Neithor the Liar
The Occult Owl: Seeking the Future
Honesty was never really a trait that Neithor possessed. As a young child growing up in Pelargir he would always lie to his mother. It didn't matter what about, but odds were that whatever came out of his mouth was untruthful. As he got older he learned to be more subtle, and his lies grew more intricate and nuanced. It wasn't so much a lie as it was a false truth, a stretched fact, or a misrepresented idea. And as he aged he was caught less and less in his lies, though those who knew him had the tendency to assume he was lying about everything. And as a pile of fresh dung draws flies or a rotting corpse draws maggots, he was inevitably pulled into the field that all liars and treacherous wastes of life who prey upon the weak and seek sustenance in their decaying husks is pulled...he become a seller of goods. A merchant of ill-repute and dubiousness. His reputation was so stained in the city of Pelargir that none but the foulest of the city's criminals and scum of the underworld would deal with him. It was in fact through this degradation of his status as a merchant that he came into contact with a pirate of Umbar.
This pirate was first mate on a crew that would raid Gondorian ships and plunder their goods, and had sailed the waters of the coast for over twenty years. By chance they were introduced by a customer of Neithor's, a fence who often traded goods with him. In a backalley tavern filled with illegal gambling and criminals of all kinds, they shared a drink together. The pirate, Maziri was very interested in the connections that Neithor seemed to have with others in the city. But more so than that he was very interested indeed in the fact that he had access to the warehouses on the docks that many of the merchants kept their goods. Though the warehouses were individually locked, they were grouped together and if one had a key to the facility, they merely had to crack the locks on the other doors or cut them down. He proposed a scheme, one that would make them both rich, he said. Neithor would lend them his key, and under cover of darkness he and his crew would rob the warehouses, Neithor's included so as to avoid suspicion. Then they would lay low, waiting a few weeks, and travel to Umbar to sell the stolen goods.
The heist itself went off without a hitch, and to all Neithor played a convincing victim, though some had their doubts. It was not until all of the merchants would were robbed were gathered together by the city guard, and asked to show their keys. For you see Neithor's key was never returned to him. Whether by design of the pirates or a simple mistake, he no longer possessed it. He assured them all that he had most likely lost it somewhere and it would turn up soon, denying that he could be involved. How could anyone think that, he said to any that would listen. He himself was robbed of many of his most precious items, and would likely be destitute without them. It seemed that he might be able to convince them, but the guards were persistent in their investigation. While interrogating various criminals and their informants, one of the guards chanced upon a woman who had see Neithor not but a few days before drinking with a known fence and a man of Umbar. That testimony alone was enough to drag him before a local magistrate, who demanded he admit to his crimes. ButNeithor continued to plead his innocence, even though it fell on deaf ears. They could not definitively prove that he was involved, all of the evidence being circumstantial. The magistrate would not order his imprisonment and certainly not an execution on such little solid ground. And so he was allowed to live and go about his business, but people began to openly call him Neithor the Liar.
Wherever he went in the city that name followed him. For months and months it dogged him like a shadow, always at his heels. He began to openly denounce those who called him that, challenging them in the streets for besmirching his honor. Three men he killed over the course of these months, though again he was not charged. Now that it was known that he would kill any who dared call him that, his naysayers and neighbors avoided him altogether. Soon none spoke to him, and he was left penniless. All of his goods had been taken by the pirates and he had nothing left to sell but his horse, his sword, and the clothes on his back. So he resolved to change his fortunes and seek that which was promised to him. He set forth on horseback to the city of Umbar, the great port of pirates. For many weeks he traveled, barely eating and barely sleeping, a feverish anger pushing him ever onwards. He knew where in the city that crew berthed, where they took their drink, and where they often sailed to when not in the city. His friend the fence had been very talkative and quite forthcoming when a blade was at his throat. Neithor had thanked him for his kindness and for helping him, before barring his door from the outside and setting fire to his shop. With that loose end tied he was free to pursue the pirates and take what was his.
Umbar was vast, and it was unknown to him. Though he relatively knew where he was going, the winding streets of the city soon befuddled him. The locals seemed to know he was a man of Gondor. Some eyed him with disdain, others avoided him. One or two made their way towards him until he pulled back his cloak, revealing his longsword. He was no expert swordsman, that was for certain, but he was a killer and would fight like a dog backed into a corner if he had to. He found a local inn and used the last of his coin to purchase a room and board for a few days, hiding himself away in the upper floor and laying out his plans. This crew, the pirates of the ship The Orange Serpent, had themselves a warehouse on the docks. He surveyed them for many days, hidden in corners and crouched behind barrels and boxes, watching their movements. They seemed very self-assured, never posting more than two guards at the door, while the rest of the crew ate and drank more than three blocks away at a inn that served as their land-based headquarters.
One night he took a chance and dove into the bay, swimming as silently as he could to the underside of the docks. He carefully made his way towards their warehouse, and found a pleasant surprise. There was a hatch beneath it, likely used for smuggling, and it had no lock. He climbed up a nearby pole and stretched, his fingertips barely finding the hook, and unclasping it. He jumped and grabbed hold of the rough wooden edges of the hatch and pulled himself inside. The warehouse was dark, with only a singular torch near the door lit. There were no guards inside, for the pirates felt none would try and make it past the doorguards, nor could they. He moved as quickly as he could, but could not help but feel fear as the water dripped from him. It would dry soon enough, but if any were to enter the warehouse in the next hour or so they would know someone had been there. His eyes searched back and forth to find what he was looking for. He wasn't quite sure himself what that was, only that he need not concern himself with anything but coin or gems. He would take back what was owed to him and then some. For a few minutes he skulked about the room, quietly opening lids and drawers and sifting through containers, when he saw it.
On a table, near the center of the room, was a chest. No longer than two feet, and half as wide and tall. It had a keyhole, the key to which was assuredly on the Captain of the crew, but Neithor knew what was in it. It was their silver, their gold, their gemstones, and their most valuable pieces. There was enough in there to buy him an entire caravan of goods, with guards and horses to defend him. Now knowing his target, his slid back down out of the hatch and swung himself over to a different pole, this time taking a small stick he had found in the room to push the hatch shut. He then climbed over the other pole and clasp the hook again, securing the hatch and hopefully hiding his presence. He would need a small boat, that was for certain. Perhaps even just a dinghy, he thought, but he would have to secure it during the day and somehow manage to tie it under the docks without being noticed. He would also need the key, and for that he would need to find the Captain.
The Captain, a dark-haired and broad shouldered man by the name of Ashajt, took his drink in the inn of The Nine-Eyed Cat. He slept in the topmost floor in a private room that was never rented out to any other, even when he was onboard his ship. The pirates were well known to be drunkards and men of leisure, as was their wont, and stayed up most of each night carousing and fighting and chugging down ale. He would have to wait until they were all good and drunk, and the Captain had gone to his room, to make his move. Earlier in the day he went walking along the shoreline and saw a fisherman in his boat not but fifty meters away. He waved at the man, shouting for him to come to shore. He did not immediately comply, as it looked like he had a fish on his line. Sure enough, a few minutes later he pulled and from the water came a large salmon that he quickly stabbed with a knife and threw inside a bucket on the bottom of his boat. The fisherman started rowing to shore, beaching at his camp just a little ways from where Neithor had called him.
"Hello, hello there!" said Neithor. "Sorry to bother you, but would your boat be for sail? How much for it?"
The man looked at him quizzically and then laughed, saying between his chuckles, "You Gondorians are something else. What makes you think my boat is for sale? And that I would sell it to someone like you?"
"Who I am or where I'm from doesn't matter old man. I need your boat, so name a price." He said, his voice low and grumbling.
"Set a price? Alright, my price is a thousand gold coins. That's what this boat is worth to me, and you'll not see it. Cause if you had that much gold you wouldn't need my little boat, would you know? So piss off and leave me be."
Neithor was furious, and before he knew what he was doing he had stabbed the fisherman. A look of genuine shock was on both of their faces, as he truly had not meant to kill the fisherman. It was as if something had come over him, some unknown feeling of malevolence and hatred. The fisherman fell there, gasping for air, and Neithor could not look at him. He stepped away and began to search for a rock, something heavy to weigh down the body. The fisherman would expire soon and he could not let the body be found. When he returned, the fisherman had taken the long journey and his lifeless body lay there broken. Neithor carried it into the boat and pushed off from shore, paddling his way out hundreds of meters until Umbar was a speck, before he tied a rope to the fisherman's ankles and threw him overboard, a heavy rock on the other end of the rope. He waited until the body disappeared before turning about and heading for the docks, careful to make his way from the opposite direction so as not to be seen. He was very lucky that the day was blazing hot and many of the sailors and dock workers had taken shade for a while. He steered the boat under the docks and right up the warehouse hatch, where he took the remaining rope and secured it to a nearby pole. He slipped into the water and swam away, the first part of his plan complete.
He returned to his inn to sleep for awhile, as he knew he could not rest for at least a day after this. When he awoke, he paid a young boy to ride his horse out of the city and up the coast, and ordered him to tie it up near a great oak tree that grew near the beach, one he had seen earlier that day. He made his way to The Nine-Eyed Cat and watched from across the street, listening to the hustle and bustle of the inn and occasionally peering through the windows to watch the pirates. He saw Ashajt, drinking at the head of a table with a pile of coins and dice in front of him. They were gambling, though Neithor did not know the game. Hours passed like this, and the moon was high in the sky. Curse it all. When will he sleep? He thought to himself. If he did not go to his room soon, Neithor's plan would fail. Another twenty minutes had passed when the Captain stood from the table, stumbling as he did, and turned to go up the stairs. A woman went to follow him but he shook his head and pushed her away. Perfect, this will make it easier He thought.
He backed away to get a running start, then ran forward and sprung into the air, grabbing hold of the outcropping of the second floor's ledge. He pulled himself up and began the slow and agonizing crawl up the ledges of the building. His hands were wet with his sweat, and the grime of the walls soon turned slick. He nearly fell cresting the fourth floor, but caught himself at the last moment. After what seemed like hours, though in reality was ten or fifteen minutes, he pulled himself up to the balcony of Ashajt's room. The Captain was already in his bed, resting on his stomach with an arm and leg hanging off the side. Neithor crept forward and pushed open the balcony's door that led into the room, and stepped in. His feet were silent and he held his breath. He would have only one opportunity for this. He moved next to the Captain's bed and positioned himself, readying for the moment. It was instantaneous, over in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the Captain's hair with one hand, pulling back his head, and slashed his throat with the other. A faint gurgling came from him, but Neithor drove his knee into his back to prevent him from moving. Soon enough he was dead, and Neithor began to search for the key. He found it in a trouser pocket, and it was unmistakably the right one. It had the same markings on it as the chest did.
He stepped away from the body and grabbed a chair that was next to the door, propping in under the handle to secure it. He then fled from the building, climbing back down the way he came up and making his way to the docks. There was no one on this side of the docks, save for the two guards at the warehouse. It wasn't until this moment that he realized there was no way to swim underneath the docks from where he stood. He would have to go around, but he had no time. He stood there debating for a moment what to do, before accepting the reality before them. He pulled up his hood and strode forward, concealing his already drawn sword beneath his cloak. He walked down the docks as quietly as he could, clinging to the shadows. He was but a mere five meters away from the guards, but their torchlight extended almost to him now. His mind raced, debating what to do. He looked about him, and saw a wooden hammer on the barrel next to him. He grabbed it, shuffling it in his hands to adjust to the weight, then threw it overhead into the water of the bay.
It worked perfectly, as the guards both turned their heads and moved to see what the noise was. They did not hear him come from behind as he plunged his sword into one of their backs. The other turned in surprise, his mouth open, but did not have time to react before Neithor's blade removed his head from his shoulders. He kicked the two bodies into the water, and turned around, rushing to the door. It was locked and he had not grabbed the keys from either guard. He grabbed his sword once more and smashed it into the lock, once, twice, three times before it fell. Surely someone would hear the noise, unless he was very lucky. He kicked the door in and ran forward, dashing towards the chest. He picked it up and made his way to the hatch, slamming his foot down atop it and shaking loose the hook that clasped it shut. The door swung open and below him was the boat. He set the chest above him and jumped down, standing on the seat. He reached up and pulled the chest too him, nearly losing his balance as he tried to set it down. He nustled it tightly between his legs and immediately set forth, grabbing the oars and paddling as fast as he could. His arms burned from the effort, but he could afford no delay.
He pushed and pushed, moving down the shoreline, far enough away to be out of bowshot but close enough to be able to see his horse if it was there. To his joy and relief, it was. The boy was clearly had needed the money, or had some fear of the strange Gondorian man, but his horse was there tired to the tree. He speedily made his way to shore, dragging the boat for the last bit. He pulled the chest from it and hoisted it onto his shoulders, making his way to his horse. There was no good way to secure the chest, other than to tie it around himself and rest it on the backside of his horse. It would not be comfortable for either of them, but they had no choice. He kicked the horse away and fled into the night, his arms sore and his mind filled with ideas for the future. He had, against all odds, succeeded.
He returned to Pelargir with his wealth in tow, and used much of it to purchase goods and horses and mercenary guards to follow him. He knew the pirates might find him eventually, so he set forth for Minas Tirith as soon as he had everything he needed. For a time he traded, almost completely honestly, before realizing that there were other markets. Other merchants and purveyors of goods that resided outside of the realm. He began to trade in slaves and ill-gotten items, selling to Haradrim merchants south of Mordor and to the orcs of Mordor themselves. It was at the Black Market inside of Udun that he found himself at most often now. The company of Mordor suited him better than that of Gondor, and they were more inclined to leave him to his business. It was on this day that he found himself wandering the market, when he chanced upon The Occult Owl. He had never seen it before, but perhaps it was because he had never been to this part of the market. He stepped forward to the stall and saw what he could only assume to be a fortune-teller, from the odds and ends and mystical bits of paraphernalia that surrounded her. His curiosity piqued, he moved towards her and said, "Hello...I am Neithor. Are you a fortune-teller perchance? For I wish to know my future, if you can see it."