeds were bent and birds startled by the young Elf’s ongoing abduction, no less startled than he was himself to see men, fierce bearded men and women sprawled with purpose underneath the water, taking air from the surface through reeds.

How long he and his second mother had walked in their midst, never knowing, he could not have said. It would do no good now to think on such alarming things, not in the face of ever more presenting peril. The mortals rose to their feet in a queue, with mighty triumphant cries and whoops which failed to smother the scream which told of Haly’s likewise plight. And then along the path came men already stood, waiting and anticipating, as an avenue of trees in the gloom. They dropped their heavy clubs all about the Elf’s unprotected form. Until at length the strong cord which had snagged about each ankle slowed it’s race. The fisher who had heaved in this unlikely catch, held up one arm, and the two Elves found their throat knotted in thick burly arms.

Coughing up water and no small amount of shock, Celedir found the leering face of perhaps the tallest man there. The Elf looked for Haly, looked for their horses, and panicked, finding neither in his sight. He heard her though, close, and not unlike himself in abhorred shock. And their eventful evening had only just begun …




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Celedir, in the abandoned watchtower, Lond Daer
(a week approx later). With Gladhron


The Elf may not have recognised the mortal turn of phrase, but he was eager to believe the earnest optimism of the Man.

You know your brother better than do I,” the Immortal acknowledged with a lingering nod. He did not know any of the Men well enough to judge their chances of success, but he was sure that his own had momentously improved since their arrival. If he had been at all suspicious though, he might have noted though how the remaining stranger positioned himself before their only window. To stand between an Elf now and his watch on what occurred beyond ? Celedir drew close to lines of consternation at his brow then, and pondered several lines in mind with which to question the Man. Until, perhaps unsurprisingly, Gladhron leapt up from his seat after a time and seemed insistent upon going off outside, alone. The Elf felt guilty then, for having possibly laid too intense a stare upon one he’d named as his ally.

Had he made the Man uncomfortable ? Had the Ranger seen something outside ? Had Gladhron been merely but biding time until it seemed less suspicious to sneak off ? The Elf hadn’t noticed any horses, hadn’t heard them when he had ventured outside to quiet down the mortals’ din before. Of course he had been rushing, to get back … so he might have missed them. Unwilling to ignore his instincts, Celedir allowed Gladhron to leave, without complaint. He merely brought his bow to hand, readied the half-full quiver and replaced the man’s stand at the window.

I can provide cover,” was all that he offered up. There was no response and in the Ranger’s haste, he may not even had heard the proposal. So, abandoned along with the watchtower itself, Celedir strove with fears that Gladhron had run after Gwestion, either as a truer indication of no faith in his brother, or maybe some belated remorse over missing all the ‘excitement’. The worst case scenario of course was that he’d gone to aid his sibling dispatch with the other Man. Then both might come back to finish him off together. Potentially with other scouts of the enemy that they might be in league with …


Grey eyes pierced the mist, grateful that the ship was in view from the window as well. At least by Elvish reckoning. With fingers poised, and arrow set, Celedir scanned the vicinity for Gwestion and Gwandhyra. He traced the progress of Gladhron with a greater ease, for that Man had left the most recently. Then his keen ear caught the sound of a very alien bird in the vicinity. In the opposing direction to where he could track Gladhron and the clear whinny of horses .. The Elf released the breath he had been holding, and lowered his aim. He ought keep watch as he could over both sets of folk, but .. who knew if he would be granted such an opportunity like this again ?


He had volunteered to remain in the tower and keep watch, for there was some thing in the tower he had been already watching over. A considerable time he had spent in the company of the three seeming Rangers, longer than he previously had spent from his secret. And so, taking time to steal up another floor in the tower, he inched open the trapdoor into the attic. Thankfully naught seemed to have gone ill up there during his absence. As he approached the swaddled blanket bundle, an eruption of dark hair spilt from one end, and the young Elf squatted down on risen ankles. He tilted his head, edged closer, and sank down until he lay beside the covered form of his affection.

No-one’s going to harm you, not while I’m around.

The first line of a song that she had ever sung him, now he offered up to comfort her in return.

No-one’s going to harm you, no sir, not while I’m around.
Demons are prowling everywhere nowadays
I’ll send them howling, I don’t care. I’ve got ways.

No-one’s going to hurt you, no-one’s going to dare.
Others can desert you, not to worry, whistle: I’ll be there.
Demons will charm you with a smile for a while, but in time ..
Nothing can harm you, not while I’m around.

Not to worry, not to worry I may not be smart but I ain’t dum.
I can do it, put me to it, show me something I can overcome
Not to worry mum ….
” ***



How long he lay there, mulling over the same old lullaby, basking in her company, he could not have measured, save in the slowly growing comfort that it brought to find her yet alive, and in the slowly growing dread that came of the low rasping breath she spewed in choked, intermittent sputters. He was glad at least she had not gotten any worse while he had been exploring the arrival of the three unexpected Rangers. She did not though seem to have gotten any better. And then a clatter, heavy footfalls and a thud. Someone was headed up the stairs of the tower ! Gladhron ? Perhaps ?

With a last pained glance at the vulnerable treasure he would wish to not forsake, Celedir rose on shaking arms and then trembling legs. How he managed to lift the trap door and make it down the ladder without falling was some fortune beyond his comprehension. And so too was what might have happened to the Ranger, for Gladhron it definitely was below, and injured. Thankfully then less observant than he might have else been, to note the direction of the Elf’s return.

Trying to act as unconcerned and nonchalant as was entirely implausible, the young silver haired Elf slowly edged closer to the Mortal, as though he were some growling beast that dare alone would pet. He crossed the room as though it was awash with sleeping lions instead of one exhausted Ranger, and dared not even check whether he'd remembered to close the door behind him to the secret loft room.

What happened to you ?Celedir asked, surveying the Man for the extent of the damage done, and entirely having forgotten in his surprise that the Elf had sworn to keep watch, if not cover the Rangers with bow and arrow, from the tower window ..


**(Lyrics credited to 'Not while I'm around', from the musical, Sweeney Todd)
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gladhron
An abandoned watchtower, and out in the fog... late third age


“What happened to you?” The elf inquired, acting almost as if he feared to approach.

Gladhron did not notice, as he was more caught up with the dizziness swimming around in his head and the pain throbbing in his arm and leg. “Ran into enemies...” He explained, realizing his appearance upon returning must be rather startling. He attempted to stand, as if to show that he was fine, only to prove to himself that he was, in fact, not fine. Wincing, he instead remained where he had sunk down onto the floor, his injured leg stretched out before him and his back against the door. “I’ve... dealt with them, however...” He added with a forced smile, in an attempt to appear alright despite being obviously otherwise.

Behind Celedir, a flight of stairs had appeared during his absence, but Gladhron did not notice, as his head was throbbing. The interior of the room, as far as he was concerned, was unchanged. Nothing had been knocked over or broken, no enemies had invaded while he was gone, therefore, all was well. Neither did it occur to him that this elf might harbor some suspicions toward him and his brother, still. “I’ve hidden the horses safely away, at least.” The wounded ranger added, recalling that he had stated his reason for going out was to get the horses, and figured that Celedir would rest easier knowing they were safe, as he would in the elf’s place.

“Enemies assailed me along the way back here... corsairs, I presume. I couldn’t understand them, but they seemed quite intent on slaying me, so I returned the favor. Must’ve been half a dozen of them...” He mumbled the last part as his head leaned back against the wall, carefully. Gladhron wished the throbbing would stop. “Are there any bandages? Gwestion will insist on them.” He added faintly. He had no idea how to go about putting bandages on his own wounds, in the locations they were in, nor did he know whether this elf would know anything of bandaging, but his brother would, certainly. How long until he returned, though? How long had Gwestion been gone, for that matter?
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Gwandhyra Harion, with Gwestion
Aboard the ‘Spectre’ (“Spook”) Ship, Late Third Age


The sound of his dancing heartbeat near drowned out all else. Poised by a door he had edged open, at the edge of all which lurked down the stairs below deck, Gwandhyra squeezed his eyes slowly shut, trying to concentrate. It was now imperative to determine if anyone had heard … That shriek. The desperate pounding of feet. The despairing protests of his countless belated thoughts. The steady drip drip of blood which struck the floor … it took him a moment to then recognise. He could at least halt that last. Numb, he raised the hand which was still wrapped about the well-worn knife. He dressed it in the fingers of his other hand and slowly eased his skin down the wet steel, smearing the blood until it dripped from his fingers rather than the blade.

Have we really come, the two of us, to dispatch them all by ourselves ?

Gwestion. Gwestion was beside him, speaking .. saying ..

Do you suppose there are any other sentries on deck ?


Blood-stained fingers painted a messy solar system on the wooden frame which led below deck. “Did you think we should have left an obstacle at our rear, or that a clear exit, swift and sure, would not prove advantageous ?” he put the dilemma to the younger Ranger, without ever turning eyes upon him. His gaze as yet penetrating the gloom of the staircase, he couldn’t quite shift his mind from the first inquiry to the next.

Did he want to dispatch them all in that same cold-hearted manner ? Yes. But ought he to ? Again, he wanted to answer yes. He already had the answer to a dozen other questions. How in fact for instance would they even seek to dispatch them all, when they two were so outnumbered ? Two could take two by surprise. But there would be surely ever so many more than two corsairs on the ship.

They were all asleep though .. It would not be hard to stalk about below deck and thrust one small knife in the heart or the throat of each sleeping sailor. They would not even know what had killed them. Or perhaps something far more easy. The thought of a crew all still cradled in the crimson hammocks, while he now set the ship alight and be done with their horrific invasion ! Leave them drown in fire until all were bones. None ever came to this ruined graveyard of a once-flourishing post. They wanted to terrorise Lond Daer ? Well, they could become part of the true terror ! None would ever even know they had not perished in some distant danger out at sea. Except for a persistent rumour, a tale to chill the heart of a still and shadow-reigning night. What happens to Corsairs who dare come upriver in Eriador ? Gwandhyra felt the want, the hunger, to be so satisfied. To be sure, they were gone. But .. then of course, might more come ?

The questions began to pile up. Why had they come at all ? Was it truly all a cruel coincidence ? To have Halsad come here, where he .. ? Was that why ? That after all that time, still .. ? It was foolish and conceited to even imagine such a thing, and yet. Nobody knew the extent of Halsad cruelty as he did. Nobody had need to know, as much as he needed to know. For sure. Why now ? Why here ?


We need not dispatch with all,” he decided, the whisper only half meant for Gwestion to hear it. “Not ourselves at least.” Shaking himself back to properly confront the young man who was stood expectantly at hand. The one with all the questions. “If there were any other sentries worth their salt still at hand, we would already know about it,” Gwandhyra shrugged, as though that was obvious, though he had not set thoughts in that direction until the other raised the point. “Let us see what else we may take of them,” he silenced further doubts and concerns, by turning his back, rather than face things he could not answer. Aloud. The Gondorian brought one bloodied finger to hold up close before his lips, and then slowly descended to where the sound of snoring was the strongest.


There was no creak of the wooden rungs that might betray them. There was no word that the older Ranger dared utter. He trusted that the younger knew better than to hassle him, despite what misgivings he may now harbour of his now accomplice. Once the idea was planted about the Southerner’s mind, roots ran deep. They knotted about the memory, the hate, the fear. There were scant lanterns unmanned about the cramped and shifting corridors. They cast human shadows unto monsters that prowled merciless, then properly absorbed by darkness.

A mighty store of Corsairs huddled in their hung beds, not unlike a cobweb weighted by small knots of bundled flies. Gwandhyra rode the gentle rock of the great river, sidling about the sleeping men. One had fallen to his rest with an arm set to dangle. A curved sword dragged eerily across the dusty floor. In one motion, the Gondorian plastered a hand over the mouth and nose of that fool. The armed limb rose, on instinct, and the Ranger was ready to intercept. As the Corsair struggled to breath, he could not keep his own sword from the move that his attacker directed. A gasp and a gurgle were both muffled, but the hiss which punctured his unguarded abdomen was the last sound he made. Gwandhyra found no fight in the liberation of the dead man’s scimitar. He glanced briefly in a hunt for Gwestion, as though it had just occurred to him to wonder if the other Man had followed him toward such peril.

Then, as though it mattered little, either way, the Ranger wafted about the sleeping quarters, using beams to roll his body soundlessly around, and find new victims. His steps were smothered by the gentle yawn of the vessel's creaking snore. His shadow shifted and stole about the paltry light provided. His blade sunk like a metalled mosquito, separating flesh in a strangled silence. There was no clear pattern to discern which men he chose to murder. But a random selection of them met their end all the same, at the end of a Corsair sword. After the first, all those hapless others would now never wake to find their throats were opened. A crimson chasm erupting sporadic spurts of their lifeforce to stain collars, to stain the sturdy linen of their beds ..


At last count, a dozen were slaughtered at the hand of the Gondorian. And Gwandhyra there reined in his hate, though it was hard to do so. Returning to the first Corsair who had been dispatched, the Ranger glanced about the place to locate Gwestion. He had neither seen or heard the young Ranger during his distraction and, in the same moment that he fretted to not find the youth, he realised that none else would see him either. They should leave this room now though. There were enough Corsairs dead to leave the rest to wonder why those only. Scared Men, confused men, revealed far more of themselves than Men confident and alert, after all. Suspicions would rise, and doubts and petty quarrels might break out some. A crew made up, as this was, of such a myriad crowd, .. loose tongues would allege of why and what they knew of one another. At the very least, the Men of Umbar would be no wiser as to how some had truly met with such misfortune. Save to assume that their motley mass had turned upon each other. Who knew what conspiracies and accusations that ought to unleash ! If they were fortunate, then the crew themselves might even further reduce their own number ..

That was the plan, one he did not have the means or courtesy to share with Gwestion, for fear of wakening the enemy in midst of an expository confession. Who was to say that it might have worked rather effectively. That is, assuming that the two Rangers could exit from the ship without their presence ever having been properly realised. That is, if Uhta Halsad struggling to sleep, albeit in the luxury of a private Captain’s Cabin, didn’t decide that the best way to forget the strange sounds he had thought he’d heard, to dispel the worst of his imagination, was to make use of his wakefulness .. and come rouse a second round of sentries from their hammocks that might then replace the first.

Which was, incidentally, exactly what he decided, at that precise moment, to do ! Steps approaching along a dark corridor summoned the slow chill of acknowledgement in Gwandhyra’s chest. The heart thumping, pulse pounding resumed, louder in his ear than ever. There was nothing else to do but dive unto the closest empty hammock (assigned maybe for the two dead sentries, or the two dead scouts …) and throw his face down, fake slumber, and hope that Gwestion possessed a similar sense of smarts and self-preservation to keep himself from discovery.
Last edited by Ercassie on Mon May 02, 2022 5:52 pm, edited 1 time in total.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gwestion
Aboard the ‘Spectre’ (Spook) Ship

Gwestion’s question was not exactly answered, but another question was returned in reply. The young man did not disagree that the swift dispatchment of the two sentries was in all likelihood, a necessity. But he was wondering if the other man intended to cut all of the pirate’s throats in their sleep. It wasn't what they set out to do, and he wasn't sure he liked partaking in such..pirate-like behavior, but he also understood how very outnumbered they were. This might be their chance to even the odds a bit, and so, he followed his comrade with all stealth down below deck, wondering what he had gotten into.

Gwestion had never set foot on board a ship, and the soft creaking of the ship made him slightly jumpy. Every tiny noise, to his ears, sounded like a man walking toward them. But he tried not to seem nervous or jittery. Glancing after Gwandhyra, he wondered what his idea might be, as the man suggested they see what else they may take of them. Waiting at the top of the steps for a moment, he gave Gwandhyra a few moment's time to move down far enough, then followed. Not a word was spoken, but many thoughts raced through his mind. Did these pirates take prisoners? Might they have prisoners on board right now? It occurred to him that if they were able to defeat them, that a search ought to be made of the ship.

Gwandhyra disappeared into the dimly lit room from whence snoring could be heard. Gwestion stepped to the doorway and took a glance around. It appeared, at least from a glance, that all were sleeping. Gwandhyra had begun moving among them. But this was the crew’s quarters, right? There must be a captain, somewhere. He would have his own private sleeping chamber, Gwestion guessed. There could be others too, though he knew little about sailing life.

With this in mind, the young man stationed himself as a sentry, guarding the doorway lest any others should come upon them without warning. He took a glance into the room after he had stood there for a moment. He could barely see Gwandhyra moving through the shadows, and he could not tell what the man was doing. Most likely, he was cutting all the throats of the pirates, just as he had suggested they might do. Should he go and help? He debated about it, but the idea of slitting a man’s throat while he slept was rather unappealing to the young man. Instead, he stood his ground.

And a good thing he did, for he heard the footsteps approaching. His heart beat a bit faster at the sound. Gwandhyra must be warned. Pausing briefly to calm his nervousness, he made a soft whistle, mimicking the bird call that he and Gwandhyra had agreed upon earlier, directing it toward the inside of the room. Gwandhyra had dove onto one of the hammocks, but Gwestion inwardly questioned this. If it was the captain coming he probably had a reason. Maybe he had missed his sentries. Or, perhaps he would see the ‘scout’ and demand to hear the report and be angry that he had gone to bed before giving his report. But he hadn't time to go and mention this to Gwandhyra, for the person was nearly right upon him!

Gwestion had to hide, and fast. Thankfully, there was a door across the hall. Hoping very much that it wasn’t going to be more dangerous than his current predicament, Gwestion ducked through this doorway as fast as he could. With any luck, it would be an empty room and not the one the person was heading for. It was probably either the captain, or perhaps a cook, or maybe one of the crew had gone to relieve himself and was returning to bed. Or, perhaps there had been more sentries after all?

Hopefully, Gwandhyra would not be discovered. Gwestion worried though. What if whoever this was approaching were to find him? He stood near the door and listened, heart pounding. Would the footsteps go by? Or go into the room? Gwestion hadn’t taken a look into the room, and thus had not seen the setup that Gwandhyra had arranged. He waited with one hand on his sword hilt, waiting to hear if he needed to use it... and hoping for the best.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Celedir Glaerithil and Halyanis Lomerielle
Nin-In-Eilph, a week ago

The pitiless blade gnawed it’s slow exploration through skin, and muscle; never deeper than a sucker punch of steel. Never in the same place twice. A prairie of puckering wounds had begun to sprout up across the Elf’s torso, until it resembled a back garden, dug up by an aimless dog. Celedir sagged against the ropes that bound him, sank his chin into despair and sought for the strength to keep a scream behind his teeth. A knuckled nest of fingers seized his mud-strewn hair and jerked the young Elf’s head back hard against the tree that kept him.

How many holes need I put in you, before some secrets come all spilling out, eh ?

Drest was growing impatient. He had assumed the female would object sooner, at the sight of her fellow’s hurt. But she did not flinch. Dark eyes bored out hard as obsidian beneath those winged brows, as though the She-Elf believed that would be enough to ward him off. It was the male, and admittedly younger, though the Dunlending could not have known it, elf who seemed ready to flounder; admittedly as much from ill use as from despair.

Come now Pretty bird,” the Chieftain came back to face Halyanis, all too aware that his men were watching .. “Sing for me. You owe me that much at least. After all the song and dance you’ve put us through … Tell me .. where the Ranger outpost can be found.” The Man swayed in so close that he might have stole a kiss, slunk his tongue precariously along the sullied knife, so she might see, his own blood adding iron to the violent tang on his tastebuds. It was enough that he did not shudder to do so. The Noldo steeled, as far, which was not far, as she could manage. It was not nearly enough. “Or I shall cut your friend here into so small pieces that your people will be finding them for as long as your cursed lifespan keeps you.” The whisper did not make the words any kinder.


The former soldier of the House of Harp, of Gondolin, of the wars of the First age of the Sun .. spat in the Dunlending’s face, all the hate and venom that mere sputum could convey. As Drest vibrated with rage, and shot a fierce glance at some of his closest, guffawing, companions, the Noldo cast her resolute look toward her son and offered up what small comfort the gentle words of their clandestine tongue could offer.

Hold strong, my son. Hold on.” she bade him staunchly.

I think they have mistaken us,” the punctured Elf managed to pant out, electing to focus on thought rather that feeling. “For someone else,” he couldn’t think what else these men were talking about. All their song and dance ? He’d never laid eyes on their like before now. And already he knew he would wish to never more after. He’d never even spoken to a Ranger in his life, for all that.

Give them nothing,Haly’s long dark hair meshed with the dirtied marshwater it now was caked in, but she gave no sign that it bothered her, hung like a used mop no matter how many times she shook it out of her face. Emboldened by her support, Celedir managed to nod, weakly. Drest strode back between them then, severing the fleeting connection, and decided to try another approach. He turned back to the male, breaking a fist open against the already grime-streaked cheek. A grimace escaped the already injured Elf, and it took a brief time before he returned his face from where the blow had sent it sidelong.


If you don’t want her to wear a matching set of holes, out with it ! Tell me ! Where is the den they call Osdolen ?Drest rushed his blade in a blurred delivery to the Elf’s widening eyeball, and stopped just short, notching one high cheekbone as what seemed an afterthought. The altered threat, which now also endangered his mother, suggested that the unhappy Elf strove to do all he could, to make her proud of him.

We know nothing of this place you speak of,” he stung at his tormenter defiantly. “We can give you nothing. You have wasted your time.” Too late he realised the slash of a smile. From Drest. As Haly’s responsive silence spoke volumes.

This one speaks words we can understand ..” the Dunlending triumphed, bearing his eventual and limited success as though it were a shield he might ward off all previous delay. And Celedir grimaced, not from the pain of his injuries but of his own foolishness. At least he could tell himself that they would question him now, and leave Haly alone. But cold rivers of worse than sweat were leaching his fortitude, forfeiting his comprehension. Might be that would explain why he’d burst out any words at all ? “We won’t waste a single inch of you, I promise,” came the crowing proclamation, and no reassurance. The Dunlending was circling, making a showcase now that there seemed something worth crowing about. After the sort of day he had suffered, it was about time. “But don’t give up so easily,” he jeered, throwing both arms wide, as his comrades now guffawed in support, rather than scoffing. “I think you do know. I think you are just not ready to tell yet. Let’s just see what we can do about that …


Bracing for he knew not what, the Elf trembled like a plucked wire, as the sneering Dunlending gestured for the frying pan some of the Men had been crowded around, to be brought over. Before he could fathom what they might be about to do to him, two Men rallied to hold Haly’s head in place. She struggled, for what little use it was worth. Celedir could do naught but fret as they savagely forced her lips apart, and her mouth close then to the steaming hot metal.

This one can not speak to us,Drest all but danced in place in front of the wide-eyed Noldo. “I have no need for her to speak to him.” A crooked index finger pointed out the male Elf with all the vindication of a zealous prosecutor. The prisoner certainly felt guilty as the Men forced roasted stones and gravel down her throat, all accompanied by a mocking percussion of cruelty. The tree that the She-Elf was bound to writhed in sympathy, leaves wilting to the ground from all the thrashing that came at it’s bole.


Don’t ..Celedir didn’t have much to work with, but still could not keep from protesting. Strength though had begun to seep out of his injuries, as sure as the blood stained his clothes. Hurt wracked through him for his mother’s sake far more than for his own. And the most desperate of wrath grew in slow progression. “Don’t !!” he tried again, accomplishing attention back brought unto him, by the apparent chief.

See what power you don’t have here,Drest beat his satisfaction into Celedir with a smug twist of a smile. “Now, if you don’t want something more tipping down her throat, something had better crawl out of yours !


Their game placed back into intermission, the Men cleared enough from their buzzing throng that the young Elf could finally catch glimpse of his mother. Her eyes were fixed upon some distant point he could not ascertain, a single tear on the brink of breaking from one corner. The sight punched through his gut with helplessness.

I was just about to tell you,Celedir straightened up as far as he was able, and regretted it. His head was swimming, how much was he bleeding, andhow much was he simply wet from being dragged all through the water ? “But .. since you .. hurt .. her …?” He didn’t need to finish the sentence, which was well since he was not sure he could have. Firmly clamping his lips together, he used the only tool at his disposal. And shook his head pointedly, as far as he was able, until he began to feel dizzy. “Let her go. And I may think again.

With a growl, Drest lost his temper, but not his senses. “Feed the She-Elf, every hour, on the hour.” he decreed, testily. “Until he,” the accusatory finger make a return, “tells what I want to hear.



Image

Celedir, with Gladhron
Abandoned watch-tower, one week later

Grey eyes narrowed at the explanation, that Gladhron had ‘’run into enemies ..’ Concern was exhumed, and flew up like a startled bird in the Elf’s mind; his own fears for the Men mistaking all each other in the mist. But as the Ranger made motions to get up from where he’d slumped, unceremoniously, against the wall, Celedir began to decipher a new variant of concern.

You’re hurt,” he acknowledged, stooping as he approached, to spare the Man from even raising eyes. On one knee, he folded the other underneath himself, and sought to gain a better bearing on the situation. It did not hurt that he would perhaps obstruct view to the room behind him, for the Elf could not recall if he had closed the attic hatch. Or had he hung the old rags back on the rungs of the ladder, to disguise it’s use ….

Where are you hurt ?Celedir probed with focus about a closer inspection. Even as a heedless Gladhron said he’d ‘dealt’ with the Enemy, and reported he’d taken care of the horses. There was not a word of remonstration uttered against the Elf who had been supposed to cover him from the window. Words such as they were though diminished into a mumble, as the Man’s head seemed to grow too heavy even for him to support.

The leg, it seemed, was evidently too weak to support him, or he might just be dazed and unsteady. Blood loss could account for that too of course. The blood which had sapped from the afflicted limb betrayed which one. There was blood too at the Ranger’s sleeve, but that might have come from pressing at his thigh. “Gladhron,” Celedir caught abruptly at the Man’s shoulder. “I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me ?


There was too much to address at once, the fact of enemies being abroad, which they had hoped to avoid. The fact of the other Rangers not having come back, and Celedir had not been minding what occurred outside .. Gladhron was bleeding … And Men, Men were not so hardy as Elves .. Bandages, where were the …


Eyes. Dark brown eyes blinked down from the unclosed hatch, gauging quietly what was occurring below.

🧚
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gladhron
An abandoned watchtower. late third age


Gladhron's attempts at convincing both himself and his elven ally that he was fine were clearly unsuccessful. His head rested against the wall.. it felt heavy, and he wanted to close his eyes and rest. Maybe all of this was some sort of dream, he thought vaguely. How long had he been dreaming? Did he even go to sleep? He tried to remember when he'd last been asleep. He'd fallen down after that fight with the corsairs, he recalled. Maybe he was still lying down there, sleeping when he thought he was awake. If that was so, then shouldn't he wake up and come inside the tower? Out of the fog.. into safety, such as it was. But sleep sounded so nice right now, he decided. He could enjoy this nap for a little while longer, then he'd wake up and find his way back inside.

Blond hair fluttered before his half-open eyes, along with a memory. His eyes drifted fully closed as he thought of her. Meliea, the girl he met in his very first adventure as a ranger. He began to smile faintly, wondering how long it had been since he'd seen her, wondering how things were doing in Dale. They ought to go there soon. Maybe when he woke up, he'd talk Gwestion into going there, instead of...

"Gladhron. I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Someone was speaking to him, Gladhron realized after a moment, as he felt the elf shaking him, jolting him back out of his memories. Struggling to force his eyes open again and bring his focus back to what was happening now, Gladhron was briefly puzzled to find that it was not Gwestion who had so rudely woken him, but the elf. Celedir. "What?" He had let his mind drift, he realized, thinking about how much he wanted to lie down and sleep until he was feeling better. And think about Meliea, of course.

Something the elf had said before now came back to his recollection. Asking where he was hurt, or did he imagine that? No, surely not. Even if he didn't, it might be useful to let someone know he was bleeding, Gladhron figured..something in his mind told him he needed to be tended to, that this sudden desire to sleep was not good. He turned his gaze downward, finding that his right hand was resting over the place where his thigh had been stabbed, though he had ceased to actually apply pressure by now. "My leg," He answered faintly, or else volunteered the information. "It hurts..but my arm, I think..is worse." It felt like his heart was racing. His left arm, which so far had been lying limp on the floor beside him, moved slightly. His intention was to raise it up and turn it over, to show Celedir the wound, but he found his arm in a weaker state than he expected. Beneath it, blood had been silently pooling all this while, hidden from view by the folds of his cloak.

Remembering, as if from a dream, that only a few moments ago - or was it an hour? (He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd 'napped') - he had told Celedir that Gwestion would insist on bandages, Gladhron volunteered up the answer to the question Celedir had not spoken aloud. "Gwestion... he's got..bandages in our saddlebags," He knew his brother always kept a supply of them, though he couldn't really say exactly where at the moment. "Else..a blanket may serve?" He'd seen it done before, to tear a sheet into strips to make a bandage... or clothing, or something like that. Any sort of cloth ought to work, right? "Use..my cloak..if naught else can be found." His helpful suggestions faded to a mumble as he rested his head back against the wall, wanting nothing more than to sleep and dream of Meliea.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Uhta Halsad, Captain of the ‘Spectre’
Too ‘Spooked’ to sleep


Thus far removed from the wiles of the open sea, the vessel did not pitch or lurch where she tread still water. Uhta woke not readily to meet any occasion; rather, he was of a bear-like tendency to hibernate. In any other port but this, it ought be said. For the most anarchic of tempests out in relentless, unprotected waters would yet stir the man less so than the cold, quiet mist-garbed ghost town where he now sought to sleep. The eerie wail of marsh birds revisited his thoughts, on how alike they sounded to despairing cries of forlorn souls. The first splash of water might have been his mere imagination. But the second … He could not recover rest from that point on.

One barely alert eye idly chased the lonely, emptied bottle which ran it's drum roll across the wooden floor, and back. And so again. A gentle lullaby, not alarming, but soothing. Designed to smother all senses. The immense slab of a sailor sighed nonetheless, at the lack of sensing a warmth beside him. Loneliness was the dreary side of the two-faced penny called adventure. At home he was never without a gaggle of women. More than once his bed had nestled three at once with him, and especially if they had each refused Matsu earlier that same eve ! But the life at sea denied such pleasures, at least until all duty were done. They were else distractions, and he could not afford to become distracted at this stage of the game. Shame. There was nothing he would wish for more. Soft, comforting touch from something smooth and sweet. Large doe eyes upon him, so convinced that naught could defeat his mighty heft that he never doubted it himself. Should have brought a couple of those serving wenches from the Bree Pub with him. But Kfir would never have stood for it and his mentor had made pains to watch him and wave him away personally.

Still, it was no use here with the musing. That last sound that had roused the mighty Umbarian was certainly unlike to anything remotely natural in this world. Whether he was hearing things or no, regardless, he was not achieving any sleep. It stood then to reason that those men inferior to him should dare not enjoy such a privilege themselves ! Throwing his boots and wide belt about him, the Captain arose. His frustration accompanied him from the cabin, carrying him fast along the darkened corridor below deck.

The soft click of Gwestion closing a door was lost beneath the lurching charge of Uhta's substantial tread. However, he did pause before that self same entrance, reach out for the handle, and then hover where he stood. As though he could sense the Man stood just similarly tensed upon the other side. If the two dozen galley slaves that were chained to their oars beyond that door had risen, or caused any alarm, then it would not do to gift them a free passage from their hole. Slowly the Captain uncurled the fleshy fingers that made up his waiting fist. Grasping instead at the horde of keys that huddled at his belt, the Umbarian played safe, retrieved the key that locked that door, and nodded firmly to himself as he did just that. There were two guards within the slave holdings who held keys they could use, in a need. But now their Captain at least would hear if any stole out from that direction. He was forced to turn his back upon the locked door now that he was come upon the general sleeping assembly ...
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Gwestion
Aboard the ‘Spectre’ (Spook) Ship

Perhaps he had made a mistake. Gwestion nearly stumbled down a set of steps the moment he stepped through the door, but managed just in time to catch his balance. Standing on one foot at the top step, he held onto the door and felt around with his free foot for the next step. It had been dark in the hallway, but it was darker still in here, whatever this room was. Heart hammering in his chest, the young man listened carefully. There were people in here. A chill went down his back. Where was he now?

As he strained his ears for any sounds down at the bottom of the steps, he tensed at another sound coming from by the door. His head snapped around to stare in vain through the pitch darkness. Was someone opening the door? He thought fast about what he could do if they did. But no... he recognized the sound of a key turning in the lock. Another chill went down his spine.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Someone had locked him in here. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, and took a few slow, steady breaths to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to panic. But why had he been merely locked in, rather than the person opening the door to confront him? He was puzzled about this. Some thought in the back of his mind argued that perhaps the person was merely going around all the ship and locking all the doors, and had not even seen him go in here. Therefore, it might be best to remain very still and silent.

Gwestion’s throat felt dry as he swallowed. He listened to the sounds down at the bottom of the steps. There were people down there. He could hear soft snoring, shuffling of someone repositioning, and other such sounds. Like there were several people asleep down there. More of the crew, perhaps? His thoughts strayed to Gwandhyra, and he wondered what was happening with him. He hoped the ranger wouldn’t be discovered. It would turn out rather badly for him, if he was, Gwestion imagined. Surrounded by the entire crew... he shivered a bit and tried not to think of that. “Get in, take a look about, and get out.” He muttered under his breath, soft enough he could barely hear himself. So much for that plan. “Easier said than done, Gwandhyra.” He couldn’t help grumbling, as if the other man were there to hear him.

Easing his way cautiously down the gently creaking wooden steps, Gwestion practically held his breath the whole way down. There was a dim light ahead, much to his relief. A covered lantern hung from the ceiling, casting just enough light to see by while still keeping the room very dark. As the young man neared the base of the steps, he froze and blinked a few times to make out what sight met his eyes, taking in all the details he could in the dim lighting.

There were several men asleep there, but they did not appear to be in good health. Most bore bruises and... and even.. lashes from a whip? Most looked like they had not seen sunlight in a long time, nor had any of them had any sort of grooming done to them in some time. Gwestion caught his breath, frozen in place as the realization hit him. Slaves. His gaze drifted down to their feet, and saw confirmation of his suspicion in the iron shackles they wore about their ankles.

He swallowed again, this time in an attempt to contain his fury. His jaw clenched shut, and he stayed very still, though his hand closed into a fist as his eyes searching the room. There must be someone here who were not shackled, who may look better off than the others, or perhaps who wielded the whip. There would be a guard in here, he guessed, to keep them from plotting and attempting an escape or anything of the sort. Was the guard sleeping, off to the side perhaps, where Gwestion’s field of vision could not reach? Or was he watching his prisoners?

Remembering that he was still disguised as one of them, he began to wonder... could he perhaps convince the guard that he was here to relieve him of his duty? Or would Gwestion be forced to slay the pirate and take the key he must surely keep on him? It would be risky, of course, trying to impersonate a pirate when he knew nothing of their customs, mannerisms, and their daily activities... he could think of about a hundred ways that could go wrong. But then again, if he had to fight his way out, there were plenty of ways that could go wrong, as well...
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Celedir Glaerithil and Halyanis Lomerielle
Nin-In-Eilph, a week ago.

The dark water licked about his torso in an oily skirt of intrigue. That growing flotilla of tiny, foaming islands crowding his sodden shirt. That slime-ridden second skin sucked at his punctured flesh beneath, but the Elf’s blood was near frozen in his veins, so slow did it ebb out in billowing bursts of colour to further stain the fetid mire. The marsh was no more cool than the windless air, all chill riding down the Elf’s spine in a carriage of dread and discomfort. Celedir closed his eyes against the raucous that still prowled the bank. All sight and sound of swans and other water birds that ought to be his neighbours here had long since fled from the jarring spurts of laughter from the Men. Celedir could not, had not, heard a sign of Halyanis for some time; save for all the pronounced cruelty of those who still tormented her. That their continued taunts spoke of her persevering in this world was little to be glad for. Out of his sight, he could hear all too well and miserably imagine what she was enduring. Without any clue of how she was holding up. Which had been a sure design of those who wanted him to give up what information he did not even know, in order to spare her.

The cage they had allotted him was lazily half submerged in the now despoiled marsh, with his one wrist caught up in the knotted grasp of thick, damp rope; it hung him like a slab of meat from the hefty wooden rafters that made up it’s roof. This he assumed, because the thought had presented more than once, so that he should not be allowed to even drown himself in despair. Searching toes could not find purchase or even be certain how far down lay the imagined sediment below. So the wrenching pull at the single arm by which he was suspended, ached in an endless complaint of exhaustion. At times the Elf managed to reach up with his free hand and hook those numbing fingers also around the high ribs of his confinement; which alleviated the strain some by sharing it decidedly between both limbs. But the lonely guard who had been his only company for hours now, took objection to this, as though any efforts for the prisoner to find the merest comfort were as great a threat as attempts to escape. And as if the sight of a still strung corpse rotting in each of the other two water cages wasn't enough to dishearten the Elf of his fate, the Man had personally made it his business to strike a path across the macabre stepping stones, and relieve himself, deliberately making even more foul a water to rain down upon his captive than that Celedir was already pooling in. The guard had withdrawn once more after he was done, muttering complaints at his lot in life for being assigned to this thankless duty.

It felt as though at least several hours before the 'excitement' on the bank seemed to die down; and the quiet that succeeded it was somehow worse than all that the crowing and laughing had been. Was his mother likewise come to an end ? Celedir called out instinctively once, before questioning the wisdom of this, and startling at how thin his voice sounded. It met nonetheless with no response that would appease him or, thankfully any other response at all. Recalling how the men had fed burning stones down his mother's throat, as though she were a chimney, he convinced himself she simply was not able to call back to him in reply. But if he could just get to her .. if there was any of her yet remaining to reach .. clearly it was down to him to get them out of there. He was going to do this, he had to. He refused to lose another parent, or endure another tirade of Tirindo’s disappointment. She would never have come out here if he hadn’t begged. This was his fault.


Summoning what strength he had left, Celedir caught again at the high beam above with his trembling but unbound hand. He hung so for a moment from both slime-iced palms, readying mind and body for what he hoped to accomplish next. Deciding that the guard had now been gone so long that the Mortal (all of them .. if he were fortunate ..) must have succumbed to the needs of sleep, the Immortal seized advantage of no chance for his own rest. There was naught he could see that he had to lose. He could still extend his legs enough to strike at either side of his waterlogged cage. This had earlier proved much pain for him and a macabre intrigue from his guard, as the Elf had tried to kick the wooden bars apart around him. It had been too strong to collapse so, but therein now lay new thought of escape. Hooking his ankle around the strong bars to the left of him, first with one foot, and then both, he dragged on a leverage of his weight through his arms, so he could manoeuvre both legs on a slow, an infuriatingly slow, walk of ascent up the inside of the cage.

Finally his ankles were eased and hitched over the rafters above him, matching both his wrists, and he like a hammock rocking from the roof of his prison. Now transferring the bulk of his weight into his legs, Celedir used the freed slack at his wrists to manipulate his bound hand from its holding, by means of dogged enthusiasm from the free hand. The progress, despite all prayers offered quietly to the Valar, was limb-numbingly slow and more than once, he lost grip of the slick wooden rafters with his aching joints, plunging back abruptly to hang from that one wrist until tears wet his face as much as the cold slap of that mocking splash back to square one. But he was too tired to surrender, and also invigorated to realise no guard even came running at the noise. Hope began to warm him with the exertion. When the cloying cord that wrapped his wrist finally gave up its prize, Celedir dropped back into the water for the last time. For he was at least liberated now, within his cage. And if he could ease the rope from ravelling around his raw-rubbed skin, then yes, he could just as soon ease it away from securing the roof door to the surrounding wooden rafters. He just had to climb back up there again, using the now emptied dangling rope.

As it turned out, this was managed not so soon at all as he would have expected or preferred, not by half. But still it came to be before he was conquered by the trial. Propelling himself up then, slowly toward the high exit, the Elf was birthed upward, through the escape hatch of the water cage at last. And taking as small a time as he dared waste on glancing for guards, he beat as sodden and swift path as he could to where they held his mother.


The men were all about their dying fire, a pack of sleeping lions in a haphazard circle on the barely raised bank beside the bog. Now, come face to face with seeing the conclusion of the night, Celedir swallowed hard as he toed a cautious approach back to his mother's tree. It had a look about it, like some giant squatting toad, with a splay of dark-wooded branches that no breeze could stir. But its allure lay in the She-Elf still bound to its ugly bole.

A rasping hoarse strangle of breath rattled it’s tail from her throat, as though some wretched thing were trapped in that traumatised channel, slowly dying. Her head hung low as he approached, the long dark fall of straggled hair like a pall to veil her departed hope. But as her son came at last within reach, the She-Elf roused against all odds, to meet his approach, her own dying fire not yet extinguished in the ring of two dark eyes. There was neither time nor sense in speaking, so he set in wordless work about her bonds without delay and soon the slight of her weight slumped against him. And he held there for a moment, willing that she raise to stand. One arm out that she might grab upon need, he glanced belatedly around for their robbed horses, until his mother's cold hand stole and stowed Celedir's efforts, directing his gaze toward the remnants of a grisly feast. Comprehension felled the younger Elf to a crouch in disbelief, which was painful to rise from moments later. And he felt tears must come for the poor beasts. But, horses or no horses, they must take what they were left with away, afore ever the Men wakened from snoring repose and managed any further damage.


Seizing up all weapons of their foe, those that were evident at easy glance and safely accessed, Halyanis quietly delivered these into the darkness of the water's depths. The Elves retained only the barest of these tools that they might find need for themselves. For neither one was fit to bear much as a burden and even life affirming equipment would be no boon if it slowed down their escape. Arms linked, they supported one another as limbs were swallowed up by the water close at hand. Their path through the dead tide saw each and both in turn fall foul of sudden drops and deeper spills, until they were swimming more than wading on their way through the deeper river’s route. The memory of how they had first fallen afoul of their captors at all, remained a memory hard to put to rest. Every tug of some underwater root, every stumble over unequal terrain, the flight of the Elves was punctured by new fears of recent experience. But they had only to make it so far as the waterfall. And there, hand in hand, the pair of them chambered upon the rise of a rocky ledge and gave both wistful eyes toward what once had been Eregion. Then fingers tightening upon each other, they allowed for gravity to take them beyond reach of their foe, and the grace of the Valar to keep them through the perilous descent into the waters far below.



Private with @Rillewen


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Celedir Glaerithil and Halyanis Lomerielle
With Gladhron, Lond Daer. Current day.

The Ranger was evidently in a bad way and Celedir was torn between seeking for the bandages he needed, and also applying pressure over the Man’s wound. Gladhron’s reveal of a second injury, which he struggled to even present, only furthered heightened the Immortal’s concern. His efforts at tending to Halyanis and his own wounds had been makeshift at best. But this screamed a far more urgent summons. Men were not so given to recovery. And this one was pumping out a double faucet of essential fluid to stain the floor. His cloak, Gladhron suggested, might soak up some of the spill. But even as the pale Elf unclasped it, he was forced to shift the weakened Ranger from where the folds of material were under him. Each movement caused him to wince in sympathy for the further pain he might be instilling in his ally. Each moment seemed to be escaping him. There was too much to manage, he was beginning to panic .. The situation was not so unlike filling a leaking bucket.

His back to the ladder, his mind flooded with concern, Celedir did not register the emergence of his mother, until Halyanis took his trembling hand and held it steady. Their eyes met as she slowed his breathing with a relentless stare that his mute nod concluded moments later. Easing behind Gladhron, the She-elf encouraged the Man away from the wall he had propped up against. The bloodied cloak her son offered, was folded, and she gestured with a slight tilt of her head that it be made ready under where she leant the Ranger’s head.

It looks like a deeper puncture wound on his thigh, but a longer laceration down his forearm,” the archer relayed, quietly in Sindarin. “There are bandages. Apparently. In the saddle bags. Downstairs ..

She nodded once, and he did not wait for any further delay. There was no time to explain her sudden arrival to Gladhron. They could worry about that if there came time for them to, afterward.


She’ll stay with you. I shall be swift,” he bade the Man in a return to Westron. “Fret not,” was the parting shot, though it might have been meant as much for himself, as for the patient. Dark hair spilled like a flood of ink down from a high white brow. Haly’s equally dark eyes were fluid as she scrutinised the injured Ranger. Her clothes were a non-descript shade by this point, ravaged by dust and dirt, and her blistered lips were crusted with cracks, like a parched stone held together by veins of frailty, moments before it crumbles all to dust. A small bowl she had brought down the ladder with her, which now held far less water than it had when she had begun her descent. Still it served as the She-Elf flicked small splashes of the cool liquid at Gladhron’s face to startle the Man from falling unresponsive.

Hands inspected the cold, clammy skin that leered from his drenched sleeve, tearing the ruined material away without remorse. Once severed, the She-Elf employed the cloth, with a firm grasp over the dark crater on the Man’s beleaguered thigh. Her right palm laid calmly over the sluicing wound, fingers raised more lightly about the edges as she folded her legs into a sit beside him. Before he might try to rise or protest, Haly pulled her own left sleeve up over her respective palm, and took up the Ranger’s forearm, resting the material between them as she raised the limb gently above his head. Her limb supported his in this tireless suspension until her son flew like dawn back up the tower steps, an entire saddle bag caught up in his grasp that he dropped at his feet.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gladhron
An abandoned watchtower. late third age


A weak groan issued from his throat as the elf shifted him forward, as this new position made Gladhron's head swim a little more than before. His vision dimmed slightly, and moments later, he was faintly aware of another presence. A female presence, though he couldn't have said quite how he knew that, given his current condition. His blood was escaping much faster than he thought it ought to, and he was finding it more difficult to stay awake. Yet his eyes struggled open as he felt his head leaned back against a softer pillow than the wall, and gazed up into the face of one who had not been there before. She had, it seemed, appeared from nowhere. Dark hair cascaded down around a fair, youthful face, which he could not quite bring into focus. A light from somewhere behind her cast a glow that gave her an ethereal look, and thus, the only explanation that he could form in his confused mind was; this was a ghost, come to help him from the other side.

With that idea in his head, the only logical explanation from there seemed clear to him. "Gwil?" He muttered, somewhat amazed, as emotions of sorrow stirred up in his heart. The apparition had taken his arm in one hand, lifting it. Gladhron blinked, trying to see her face better, but could not. "S'at..really you, Gwi'thiel?" It must be her, for who else could it be? Who else but his dear sister would have come from beyond the grave to help him? No one else he knew had dark hair, for his mother was a Rohirrim woman, with blond hair. He was half-aware that the elf had gone away, or else Gladhron had zoned out all else but this ghost of what he assumed was his sister. Hearing no reply, he let his eyes close and rested his head back, somewhat comforted by the thought that Gwilithiel had come to help him when he most needed it. Another thought occurred to him, then.

"Have you come.. to bring me with you?" He wondered in a weak mumble. Perhaps he was dying, and her spirit had come to guide him to whatever sort of afterlife there may be. A small amount of fear flickered within, at that thought, although it did make sense. He kept growing weaker, it seemed, and it was harder to keep awake.. and..her appearance here. Perhaps he could see her because he was on the verge of death? But he mustn't die, not yet. "Please.. don't let me die yet..." The corners of his mouth tugged downward, worried he might not be able to hold on until Gwestion had returned. With slight desperation, his hand sought for hers, trying to clasp it, while she held hers pressed to the wound on his leg. "Please..I...must talk to Gwes'n, tell him to..move on.. stop searching for you... maybe he'll.. be happy again..someday," He sighed as he tried to explain why he must linger a little while more, the words slightly slurred from the amount of blood he had lost. Trying to keep himself from slipping into the welcoming comfort of sleep, he tried to sit up slightly, but found it a little too difficult. Wincing at the throbbing in his head, he gave up that idea, and closed his eyes for a moment, though he focused on trying to keep his breathing steady and even.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

Chief Counsellor of Gondor
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’.. we explore what we can of their number, their stores and investigate all sign that might suggest their aim in coming here. We root through the mist of this mystery, and report back, without ever engaging. When we are better aware of what we are up against, and perhaps with aide arrived to improve our ratio some, then and only then will we be best equipped to do them the most damage.

- Gwandhyra. Outlining reasonable plans to investigate the Umbarian ship.
Not too long before he got unreasonably carried away … in the face of an old Enemy ..


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Gwandhyra Harion, Ranger in the North,
Aboard the Corsair ship (separated from Gwestion)


Without ever engaging …’ ? How had this all unravelled so far from it’s proficient plan ?

Gwandhyra held breath where he hid, his face crushed flat against the hammock he was laid in. He dared not move, lest he alert whoever was coming that he was not simply another of the crew, sleeping. For who should not be asleep would undoubtedly be the first suspected, once foul play had been observed. Admittedly, thanks to that same foul play, some of the crew were now committed to a sleep they’d never rise from and that brought the Man great satisfaction, more than he ought to have ever known. It was not the first time he wondered at just how far he’d come from, even the Man he still believed that he was. Tendency was to blame the Elf. What else would a rogue Mole of Gondolin afford, after all, in the way of encouragement ? What had happened at his hands on the self-same day Gwandhyra had met Erfaron should have been some indication of what sort of path the Immortal would lead him down. Why else would he now never dare to return home, in case they saw it, in case they heard the lies. And his loved ones perhaps would believe those lies not, until they saw him now ….

The advance of steps which had been punching into the Man’s heart stopped dead. Flicking his lower laying eye warily upwards, Gwandhyra caught his first guarded glimpse of Captain Uhta Halsad. There was little of the father resurrected in the son, at least upon appearance, for the youngest triplet of the three favoured most his mother, but the Gondorian knew enough that Jackals meant Halsad. And that was cause enough to concern, before ever he had measured the threat of Uhta himself.


There was instinct, for a moment only, to spring up and fly at the huge-built Umbarian. But the scimitar he bore had ended up beneath him, and his arm was in a foul position to even look at unwrapping his own double-handed blade. He could not move without making it obvious and .. it all came to matter none at all, because the Captain strode right over and elected to elect Gwandhyra his first nominee for Sentry replacement. A dig in the shoulder saw the Ranger raise his head, though paying mind not to turn his face upright. If the Captain held a torch, the mud would betray that he’d already been ashore. Thankfully, Uhta did not seem overly interested in whom he was waking and had opted for convenience, as Gwandhyra was hammocked near the door.

The deck is yours,” the barrel-chested Corsair let him know.

With a wordless nod, the Ranger disembarked from the mobile bed, with foremost in his mind that his cloak still sheltered his great sword, even as he held the stolen scimitar aloft. It was moments only before he heard a second set of steps pursue him up the stairs and toward the deck. Not the Captain surely, for the glimpse which Gwandhyra had gained, put Uhta at some twice the weight and tread of the second selected sentry. The Captain had put so little thought to nomination that he might have gone back to his bed none the wiser. If he had not raised his lantern to locate the cabin door, and observed a great streak of mud in the hammock where the Ranger had just lain …



On deck, Gwandhyra cleared the entrance he’d just emerged from, turned and dropped into a crouch in one swift fluid motion. Pressing hard through his boots, he surged strength enough to lunge his curved blade upward, still below the second sentry’s guard. Cold steel rammed into the enemy’s stomach, and the Ranger used one hand laid flat against the decking to rake his other, armed, hand further upward, deep and hard. Meeting a rib, the weapon rebounded back down, widening the score through skin, and loosing a tumble of displaced guts to splatter their owner’s feet. The startled corsair groaned, swiped wildly once with his own blade before it fell from his grasp and rolled just beyond reach. The hapless man staggered off his feet, one hand groping horrified at his insides and embarked on some wild frenzy to retrieve them. A final precise strike through the Umbarian’s right eye ended his torment, and his life.


There was no one else alive that Gwandhyra might spy about the deck, or else the shore. Still he scrutinised the scene as swift as he dared, before employing the bird whistle that he and Gwestion had practiced. Naught. At least naught to see, or hear. The younger man was able about their signal, he knew. He’d employed it earlier, in the very moment where they might else have been lost ! His hands dropped down on one side to waist, the Gondorian swiped his dark hair out of his face with the other, where the already unwashed mane had become slick with the mud and stuck there. His fingers came away further stained and a swift flick of the tongue dispelled the unwelcome taste about his lantern jaw. Mud blended with the salt of the man’s own sweat. His heart began to sprint the longer that he turned in place and dared not move more.

Where was Gwestion ? Where was he ? He hadn’t passed him. Had he ? Maybe the young man was hid amongst those others still swinging in hammocks, as he had been. But, no. He had never seen his ally enter the room. How focused about his slaughter had he been ? Where was Gwestion ?!!!


A wistful glance to the shore imagined escape made simple at this point, but alone .. He could not confirm if the younger man had gotten clear of the ship and he could not, whatever else, leave the youth behind. For the second time in less than twenty minutes, the Ranger resolved himself to something he knew he’d regret. But it had all come too far now to cut and run. He had gotten them into this, and he’d simply have to find some means of getting them both out.


The new brace of bidden sentries poured onto the deck in the very second that Gwandhyra held off, just in case one was his missing friend. The first of them then was immediately distracted by the dead man bleeding out like a crushed cask of red wine, all about their feet. The slower of the two sentries furrowed his brow while the other summoned his blade. The Ranger pushed past them both, cursing even as he headed back through the entrance and down the stairs. The curse was repeated, and at greater volume, as a second pair of cartoonishly cramped sentries marched up the slender passage toward him. Sword still in one hand, the Gondorian pressed each of his hands against the wall closest to touch. With this motion, he flung out both of his legs and struck the advancing Umbarians before they had a chance to slow their desperate pursuit. They rolled down the stairs like rocks and came to a heap tangled in one another, even as the Gondorian lowered his feet to the stairs and recovered his weight. His sword hand was not a little sore, but a very lot !, from that impulsive reaction and already begged him to drop the weapon entirely.

More thunder behind him this time, recognised the two sentries from on deck coming down behind him. They had scarcely stopped to check the body above, but knew that the killer had just run in the very worst direction he could have. Toward a dead end. Gwandhyra had not quite surrendered all hope that he might get out of this fix alive, though had no clue quite how he now expected that to happen. Ducking low, he allowed one of his pursuit to carry right on over head by the momentum of the chase. The other caught both the Ranger’s arms behind him as he righted himself. Bringing his head back, with force, the Gondorian caught his holder a mighty blow to the jaw, and yet this determined sentry loosened, but did not leave go his catch. Throwing himself backwards to step down on the stair, the corsair brought Gwandhyra down in his lap, and though he threw his head back in a rage of swears, tightened now his grasp upon the murderer.


There was naught that the Ranger could do but watch in horror as the gigantic Captain closed in on him, casting his slow rising sentries aside, until he could close his huge sausage fingers around the Ranger’s throat. Raising the mud-faced man in one hand off the ground, Uhta bore the twitching, struggling Gondorian with as much care as he would lift a leg of lamb. Fingers clawed at the vice grip as Gwandhyra clucked and gasped for breath. Then he was flung to the floor in a waiting semi-circle of Corsairs, and the largest of them all glancing down as though the man was something he’d just wiped off the bottom of his boot.

For a moment they considered each the other one: the Gondorian and the Umbarian. Their ancient enmity an instinct, even on this alien shore. This .. had not been part of either of their plans !
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gwestion
Below, in the dark


Down below, Gwestion was oblivious to anything happening with his comrade. Still, from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, he could hear hurried footsteps passing by the hallway beyond that door. The door that held him prisoner in here. Disregarding the noise, Gwestion turned back toward his own dilemma. There must be a guard in here. His ears strained to hear any noises beyond the sounds of sleeping men. If he hadn’t been listening for any softer noises than the snoring and shuffling and such, then the young man might have missed another, important sound. As it was, he barely heard it. The signal. The willow-wren call which the two rangers had agreed upon, as a signal for if they should become separated. Did that mean his companion was in danger? Or was he merely searching for Gwestion? He turned slightly, gazing back toward the way he had come. He dared not make any noise while he was in here, lest the guards discover him. Even a bird cry would seem rather out of place, down here.

Instinct made him want to rush back up the steps to the door and try to force his way out. But he remained where he stood, practicing the discipline taught by his father. Panic would do more harm than good, he knew. He would have to get a key somehow. He only hoped Gwandhyra was not in danger, or in need of some aid. There was little Gwestion could do about it right now, being trapped as he was. While he stood, trying to think up a plan, more and more noises echoed along the passageway of the ship, worrying Gwestion further. The pirates had been aroused, by the sound of it. It sounded like the entire crew was rushing up top. Up top, where the bird call had come from. That was very bad for Gwandhyra, but what could Gwestion do? He thought quickly, torn between helping the prisoners or going to rescue his ally.

Then again, he really didn’t know what was going on. Maybe Gwandhyra wasn’t in danger, and had merely stirred up a hornet’s nest before fleeing to safety. Perhaps he had assumed Gwestion wasn’t on board, or that he would get off as quickly as possible. Perhaps that’s what the signal had meant? The other ranger wouldn’t have any way of knowing that Gwestion had been trapped, after all. Not knowing these things seemed like torment to the young ranger. What if Gwandhyra was in serious danger? Or, what if he was perfectly fine, laughing at the pirates as they tried to figure out who had been on board their ship? It was only a matter of time before they discovered Gwestion, and then he would surely take the blame for anything Gwandhyra left in his wake.

Though it felt like minutes had passed while he stood debating over what to do, his heart pounding as he weighed the options, it was really only about half a minute. His decision was made for him, at that point.

“What’s going on up there?” A man spoke up, though Gwestion didn’t know to whom he was speaking.
“How should I know?” A voice on the other side of the room replied in a hushed tone, surprising the young ranger. Two guards? He had only anticipated one. For surely, it would be the guards, and not the prisoners. Otherwise the guard would snap at them to shush. Now sweating a little more, Gwestion tensed and closed his hand about his weapon. Sword, or knife? He hesitated, considering the close quarters in which he stood.

“Sounds like they’re having some sorta fun, and without us, of course.” The first man complained. “They never let us have any fun.” Boards creaked as he stood up.
“Where’re you going, Alato?”
“I wanna know what’s going on!”

The man was coming his way. Gwestion held his breath, preparing for the fight that was about to ensue, then wondered... could he pull off the disguise? Could he make his voice pass for one of theirs? Hastily, he tried to recall what Gwandhyra had taught him.

“Men in Umbar converse in a Southern drawl of Westron, spattered with a heavy emphasis of Adunaic...”
“Do not pronounce the first syllable of any word which has more than three syllables. Choose the middle syllable to place your weight upon. Curb the want to lilt the words toward a flowing song as you will have heard Elves do. Never roll your R’s. Be abrupt and punctuate your vowels. Your own accent has a touch of something else already,”
“Recall my words from the tower. Men of Umbar are in this age of a much mottled blend. There may well be members of a crew come from most distant Harad who comprehend little of his fellow’s speech.”


Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Gwestion decided to give it a try. Perhaps he could gain something, in that manner, though, he knew not what... or perhaps he would be discovered. He had little choice, now, and would just have to try his luck and hope for the best. Backing up the stairs a few steps, carefully, he waited until the man had rounded the corner before he strode toward him, this time without stealth. As if he’d just come down the stairs with the very intent of finding him.
“Hey! Who--” Alato began, startled.

“You Alato? Captain sent for you.” Gwestion explained with a bit of haste, making use of the little information he had managed to gather, and desperately hoping his feigned accent would fool the corsair. Seeing the man give a nod, he hurried on with his explanation, “Dunno why. He just said for you to come to him.” Did he do it well enough? Gwestion had tried to keep his words to a minimum, and now waited for what felt like an eternity, his stomach twisting around in nervous anticipation while the pirate took in the words.

“Captain Uhta sent for me?” Alato looked surprised as well as reluctant.
“Yes, you, your name's Alato, isn't it? Come on, hurry.” Gwestion impatiently made a motion to urge the man follow him, and moved back up the stairs, senses were alert just in case the man should try and assail him from behind. To his relief, the confused pirate hurried up the stairs with him, calling down to his companion,
“Keep a close eye on them while I’m gone. Don’t go anywhere til I get back.”
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Uhta Halsad, Captain of ‘the Spectre’ (Spook) Ship
faced with Gwandhyra Harion, Ranger in the North,
(separate for now from Gwestion) - @Rillewen



What to do ? With a sailor. Who murders his shipmate ?” The Captain spoke in an odd way of pausing often through a single sentence. “You know ?” he asked Gwandhyra, who met the Umbarian’s eyes and stared back, his silence speaking of a defiance that his lips could not. “You don’t know ?Uhta presumed though leaned in, as though encouraging, to allow the other Man a chance. But nothing came of it. “He doesn’t know !” the Captain barked, and the crew might have laughed, if they had not been locked so intently on the hope for retribution. “Seems like. Something you ought. To have learned,” he chided the Gondorian. “Before,” he clarified, finally reaching his conclusion. “Men of the ‘Spectre’,” Uhta opened the debate up to all present. “My loyal Men,” he locked eyes with the apparent traitor at that point. “Who can tell. Who knows ?


It was not a trick question. The rest of the crew began to eagerly shout out their answer. Two actually raised their hands, and a small number whispered a translation of the question to their fellows. ‘They do not all speak the common tongue’, Gwandhyra noted and might have pondered on how he could use that piece of information to good use. Had Uhta not just then repeated the popular response, the answer to his question.

Lash him to the body. Of his victim. Throw him over the ship’s side. Let him understand. The weight of his deed.


Gwandhyra was not a sailor and had no idea if this was common practice, but it seemed the practice of this ship at least. And all thoughts failed him in that moment except the same question which the Umbarian Captain put to him.

How many did you kill ?Uhta managed the entire point in one breath, which ensured that no part of his point was lost in translation.


Fifteen, the Ranger, summed up in his head, and it was no comfort. Not counting the two scouts who had come on the shore. The two sentries guarding on the deck … They had all but two of all those bodies here at hand. The death of near a score of the crew ought to have been a cause for great celebration, to Gwandhyra. To have rid of near a third … but the weight of the fact was turned on its head by the potential punishment. They wouldn’t do it, he thought, in the very same moment he realised, of course they would. This was Umbar, though he stood in Eriador. This was Halsad. This .. had always been his fate to die at the hands of a Jackal. It had been written some twenty years before and he had fled, only to stride back foolishly in of his own volition now and provoke the same trap he’d previously escaped. Fool ! Idiot !

Some small relief might have ventured from the fact they believed him one of the crew. Which meant that they would not seek ashore for any further signs of foes or infiltration. But where was Gwestion ? A cursory glance about had not revealed the other Ranger, save if he’d majorly improved his disguise ! If he were not here though, and had not made it to the deck .. Oh pray, that he had not been that first man that followed the Ranger onto the deck ! Had he checked ? Had he just murdered his own ally ?!



See it done,” the Captain gave a cursive gesture and directive, and the fate of Gwandhyra’s accomplice was thrust from the Ranger’s mind, as was all else. A dark sack smelling of sweat and stained on the inside with dried vomit, was flung over the struggling Ranger’s head, a thick cord of rope tied loosely over it, around his neck. Blind, and jerked off balance by the unseen leash, he was beat and shoved and herded until he stood up, arms poised defensively before his chest. A tug at the rope saw him stumble forward, so low that his outstretched hands grazed the floor, and a vast weight thumped upon his back, that nearly felled him down to hands and knees with the weight. There was an eternity of jabbing, kicking, jeering and yanking, blows and kicks coming from any given direction that he might not expect. But then the bellowing grew lesser, and though it seemed he was led, bearing his horrendous, bleeding burden almost like a pack horse up the narrow staircase, Gwandhyra was pleasantly surprised to note it was undoubtedly just the one dead body they’d secured to him.

Floundering upon the deck, he was further surprised by the sudden release from that dead weight. The body which he’d been forced to haul there was discarded, and the Ranger towed back down the stairs again, his hands striking at walls and clasping for the rail uselessly against the pull of his tormentors. Once, twice, he made a panicked try at unknotting the rope, that he might at least see where to expect the next assault. But his hands were grasped away and a kick square in his back sent him sprawling down to the floor again. Dragged along by his towrope, the Ranger found himself back in what must have been the cabin again. For the noise resounded all about, as though their crowd gave up a whoop of cheers on his return. There was no fighting off a foe he could not see, nor hear amongst all of that noise. And all too soon he recognised a second load being lashed tight about his back. That was when he realised what they were doing, what they were having him do. And the notion of repercussions had never seemed so wearying a prospect.


Only when all of the slaughtered crew had finally been borne up onto the deck, was the Ranger relieved of his trialsome errand. For all that he was not particularly out of shape, his heart was ready here to burst out of his chest, his legs barely capable of holding him upright, and so it was some relief to be forced down to his knees. There slumped, both hands smacked against the deck below his chin, so that he could pant properly, adding sweat and drool to the abhorric contents of his sack. A bracing blow that made one ear ring, made sure he knew he was still minded. But the sheer expectation of his promised punishment was torment in itself. To know, to expect what was coming, .. When they coiled rope about his ankle the Man flailed and kicked out at anything he could break contact with. So it took two to crush his arms within theirs, stifling the panicked spasms of movement, and another sound blow across the back of his head, before the Ranger sank in their hold, perilously close to vomiting himself.

There was naught as he could do as heaves and grunts hoisted him aloft at the end of his secured ankle. There was naught the corsairs cared to do, as he swung and his back struck the towering mast more than once. They laughed, even as he realised that his sword was no longer at his back. That should have been the last thing on his mind, but it seemed that for now the torment was over. He was not slung over the side of the ship, bound to bodies or otherwise. He was simply abandoned, aloft, and upside down, with the pressing sensation that his right ankle was going to break if that lasted any great length of time. He shook his head, as though he might somehow dislodge the relentless sacking and reclaim his vision. But then a sound entered which he hoped was just imagination. For all that he was not frequently about ships, he had heard this noise before ..


A low hum, the entire crew fell to. The Ranger was blinded to how the bodies had been arranged, on the shore beside the ship. A mound, but not merely of corpses laid flat in neat layers. Their remains had been twisted and tangled amongst one another, as though the hands of one held the ankles of some others, and so on, in a macabre suicide pact. The eyes had been opened, forcibly if death had not so wrenched them. Uhta descended the length of his gangplank to meet the tribute, a torch erupting with fire from one hand. The Captain put flame to flesh and stepped back as the bonfire belched into an enormous blazing pyre. If there had been any doubt in Lond Daer that an unwelcome hostile had invaded, that doubt was now put to bed.


The entire crew (save for Gwandhyra’s single, sulking, guard) stood vigil, their backs to the ship, cementing the underwhelming hum as their deceased crewmates fuelled a foul, thicker mist than any seen so far this eve. Smoke billowed, and the wordless chanting persisted. Until long after the helpless Ranger had succumbed and passed out at his post.




Burning. It was the best way that Uhta had been schooled to dispose of unwanted bodies. He imagined that Keket might have housed a few viler alternatives, but Uhta was in charge here. And a flaming massacre meant home, meant comfort. To the son of the Blood Priest of Umbar, burning flesh was tribute, and a prayer for protection. That no further misdeed should imperil the mission. As for the murderer ? There was no point in wasting good breath if it might still serve the ship. Whether crew or galley slave, it was not as though Uhta could cast the murderer away, not when he had just lost a third of his hands to work the vessel !

So to the sacrifice. The Captain had faith that a plan would be revealed in reply. True the fodder of the bonfire had already been dead before ever the burn had begun, but they were in Enemy territory. And Uhta saw no point in alerting anyone outside the ship to quite how many of his crew had just been killed. It was a matter of burying the evidence as much as it was setting a signal. Captain Kfir Gameela of the Sealion was not overly far upland, no doubt still harassing foresters in Bree. The notion that such a smoke mass might alert his ally to come reinforce his efforts here, was not entirely beyond fair reason.


Uhta watched his crew file back down to bed, leaving a fresh pair for watch. Figuring that the Ranger was a traitor of his own men, there was no thought of increasing the guard against unknown terrors of the night. The eery splashes which had awakened the Corsair must have been a sign from the Shadow, to awaken, and uncover the ship’s saboteur. Approaching the prone wreckage of his hapless victim, the youngest (though largest) Halsad half turned his head so that he could gauge the man, hung upside down. He then prodded Gwandhyra with an almighty paw of a hand, much as a cat will check if the prey they have been toying with has any further life to entertain it. The blow batted the unconscious Gondorian needlessly against the mast, and brought a childish glee to the Umbarian Captain’s face. But the Ranger was long passed the point of caring. Until he should awake and face by then, he knew not what next.

Death lastsUhta assured his motley crew. “As long as I say. It lasts.” he raised a fist. And cast a glance across his sea of miscreant sailors. The most confident cheered without delay. Those less sure, but easily cowed, followed suit with over compensating vigour moments later.

Uhta, his work done, made way back below deck to find a well-earned rest. He would rest easy and comforted in his bed now. The traitor would be questioned in the morning. His haggard shell hung high would be a warning to any others fool enough to try and sabotage this craft. A hapless sail of course, to hang high. But there was use to be made of every thing the large Umbarian could have his hands on.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

Steward of Gondor
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@Ercassie

Gwestion
Below, going up on deck


The noises of footsteps rushing back and forth had mostly stopped by now. Gwestion wasn't sure whether to be worried by that, or relieved. For now, he focused on just getting himself out of here. He stayed close behind the pirate as he hurried toward the door, a dim lantern in one hand to illuminate the stairway. If the pirate found it odd that the door was locked when Gwestion had just supposedly entered by that very same way, he didn’t comment upon it. The moment the door was unlocked, however, he found the point of a blade pressed to his ribs, at his back. The man froze, stiffening in surprise as he started to glance over his shoulder.

“Don't move, don't make a sound." Gwestion dropped the fake accent as he spoke softly in his ear, lest the other guard hear him. "Just give me the key and do as I tell you.” As the man complied, Gwestion slipped the key into his pocket. Now what? The young man hesitated, unsure what he should do about the man from here. He was unwilling to kill him outright, in cold blood, yet he couldn't leave him behind, even unconscious. He needed to get up on deck, and find out where Gwandhyra was.

Perhaps, a hostage might work to his advantage. Keen ears listened for sounds from the rest of the crew. All seemed quiet, for the moment. Having been keeping his ears alert all this while, Gwestion had noticed a sort of pattern. Footsteps would go down to the sleeping quarters, then after a few minutes, they’d return up top. A few more minutes would pass, then the footsteps would return below, in seeming regular intervals. He had no idea what was going on. Perhaps they were searching for the intruder... or intruders. Did they know that the two rangers were on board, by now? Did they know how many there were? Had they caught Gwandhyra? Where was he, now? These were questions the young ranger would like answers to, but had no way of achieving such answers. At least, without going and getting them for himself. Such was his intention.

He longed to free the slaves, but knew he could not hope to accomplish such an enormous task right now. But, now that he knew they were there, he would ensure that a rescue was attempted, at least. Once the pirates were defeated, and before the ship destroyed. “I would advise you to keep very quiet, for I will not hesitate to slay you if it becomes necessary.” He warned his prisoner in a whisper, listening as the footsteps approached again. They were heading down to the barracks. Once all seemed to have grown quiet again, Gwestion made his hostage set the lantern down on the top step, then eased the door opened and pushed the other man along with him, up toward the deck. He would have rather had the light, for seeing by, but at the same time thought it best to leave it, so they would not be seen as easily. He proceeded cautiously, keeping his dagger pressed firmly to the man's back, lest he forget that it was there. Gwestion's heart raced, hoping this was the right course of action. What if he had chosen wrong?

As he started up the steps, Gwestion paused. His sharp eyes had caught a hint of a shadow there, near the base of the last step. Most would have missed it. But Gwestion was not most men, for at least half of his blood was of the Dunedain line. He stopped his prisoner and leaned down to discover what it was, pushed into the deepest shadows at the bottom of these stairs. The discovery left him more worried than he had yet been this evening. It took very little time for him to realize that what he had found was one of the bracers which belonged to Gwandhyra. He recalled when they were donning the gear of their enemies, how reluctant the other man had been to remove his own bracers in exchange for the pirate’s garb. For the man to have left it here, whether unintentionally or by design, seemed quite significant. What did this mean? He quietly tucked the bracer into his belt. “Keep moving.” His whisper was quiet, just enough for the pirate ahead of him to hear it. They continued up the stairs, Gwestion deep in thought. He located the other bracer nearer to the top, and his concern increased that much more.



Arriving on deck, Gwestion hesitated yet again, scanning the area. He’d nearly forgotten about the fog. Gwandhyra was nowhere in sight. Was he captured, killed, or had he been forced to flee? No, surely he would not abandon Gwestion here, the younger ranger reasoned. At least, he was fairly sure of that. No, something terrible must have happened. This whole scouting expedition had gone very wrong, and at this point, all Gwestion wanted to do was find his comrade, get off this boat and back up to that tower. They knew what they were up against now, and that was their primary goal.

Distracted briefly, he didn’t notice his grip on his prisoner’s arm loosening, nor that his dagger had eased away from his back while he looked around. The man took advantage of this, breaking free from his imposter crewmate. Startled as the man turned on him, Gwestion hastily blocked an attempted slash from the pirate’s scimitar. He hadn’t noticed the weapon until now, due to the circumstances. Wincing a little at the force of the pirate’s arm striking his own, Gwestion moved without thinking and brought his dagger up in one smooth motion of his other hand, burying it in the man’s ribs. With a soft gasp, the pirate’s eyes widened, then he collapsed onto the deck, lifeless.

Gwestion stared in shock. He hadn't meant to kill him, regardless of what he had said. He wasn't sure whether the prisoner might have been useful to him yet, but it was too late for that now. He glanced around, worried. What could he do now? If he had been timing it right, the crew ought to be coming back up at any moment. Perhaps he could push the body overboard, and hide the evidence? How long until the others returned? He took a few steps toward the railing, dragging the body along, feeling a sudden urgency to be rid of the body before anyone arrived to catch him. Then, he stopped short. Through the drifting fog, a chilling sight met his eyes on the nearby bank. A strange, gruesomely arranged mound of corpses. What was going on? He glanced at the body he supported in his arms, debating. Perhaps he could stuff the unfortunate pirate under the others, and let him go to his rest along with the rest of them?

The sound of approaching footsteps warned Gwestion that the pirates were coming. He didn’t have time for that. Maybe when they left again, he’d carry out that plan. Luckily, they made a lot of noise as they returned on deck. Dragging the body along with him, lest it be discovered and stir up more trouble for him, the ranger crouched behind a group of barrels, watching the pirates as they began some strange ceremony type thing.

And right in their midst, with a sack tied over his head, forced to his knees, was someone who could only be Gwandhyra. The sight sent chills down Gwestion’s back, and he gripped his knife handle with white knuckles. Unable to do anything, he stayed quiet and watched the proceedings with increasing concern. The smell of burning bodies caused him to wrinkle his nose. Memories surfaced which he did not want to think about right now, and he pulled part of his clothing over his nose, trying to smother the awful stench. What were they doing, anyway?

More than anything, he wanted to rush out and rescue his captured ally. But with wisdom despite his youth, the young ranger reminded himself that he wouldn’t stand a chance if he did such a thing. They far outnumbered him... he could see what was happening to Gwandhyra, a far more experienced ranger than he. Instead, he watched, with a sympathetic wince, as the huge man swatted at Gwandhyra, hanging there helpless and apparently not even conscious anymore. No, he would have to wait and hope for a chance to free his comrade when no one was around. The two fresh sentries which had been posted were focusing their attention elsewhere, and there was only one man who appeared to be guarding the ranger, aside from the giant. But still, how could he hope to get Gwandhyra out of this without bringing the whole ship chasing after them?

Just as all hope seemed to flee from his heart, an idea began to formulate in his mind. Gwestion glanced down at the body of the dead guard, Alato, hidden in the shadows behind the barrels where Gwestion also crouched. If he could only get a chance... particularly, if he could have a few minutes without anyone on deck... and especially if that huge hulking giant would go down below! Then perhaps, he might rescue his colleague. Could he call him friend? He hardly knew the man. Perhaps if they both got out of this alive, he might consider that term. Of course, even if the huge captain were to leave the deck, there was still a sentry posted beside the unfortunate ranger. Gwestion could probably deal with him though. Perhaps this might be the answer to Gwestion’s hopes of rescuing Gwandhyra...


As if the universe were attentive to Gwestion’s wishes at this very moment, he watched the giant deliver some words which brought cheers from his subordinates, then wandered down below deck. Astonished, Gwestion couldn’t help but remain tensed. Was it only for a few moments? Would he be returning? He waited, every moment feeling like torment. How long did he dare wait to see if the captain would return? A glance upward told him nothing. With this fog, it was impossible to tell if dawn was nigh, or whether they were still in the depths of the night. With a deep breath, Gwestion decided that he must act. But how to get that sentry away without alerting him to Gwestion’s presence? He would prefer to leave the man alive if possible, that the ship remain unaware that anything further had happened. If he could only lure him away.

Memories poked at the back of his mind. A game he and his siblings used to play. Why was he thinking of that, at a time like this? Still, he paused to consider something which he had not thought about since those days. When his brother and sister used to search for Gwestion during their childhood play, he recalled how he used to put them off track by throwing his voice, making it sound like he was in a different place than where he really was. Did he dare try such a thing now? He stared at the man guarding his ally. What if he’d forgotten how to do it? He hesitated, torn. It had always been a skill which Gwestion was good at, while his siblings could not figure it out. He’d even tried to teach Gwilithiel, once Gladhron was away with their father. Still, with not having practiced since childhood, perhaps he would fail and draw the guard straight to him, instead. He had to take that chance, the young man decided.

He must be careful, of course, and choose his words with great care. He also knew he would need to alter his accent again, to sound like one of the guard’s comrades. Heart pounding, Gwestion rehearsed in his mind the words he would say, how he would say them. Did this have the right inflection? Did he put the right amount of stress on that syllable, or did he pronounce that word correctly? More time passed in which he remained in doubt, convincing himself that it was necessary to practice this simple thing further. What if the acoustics of the ship threw it off? Or the fog might affect it, or any number of things. He must not fail at this. The stakes were far too great. But, at last, he knew he could not put it off any longer. He took a deep breath.
“Hey, need some help over here!” He called in the Umbarian accent, keeping his voice faint; just loud enough that the man near Gwandhyra should hear, but hopefully none else. If he’d put enough twist to the way the words sounded, the man ought to think it came from the other side of the deck...

Watching anxiously, Gwestion observed as the man glanced around, seeming uncertain. Would he leave his post to help his crew mates? Yes, there he went, after a glance at the bound ranger. He must have decided that the prisoner wouldn’t be going anywhere in his state. Little did he know...

After counting to five to give him time to get far enough away, Gwestion dared not wait any longer. Darting across the deck, he prayed that all would go smoothly. He reached Gwandhyra, taking a moment to study how the ropes were tied about his comrade. With a little effort, he got the man down, hoping that this was, indeed, Gwandhyra. It struck him suddenly that he had only assumed thus far. Still, it took but a moment now to verify such a fact, by removing the sack from his head.

He didn’t dare take a second longer than necessary, and so he hastily dragged the unconscious (and hopefully not dead) Gwandhyra back to his hiding place behind the barrels. The dead pirate was then dragged back, while the ranger hoped he was not making too much noise. Thankfully, the deck was wet from the fog, thus helping to muffle any noises. He must work quickly. Sweat ran down his face, streaking the mud there, as he worked hurriedly to tie up the corpse the same way which Gwandhyra had previously been tied. He wasn’t as knowledgeable at tying knots as these sailing men, and could only hope that he got it back the way they’d had it. It looked right, anyway. He paused, then swiped a hand across his face and smeared the mud across Alato’s dead one. Hopefully, if they later took off the sack, they might assume that he was the one they had done this to all along.

Before long, the pirate was hanging by the ankle in Gwandhyra’s place, sack bound over his head and Gwestion checked swiftly to ensure that all looked the same as the guard had left it. Then he hurried back to his hiding place, crouching next to Gwandhyra. And not a moment too soon. Gwestion’s heart raced as he watched the guard returning, a puzzled look on his face as he resumed his position. Only when he was sure that no alarms had been raised, did Gwestion then turn to check his motionless comrade. A quick check proved the man was still alive, much to his relief. But what now? Could he hope to get them both off the ship, with Gwandhyra out cold and perhaps badly injured? He took an appraising look at the man, estimating how much he might weigh. Along with all their gear and weapons, Gwestion didn’t know whether he could swim them both to shore. He would just have to wait for the other man to wake, and hope it was not too late by then...
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Gwandhyra Harion, aboard ‘The Spectre’ (Spook) Ship
Brought back down to earth – quite literally - by Gwestion


There is a wideheld belief that when a sense was lost to a man, whether it be sight or sound, his other senses would amplify to compensate. Gwandhyra could not have said if this were true or not. The overwhelming stink of burning flesh was enough to waft through the sacking that masked his face, but it was so steeped in his cruellest memories also, that he felt assailed from the two fronts all at once.

While the chanting and the burning held the Corsair crew to attention away from him, the Ranger had sought to keep his sanity, if not see his liberty returned to him. The first effort was to find that placing both hands flat against the deck beneath him, leant then some relief in the pressure about his ankle. Thank the stars they’d left him his hands free ! So it was that for a short time, he managed this feat of ‘resting’ upside down. But it was suffocating in the constraints of the hood, the blood rushing the wrong way and the flecks of foul vomit from who knew how many unfortunates before him, all encouraged him to join their ranks and vomit himself. Which he did, as far as he could choke out the churned bile, and have it dribble down his nostrils. Up his nostrils. It was difficult to work out the semantics and he had little heart to put to the task anyway.

A disheartening failure to wipe vomit out of his nose saw the suspended prisoner seek other means of alleviating his distress. One hand tentatively lifted up from the decking, and clawed at the knotted rope which kept his head so cowled. All the while expecting to be chided by his guard. Though he could not see there was a guard, and was hoping there was none. There was enough else to contend with ! The Gondorian had never been an acrobat and his lone arm began to quake even as the fingers of his other hand merely chased the cord around his throat without managing to make much purchase on the tight knot. With a grunt of frustration, Gwandhyra lowered his second hand back to find support, and took deep breaths. And regretted it immediately, due to the horrendous stink of the sack.


The second attempt called for a greater struggle, of releasing both hands from supporting him, to grapple with the knot. The drop back to his full weight hung from one ankle was a sharp bite of pain he had not thought could have pained him so much more than he already ached. And with no means of steadying himself else, the Ranger coiled around where he hung, striking the mast albeit with no great force. Still there was no control, no mastery over his movement, in that position. So panicked, he reached for the deck again, and splayed his fingers wide to best hold him still.

That was when a boot crunched forcibly upon his small left finger and the guard twisted his weight into the hurt.

You killed my brother,” came the fierce whisper close by. So there was a guard after all. And no happy one at that, it seemed ! “Captain will have you tell in the morning. When you are good and ready begging to give up all he asks for. And more. But first, it is going to be a long night, friend.

The word ‘friend’ had never been so horribly misused. But the gasping pain at his finger, saw Gwandhyra rush his fingers from the deck, and a new scream ran the length of his suspended leg. Thankfully he did not suffer that latest hardship, for in the gasp and shock, he breathed in deep, the stained sack drawn into his mouth in place of good air, and the Ranger passed out. By the time Uhta had come to test his toy, by the time Gwestion was soon afterward retrieving his bruised accomplice, Gwandhyra was lost to a nightmare that stole him from the nightmare of consciousness.





He came to, slowly, the tide of reality gradually, painfully, ebbing in, and dragging gravel along with it to make coarse the passage. In that place between waking and the mental abyss, the southerner emitted one word,

Heraasi ..

Whether there were any more to it or no would not be disclosed, for Gwestion plugged a hand firmly across Gwandhyra’s mouth at that point. Dread and hysteria made for a panicked convulsion, before the man opened his eyes and found that darkness now no longer claimed him. His ally had a finger pressed to his lips, a look of focused urgency about his features that was visible even amidst the smog. The Gondorian’s hand grasped the younger Ranger’s forearm, and he nodded, slowly with a slight twist of his head, to indicate he understood. As Gwestion carefully unwrapped his hand from the Southerner’s mouth, Gwandhyra took his other hand to join the first, both clasping the arm of his saviour, until he was helped carefully upright.

Easing up into a better position, the fool felt as though each bone pressed on paper thin skin, threatening to penetrate and tear it, with no muscle or any of the else that anatomy provided usually to cushion movement. He hurt. Everywhere. But even the ankle seemed to be intact. Sure he would look like a walking bruise tomorrow, Gwandhyra poked and pressed with experimental caution about his most tender pains, and found them manageable. His right palm was already purple where he’d trapped his scimitar between his hand and the stair wall, and the small left finger might be broke at its tip. Otherwise, apart from a bust lip, and a horrendous headache, he was alive.

Glancing to where Gwestion was peering out across the deck though, did make him question that for a moment. There was, plain to see, a man decked out as was he, hung from one ankle as he had been, and there was his vengeful guard, stamping hard upon a second trailing finger. The former prisoner turned from the out of body experience to stare at his rescuer in some wonder and confusion.

That could have gone better than it did,” he whispered, between laboured breathing, and eased his limbs again into what he hoped might be a more comfortable position. It was not. But it was not all bad. After all, if it hurt, that meant it was still there. His body was telling his brain that it hurt, which meant it was working. Sort of. “You did better than I did though. Are you hurt at all ?” he wondered, again quietly, of the other man.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gwestion
Hiding up on deck


There was a moment of panic when Gwestion heard the other man beginning to stir, and to utter a word as he woke. With haste, the younger ranger clamped a hand across his comrade’s mouth, the other hand moving to his own lips to signal him to be silent, blue-grey eyes widening in alarm. Only when Gwandhyra had opened his eyes, and gave some sign to acknowledge that he understood the importance of their remaining quiet, did he ease his hand off of his mouth. He was beyond relieved to see his accomplice awake at last. He’d feared that it would take the man much longer to come around, and that he might have to purposely try and rouse him somehow. Or worse yet, try and swim to shore carrying his unconscious ally, which could easily result in them both drowning.

Turning again, heart hammering in his chest, Gwestion watched the pirate sentry, worried that he might have heard something. Had Gwandhyra’s waking been too noisy? Was the pirate going to come investigate? No, he seemed quite busy in torturing the corpse he believed was Gwandhyra. Good. Let him stay occupied.

Aware that the other ranger was sitting up now with painful slowness, Gwestion turned his attention toward watching him with concern. He must be in a lot of pain, the young man thought with sympathy. If he could have come to his aid sooner... but then, if he had rushed to his friend’s defense, perhaps Gwestion would have shared the same fate. Maybe it had worked out best that he hadn’t been able to do so. But now the question remained; how were they going to get off the ship? With his mind so intent upon this new problem, Gwestion did not even notice the look of amazement that had come across Gwandhyra’s face. Perhaps, if they were very fortunate - which did not seem likely - then they might find a few brief moments in which the guard might leave this area again, and they could slip over the side of the ship and swim to shore, leaving the pirates none the wiser. Did he dare try the voice throwing trick again? What if the man became wise to it? Gwestion frowned. If he could at all prevent them from learning that there had been more than one spy on board their vessel, then so much the better. If they had to though, he and Gwandhyra might just make a run for it and jump overboard, hoping the pirates didn’t have time to go for any long-range weapons they may have on board. Still, the young man preferred stealth and secrecy; something which his brother still had somewhat to learn about.

Tensing as he heard his whisper, Gwestion again turned back to his companion and held a finger to his lips, with an urgent shake of his head in reply to the question. He hesitated. There was much he wanted to tell the man. How sorry he was that he could have come to his aid sooner. How he had been locked up at the time, and couldn’t get to him. And to ask how he had come to the predicament in which Gwestion had found him. But he knew that the more they spoke to each other, the higher the risk was of them being discovered. “I’m alright,” he answered in the softest whisper he could manage. “But we must get off this ship.”

In the long minutes he had spent waiting on his accomplice to recover consciousness, Gwestion had also begun to allow his thoughts to stray toward his brother. He had last seen him limping into the tower, after slaying the two scouts. He remembered the sight of Gladhron’s bracer, stained with blood where the pirate’s blade had cut it from his arm. He couldn’t help worrying, now that he had a chance to actually think upon it, that his brother might have been wounded badly. But he could not know the extent of that damage until they returned. However, thinking of that bracer reminded him of the other two, which he now took up from the floor and held out to Gwandhyra. “I found them upon the stairs.” He explained softly, keeping one eye on the pirate not far away.

He didn’t know why they were of such significance to the other man, but he did recognize the insignia somewhat, of both. One was of elvish origin, and the other of Gondorian. Whether there was any significance attached to that, he knew not. He also didn’t bother to try and puzzle it out at this time. They had much more important things to figure out, after all. “Do you think you can walk... or swim, if need be?” He added quietly, returning to the matter of making an exit, stealthy or otherwise.
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

Chief Counsellor of Gondor
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Gwandhyra Harion, aboard ‘The Spectre’ (Spook) Ship
Hiding on the deck. With Gwestion. Late TA.

The other man's tale fell into place, not so much through words, but by the lack of same. The fact that they were yet upon the deck, and the faintest of whispers that Gwestion dared to utter .... clues. Gwandhyra glanced back to where his former guard was still amusing himself, mid-ship, and then the Southerner slumped down again, as a sentry paced the length of the starboard side of the ship. Sentries. He nodded an aggrieved understanding to the younger Ranger.

Thankfully, they were crouched behind barrels port-side. Not so luckily, the ship was docked on starboard side, which meant that there would be no swift passage to the closest shore, even if their disguises and the mist might have covered them to some degree. They could not have made an easy run for it, for the corsairs had apparently drawn up their gangplank, the bonfire of bodies the only impression they’d left upon that shore. There would be pursuit, and their allies in the Tower perhaps compromised by a search. Gladhron had been bleeding, the man of Gondor unhappily recalled, and that meant that Celedir would already have his hands full, aiding the injured young man. The ship’s infiltrators must find means to make their own escape.


The wide river gurgled idly close to the two hidden Rangers and the notion of rising up tall enough to see over the side closest, to judge the water, was a risk they daren’t not risk. Not with the tormenting guard so close at hand. Not without some sort of distraction. But what ?

Distracted himself by searching their surroundings, Gwandhyra was startled to find Gwestion now holding out his bracers, his own bracers, into their owner’s lap. Words were not required to convey the thanks and relief that he felt accepting their recovery, in both hands. The Gondorian had not even realised that they were not still looped to his belt, but there, it required no explanation to imagine when they had fallen. He had fallen, frequently. Instinctively, he reached for his great sword, for the scimitar he had been recently using had, of course, been took of him by the Captain below. It appeared his family’s heirloom had fared the same, and Gwandhyra closed his eyes in grieved annoyance at his loss. Recalling though that he might have lost far more, all in fact, he swallowed the unhappy fact and concentrated upon unlacing the Corsair bracers, reclaiming his own. There might still be cause to appear the part of a corsair, but he cared not at this point. He needed rather the tight grip of something that would gift him hope and strength. He nodded a thanks to Gwestion for all that the kindness ought to be better rewarded. Not now though.


Your sword is not your weapon. You are the weapon. You make use of the sword. If you are robbed of a sword, does that render you of no use ? It ought not.


His brother’s words. Gwandhyra had shared them with Gwestion earlier this night and now irony had decided to call his bluff. He would have to remind Addhor of those words, if ever he saw him again. If he lived ..


If need be,Gwandhyra returned, in a tone to match and answer his accomplice. Which was not to say that he was confident of managing either walking or swimming remarkably well at the moment, but that he’d rather die than not try. He was without his sword. He was still .. trained, experienced, not entirely broken … and not here alone. Besides, there was no way they could loiter in their current location when the dawn would paint them for all to discover in plain sight. The sentry walked his path again on the far side of the ship. A second sentry, the Gondorian noted, by the greater height of this latest man. Two sentries, one guard. He held three of his non-disfigured fingers up to Gwestion, with a quizzical expression, for confirmation. Just three of them still guarding the deck. That would be enough ..

Just the one sword now, and a dagger, if he recalled of Gwestion’s efforts earlier. Gwandhyra’s dagger was no doubt festooned in the Captain’s cabin with his sword. He really hoped not. Halsad would know ! Halsad would recognise that blade … and yet, he personally had not recognised this particular Halsad, this particular jackal. So might be it would not be as bad as he imagined.

Gwestion had already conjured a scapegoat to pay for his slaughter below deck regardless. He would have to ask quite how the younger man had managed that .. later. Providing they could find themselves from that same deck soon. He would get his sword back too .. somehow .. but not yet. It burned to forego it, but he'd been reckless enough already for one night. The sword he would have to trust to fate.



The elder Ranger held in both his hands those scarlet bracers of his spoiled disguise, but naught presented of a plan by his staring at them. He might as well throw them over into the direction of where the smoke still betrayed the fading bonfire. At least then the crew would not count a surplus pair unclaimed. The stink of burnt flesh, burnt hair, burnt bodies .. still prowled the shore close by, as though the corsairs had put forth tribute for their dark god to protect them through the rest of the night. Which, he pondered, they might well have done. He knew first-hand how superstitious the Umbarians could be. And Halsad, of all Umbarians, ..


Without explaining his motives, Gwandhyra laid down the ‘borrowed’ bracers and turned to survey the barrels that were serving them as a shield. He dared a hand over and atop of the closest, bringing it back, wet. Water in that one, he concluded, with disappointment. There was little they could manage with that. There was a lantern over near to the prisoner’s guard, which he pointed out to Gwestion, then bringing his hands apart in a small but sure suggestion of an explosion. Could they set the ship aflame ? That would certain solve the issue of distraction, and it could easily be believed that a spark from the bonfire had caught the wooden hull. But .. Gwestion’s expression soon looked quite panicked at the thought of them executing that plan. Was there some aspect of the ship’s layout that the younger Ranger knew, that Gwandhyra did not ? For certain he cared little to burn the Umbarian crew alive. They had done as bad before, or others of their name had anyway. The Gondorian had been very young when he had heard about the massacre at Lond Col. But it was a tale not so easily forgotten.


Frowning, the Southerner turned his back against the barrel again, and slithered his other hand up to explore the second. Water on deck for the sentries, he supposed. But what else .. the Ranger’s hand came back from his frantic search this time, with something round plucked from the second barrel. He turned it over in his hands, squinting in the dim light to be sure. A sniff and then a thumb forced through the cold skin confirmed it. Oranges ! Gwandhyra traced fingers over the faded stamp on the barrel.


It was something that Heraasi had mentioned of Umbar, their fanaticism about oranges. Apparently they served the sailors well on long journeys, though he could not recall quite how or why. He was not a sailor nor familiar with that life. Maybe these fruits were a portent of good fortune or some thing. There was something though, that he knew about oranges. They had put it to good effect in Harondor, where the fruits grew by the thousands in the fertile quarters.



Tapping Gwestion’s knee, he dropped the orange into his friend’s lap. Friend indeed ! Any thought that he ought still suspect the young brothers by this point had been well and truly laid to rest ! A quick glance checked for any passing of the ship's sentries, before a hand grasped again to harvest more fruit from the barrel. And a third time. And a fourth.

Before Gwestion could ask him if he meant them now to embark on a feast, Gwandhyra held up an orange in one hand, for the other man’s attention. He then plunged his thumb deep into the fruit, licked off the citrus juice that squirted as consequence, and found that he had more than mere juice upon his face. The back of one hand wiped both the orange spray and the remnants of vomit from the Southerner’s mouth. He then put the orange down carefully beside him, and picked up another, which he punched through with his thumb in a similar fashion.

Once he had half a dozen, the Ranger grouped the hoard of penetrated fruit in his lap. A glance that no Corsair had yet been alerted to them, and he whispered one word to the younger man.


FLAMMABLE !


Mimicking a throw of his hands, Gwandhyra then pointed over toward the charred shore, and held his nose to indicate the bonfire. He made again the gesture to indicate an explosion. But this one, he hoped that Gwestion would see, would be not upon the ship but the shore. Who knew what a sudden flurry of bright flashes bursting out of their sacrificial fire would mean to the Umbarians, but it would certainly draw their attention to that side of the ship.

They might have debated the matter or at the least ascertained they were both understood of the plan. But with sound not on their side, nor time, for that, the Gondorian proved yet again that he was used to working on his own. A bird call caught the attention of the hung man’s guard who decided that two full hands worth of broken fingers would stop the unhappy corpse from trying to untie himself, .. were he infact alive still to try it ! He could venture over to the sentries without the prisoner escaping ..



If this is the way you two think to pass time in fun,” the guard stropped over to meet the sentries, one to either side of him, “I tell you, it’s no more than your last call.

Get back to your man !” the taller sentry groaned, even as the shorter questioned.

Call ? What call ? Was a bird.


A small debate commenced, when the three men to-ed and fro-ed until they had quite declared that none of them had called out to either of the others, nor had they ever heard a bird like that in all of their three separate lives … They were already entered upon the subject of ghosts and ghouls, when Gwandhyra hurled the first orange beyond them. A small splash was hardly discernable against all the men’s hushed exchange. The second fared better, and threw up sparks the second it hit the dying embers, rousing up new bursts of flame. A third and a fourth followed suit, now that Gwandhyra could see the sparks himself and knew where to properly aim for. The Corsairs were none the wiser to the flying oranges, veiled as they were in their ascent by the mist that circled their sails. He hurled the surplus crimson bracers now also in the same direction, trusting to the blaze to consume any clue they might have else given up.


There was no obligation for Gwestion to do likewise, save for the lap of oranges he had been provided with. Regardless, Gwandhyra caught at the other man’s hand with his as he shuffled toward the port side of the ship. He eased one leg over the edge, wincing at the movement and the pain, though he would surely think more on that soon … and jerked his head invitingly, before he entrusted gravity to carry him down to the water below. If the corsairs turned from the sudden display of unexplained bright sparking eruptions from the bonfire, to hear the splash, the Southerner knew Gwestion had a lap full of fruit to fling and renew their intrigue back to the renewed blaze. Hopefully before following the older Ranger over the side, into the wet. All he had to do was follow the example shown.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

Steward of Gondor
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Posts: 2649
Joined: Wed Sep 01, 2021 10:12 pm
@Ercassie

Gwestion
Hiding up on deck


Words were not needed to tell Gwestion of the gratitude the other man felt, both for his belongings being returned, and for saving his life. He nodded back wordlessly and turned to watch the pirate guard, bending his thoughts toward figuring out some means of getting off this ship. Though he knew not how long it would be before the dawn, he was sure that they must be well away from here long ere it came. Having seen what happened to Gwandhyra, he had no desire to have the same happen to himself. And furthermore, they must return to the tower and give report to those left behind.

He sensed, perhaps, a motion from his comrade and turned to glance at him. Seeing the three fingers held up, with a question on Gwandhyra’s face, Gwestion nodded slowly in confirmation. Three obstacles to their escape. He had been counting how frequently the two sentries came by, trying to estimate how long of a gap there was between their patrols. He tried to think of how to convey to the elder ranger that there was only a short amount of time in which there was only one guard. Still, it was not quite enough time for Gwestion’s liking. Not with Gwandhyra injured, and possibly compromised in his ability to walk. He wasn’t sure yet, of course, but he had to account for such a possibility. Anyway, he couldn't think of any way of relaying this information to his partner, so he remained silent.

Watching as Gwandhyra slid a hand over the top of the nearest barrel, it occurred to Gwestion that he had no idea what might be in them. He had not even thought about investigating those. Watching, the young ranger was curious to see what the other ranger might discover. Water seemed to be the answer, to his disappointment. There was quite a bit of water all around, so he wasn’t sure how that might help. Still, it might be good to know, though he wasn’t sure in what way this information could be at all helpful. Another sentry passed through the gloom, only noticeable because of the hooded lantern he carried. Even that was darkened by the thick fog, but it served to remind the pair of spies that they must maintain their stealth.

Turning his gaze once more toward learning what Gwandhyra was pointing to now, Gwestion tilted his head in curiosity, his gaze following the invisible line of the pointed finger, until he spotting the lantern. And then looked questioningly back to his comrade, as he mimicked an explosion with his hands. Blue-gray eyes widened as he caught onto Gwandhyra’s suggestion. Thoughts of those slaves down below, chained to the ship, unable to escape, came to his mind. They’d be burned alive along with the pirates. He shook his head with urgency, though he didn’t dare try and explain now, with the guard so close by. He still hoped to rescue those prisoners, and refused to let the ship be destroyed before doing so. But would Gwandhyra insist? He recalled how ruthlessly the man had gone about slaying the pirates, and worried for a moment that he had become determined to destroy them all, especially after their recent treatment of him.

With relief, he let out a silent breath of relief as it seemed Gwandhyra had conceded. Instead, he continued to explore the barrels. Hoping that meant he had abandoned his plan of lighting the ship aflame, Gwestion turned his attention back to watching the sentries, still fearful they would be discovered. He would not be caught unaware, should the pirates come through again while his comrade was searching the barrels. This way, he could give him some warning to withdraw his searching hand, before he was caught. Although the fog might conceal them well enough, he still worried. A thought worried him suddenly. If the barrels contained water, what if the sentries became thirsty and came for a drink?

As he was pondering what they would do should this happen, a tap on his knee drew the young man’s attention back to Gwandhyra suddenly. Something landed in his lap, quite unexpectedly. He tensed, but found the item with one hand, and examined it with a puzzled expression. Some sort of fruit, round and with a pleasant, but unfamiliar aroma. He’d never seen one like it before, and had no idea what it might be called. While Gwandhyra seemed intent on gathering each one of the strange fruits out of the barrel, Gwestion stared at him in bewilderment. Had he misjudged the ranger in thinking he was different from Gladhron? He’d never have expected this man to suddenly decide they needed a snack, at a time like this!

Still, there must be some logic behind these actions, he decided, reluctant to think he would put his stomach ahead of their safety. Gwandhyra did not seem the type to do something like this for no reason when his life was in danger. Gwestion watched attentively as the other man began to punch a hole in each of the foreign fruits with his thumb. What was he doing? The smell was far more pleasant than the vomit, sweat, and mud the pair had accumulated during their mission, at least. Still, somehow Gwestion didn’t think that the man’s goal was to perfume the air and cover their scent. Nor did he think his intention was to draw the guard over to them, but he now worried that might happen, should the pirate begin to wonder why their store of fruit was smelling so strongly all of the sudden.

One whispered word from Gwandhyra finally began to make the plan a little clearer. But still... flammable? Gwestion frowned. Was the man still determined to set fire to the ship? Gwestion hesitated, wondering how to persuade him from this idea, but then he saw the rest of Gwandhyra’s plan laid out, through miming what was to be done. Understanding now wiped away the confusion from the young man's expression, and he nodded to show that he caught on. He picked up the fruit again and inspected it, intrigued to think of a fruit being flammable.

A voice suddenly broke through the silence of the misty night, startling the young ranger. He thought, briefly, the two of them were being addressed, rather than the two sentries. They had been caught! He tensed, holding his breath for a moment as he cautiously peeked around the side of the barrel in alarm. No, the guard was only speaking to the two sentries, he realized with relief. They were wondering about a bird call they'd heard, just moments ago. Gwestion had heard that bird call as well, and had wondered about it. Where did it come from? Had a real bird decided to answer the calls he and Gwandhyra had done earlier? Slowly, he relaxed a little once it became clear that the three men were arguing among themselves. Perhaps that could even be to their advantage, he thought. The faint sound of a splash was hardly noticeable, but enough to draw Gwestion’s attention back from the pirates. He glanced at his comrade and saw that he had begun throwing the strange fruits, as he had silently suggested earlier, toward the remains of the pirate’s bonfire.

Just as he had suspected, Gwandhyra was using this as a distraction. He hesitated though, when the man tugged lightly at his hand, and motioned that he go toward the rail. The older ranger having taken quite a beating, Gwestion remembered. It might be best to ensure that he was safely off the ship before joining him. Gwestion made a small motion, indicating that Gwandhyra go. He could cover for him now that he understood the plan, and smiled faintly as he picked up one of the fruits from his lap. The young man was amazed how much these small balls of citrus had affected that fire!

The moment Gwandhyra had slid over the edge of the ship, Gwestion raised up as much as he dared, and threw one of his own fruits. He had no idea what else to call them, at least in his mind, until he’d had a chance to ask Gwandhyra for their name. It wasn’t important at the moment, for ‘fruit’ served well enough for him. He was rewarded by a bright flash, and smiled faintly as the sentries finally began to take notice of this strange phenomenon. Their talk of ghosts and haunting began to take on a panicked note, and though he didn’t quite understand all they said, he could tell that they were becoming frightened. He threw another, and gathered the rest into his arms before he began to carefully inch his way toward the edge of the ship where Gwandhyra had disappeared. Keeping a careful eye on those guards, Gwestion waited a moment before throwing yet another fruit. This one must have missed the fire, and he realized he must adjust his aim to accommodate being a little further away. He threw another, and this time a bright flash lit up the sky. A nervous murmur passed between the three men gathered around to watch, as the ranger threw his last two, one after the other, to the fire. Then he swung himself over the side of the ship, heart racing as he dropped and hoped there was plenty of water below.

A million thoughts and worries raced through his mind as he fell, hoping the splash wouldn’t be too loud. What if he was too weighed down by all this foreign gear? What if the pirates heard and shot arrows at them? What if..what if. There was no time to think of such things. Plunging deep into the water, Gwestion held his breath and hoped; That the pirates on deck were too absorbed in their mysterious, haunted bonfire to hear any splashes. That he would not drown. That Gwandhyra had not drowned. That they would be able to get to shore without being spotted... that there were no deadly creatures lurking in the water, and so on...
Last edited by Rillewen on Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Gwandhyra Harion , Ranger in the North,
Man overboard, in the Gwathló River. With Gwestion ?



The easing of his limbs over the ship’s side had been such a wary and at the same time panicked endeavour, that the Ranger accomplished a graceless plunge into the gloom. At some point the mist gave way to the river, a new level of murk and mire. Since he possessed no control over the splash he’d surely caused, all that Gwandhyra could do was draw his legs up, so they should not strike the river bed or any else thing which might lurk beneath the river’s surface. Further injury was not an option at this point, or he may as well not even try to make it to the bank.

The splash had sounded extraordinarily loud to his ears, what with all the dread that it would do exactly that. So the Gondorian felt his way down the hull of the ship with his hands, keeping close to the vast wooden hulk, for fear of any projectiles that may be flung or shot into the water, in his wake. But no such peril became apparent, and that meant the next thing he ought to expect was his ally following suit soon enough. At least, that was to be hoped for. The last time he had gone back in hopes of finding Gwestion and it had all gone terribly wrong. This time there was no option. He couldn’t have made it well in a thankless climb back up the anchor line, and there was no other means of entering the ship, now they had drawn up their gangplank. No he would just have to hope that the other Ranger had followed his example. Which meant he should allow room for the younger man to do just that !


The River was not named Gwathló for no cause. Greyflood was the common derivative, but the original moniker had meant ‘Shadow River’. Great carpets of forest had lined both banks of the natural water channel, back then, when the river was an impassible border between Minhiriath and Enedwaith. But that was back before the Numenoreans discovered the estuary, and founded there a harbour; Lond Daer. That harbour swiftly became a shipyard, and the logging industry decimated the realm’s woodland on both sides, as had also the Dunlending fire-raids in protest against the Dunedain on their land. The war between Sauron and the Elves, culminating in a spell of extreme weather had spelled the end of the settlement as a functioning commodity. Now the ruins of stone buildings were all that was left, and the memory, fell memory. The channel was wider than ever here, and the only practical crossing was up at Tharbad.


At some point Gwandhyra counted the burn in his lungs as unbearable and so launched his passage upward. He must surely have been carried far enough away from the ship by now, and he doubted that he and Gwestion would ever find one another deep within the dismal airless world below the surface. They should need to find the bank, to find one another. Kicking out, he suppressed a sharp hiss as his right ankle thrashed back in objection; thrown into a spasm of pain. Thankfully he had not yet broken the surface of the water, so no gulping cry escaped him that would betray his position. Still, he swallowed a non too small quantity of the river on instinct, and was forced to try with greater speed, yet greater care, the remainder of his ascension.

The Gwathló was a long wet scar of swollen reaches where the banks had been in places, eroded away. Gwandhyra was thrust through whorls and eddies, throwing his head backward so that he would not choke on the churned up water. It was not clear either, but greased with mud. As much as the vomit and the worst of the caked sludge had worked off, still his skin was rimed by a discoloured bile of some foul stench. Still he did not look as bad off as the mulch of a figure that was dredged against a fallen, floating tree branch, not so far away. It was not an easy matter to manoeuvre through the riffles and the current to reach what he feared was his companion. But at length, relief and dread bobbed hand in hand, as the Ranger caught hold of some body. The scarlet and black uniform was unmistakeably the same as both the Rangers had adopted, but the face was fallen in the water, dredged in an obstinate hood which the man’s numb fingers could not readily relinquish. The longer he clutched about what could only be his friend, the more he was batted and snagged by the immense but tattered cloak, a shroud like net it now seemed, that sought to drag him under. The arms and legs of the floating fellow were like thick boughs that were waterlogged and heavy but he towed it toward the nearest bank as best as he could.


When at last he began to know gravel underneath his knees, Gwandhyra slouched with his burden out of the grasp of the current. There he finally managed to up what was left of the colourless face and recoiled, despite his best efforts, for one eye was punctured and hung from it’s socket. What should have been a nose was gashed wide open and the upper lip was hanging from a meagre teasing thread. The entire contours of the countenance were riddled by skin that had warped, and when the head flopped back upon a useless spine, it was clear to see that the throat had been punched open, leaving a dark, ragged chasm. The Southerner had the unfortunate other held by both shoulders when an eel actually erupted from that throaty abyss, thrashed some in the shallows and then made on well away. At that point, the Ranger did release the wretched remains, and flung himself on hands and knees finally ashore.

Quite what must have occurred to his companion after he had taken overboard, he dared not imagine over long, to have seen Gwestion rendered to such ruin. Nor did he dare wonder how he would now break the news to Gladhron. Elf though he was, Gwandhyra was fair sure that Celedir could not save this lost soul who was already flown from their world. It was all that the man could do to drag the remnants up the stone bank which the dead was surely untroubled by, now that he felt naught. And there, exhausted, and quite overcome by grief, the elder Ranger laid out alongside what he was sure was his young friend; having quite forgotten in all of his haste to find the man, that they each had slain and slung a Corsair overboard, when first they had boarded the ship. That seemed a lifetime ago now, after all.

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All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Gwestion
Swimming to shore


The river was neither still nor tranquil, whether it appeared to be so on the surface or not. Gwestion was somewhat surprised to realize that there were currents under the surface of the water, making it rather dangerous for swimming. Of course, what did one expect of the Greyflood. He knew its history, though he’d never been to this place. He knew of the conditions which had led to this place becoming the way it is now. What might it have looked like, long ago when in its prime? He could but imagine, and only with some difficulty at that. It was not something to focus one's thoughts on, while struggling to stay above the surface on a foggy night.


He allowed one of these currents to carry him for a while, thinking he might as well let it move him away from the ship. But soon he had to swim upward, kicking strongly to propel himself upward, to break to the surface.

Upon doing so, he gasped in a new breath of air as quietly as he could, with a quick shake of his head to sling as much water from his face as he could. He glanced around swiftly as soon as he could open his eyes. Gwandyhra, where was he? Treading water, Gwestion looked this way and that, trying to spot his fellow ranger. What if he’d gotten dragged under, or he hadn’t been able to swim upward? Would Gwestion need to find him, and drag him to land? He felt a little panic rising at the prolonged absence of the other man, though he dared not call out to him. With all the fog around, the young man wasn’t even entirely sure which direction he should be swimming for. Realizing that he’d become a little bit disoriented, he glanced around to try and spot the ship, or maybe the bonfire. Perhaps Gwandhyra had already started swimming for the correct bank? But Gwestion couldn’t swim to shore until he was certain the man was alright…

Beyond the currents which he could feel tugging at him, Gwestion became alarmingly aware of the abundance of aquatic life which dwelt here as well. What sort of creatures may thrive in such conditions, he could only guess at. The young man had no wish to encounter any of them, whether they were harmless or not.

The creatures, however, had no regard to the ranger’s wishes. He suddenly felt something slide past his leg. He nearly forgot to swim, his heart threatening to jump into his throat with alarm. What was that? He spluttered a little, having slipped down below the surface for a moment. He was a skilled swimmer, and had spent many summers enjoying the water of the springs near his home in the mountains. But this was no swimming hole in a creek of fresh, running water.
Despite the horrific images the young man conjured up in his mind of some enormous, many-armed thing of grasping tentacles and a mouth large enough to swallow a man, Gwestion struggled to calm himself. He must get out of the water, but he couldn’t make a desperate swim for shore, like he wanted to do. He didn't even know in which direction the shore lay!

Still, he had enough recollection to know he mustn’t make any noise, lest the pirates overhear and come searching for the source of it. Though, of course, if he were snatched beneath the waves by whatever lurked beneath the water, and drowned, it would likely cause enough of a commotion to distract them from any noise Gwandhyra may make, in his own desperate escape toward land.

Gwandhyra! Thoughts of his ally had escaped his mind temporarily. Where was he? Closing his eyes briefly to force down a fresh wave of panic, Gwestion tried very hard not to think about whatever thing was curling around his ankle now. He moved his arms through the water, trying to silently swim away from this spot without moving his legs. He’d rather not draw attention to himself; either from the Thing in the water, nor from the pirates in the ship above. He especially thought it a bad idea to let the Thing realize the fact that he was another living thing that it might decide would be tasty to eat. But the dim silhouette of the ship lurking above did help point the way toward shore, if he correctly remembered the way it had been positioned. He knew in which direction to swim, now.

He had not gone far when he bumped into something. Briefly, he was startled, but after a moment of floundering, his hand brushed something. Another hand? He forced himself to go still, his booted feet now pedaling furiously in the water to keep himself from sinking. Between the fog and the dark, he couldn't see a thing. But he grasped an arm. “There you are,” He muttered in relief, though couldn’t help feeling concerned. It must be Gwandhyra, for who else could it be? He seemed to be unconscious though. Perhaps he had hit his head on something?
Frowning, Gwestion slid an arm around the man’s chest, hoping he could swim them both to shore. He was already feeling exhaustion taking a toll on him, trying to keep afloat while in full gear and fighting the currents, but he still had plenty of adrenaline coursing through his veins. If nothing else, fear of whatever lurked beneath the waves would spur him toward the safety of the riverbank.

It took some effort to swim with the unconscious man in tow, while also not making any noisy splashes. But, at last, Gwestion discovered the shore to be closer than he anticipated. It was a painful discovery, as he rammed his knee into some stone thing lying unseen beneath the murky water! He gritted his teeth, only barely managing not to cry out. He felt around with his free hand, and realized it was the remains of some stone building, or perhaps part of a dock which had been constructed there in ages past. The muddy bank was not far off though, he saw now.
Relief now flooded through the young man as he hastily dragged his friend through waist-deep water... then knee-deep. Ankle-deep... and at last collapsed beside him on the damp shore. Panting for breath, Gwestion wasted no time in feeling for a pulse. He could find none, and his friend felt worryingly cold, but perhaps that was only from being in the water. It had felt icy to Gwestion, who worried now that Gwandhyra might be in worse shape than he had feared. He must not waste any time, for who knew how much water the man may have swallowed? He didn't even seem to be breathing!

The head had rolled onto one side, away from Gwestion. He still wore the pirate disguise, of course, though it was too dark and murky to tell much else about him. Gwestion was more concerned with reviving him, ere it was too late to do so. With his hands clasped together, he pushed down on the spot just below the man’s ribs, repeatedly. Trying, desperately, to force out the water that must have been swallowed. Had he already drowned? Was it too late?

Shock, perhaps, or desperation, or even panic, took hold of Gwestion for a few moments. Several minutes passed as he continued his desperate attempts to revive his friend, despite it becoming obvious that the man he was attempting to resuscitate had long since been dead. "Come on.. come on," He muttered under his breath. He couldn’t be dead! This could not be. For it to turn out this way... to have saved Gwandhyra from the terrible fate that had nearly claimed the man’s life only minutes prior, only for him to succumb to this one? It was too much to bear. Gwestion could hardly think of anything at this moment, beyond the singular thought of reviving his drowned friend.

There was a moment when he had a brief glimmer of hope. The chest appeared to stir. Was he breathing on his own again? Gwestion paused in his near-frantic efforts, catching his own breath as he looked up in hope. He leaned closer, placing his ear to the chest, listening...

The next moment, Gwestion jolted back away from his patient with a soft cry of disgust as a crayfish burst its head out of a gash in the man's ribs, which Gwestion had not previously noticed. Unable to stifle a startled cry, Gwestion suddenly felt sick with revulsion. It seemed to stare at him with beady black eyes, wiggling antennae around before it crawled out of the corpes and scuttled its way back toward water! Gwestion pushed himself away hastily, crawling through the mud to put some distance between himself and what he realized now was only a corpse.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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