Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[Orofaniel]

Galhardir, Freyn and Rôg were now fully occupied with the Lossoth traders. Rôg did the talking while Galhardir just followed their conversation in the while standing in the background. He didn’t want to interfere in such business, as he knew nothing about them. Freyn was observing too, but shook hands twice with the Lossoth traders. The deal had already been made, so it didn't take long.

"Do you think there is anything...odd going on...?" Freyn suggested, as he came close up to Galhardir. "No, why would I think that?" Galhardir replied innocently. Shortly after answering Freyn’s question, Galhardir discovered how stupid he had been while answering; he should have known better after the most recent events. "Eh..I mean, what are you referring too?" Galhardir then asked anxiously.

"Seen anything that should make a man like you suspicious?" Galhardir continued then taking a deep breath. "No, not at all," Freyn answered quickly. "I was just thinking, that's all," Freyn then said, smiling. "I don't think you should worry, Freyn," Galhardir said sportingly. "I bet Rôg would have seen right through the Lossoth traders if there were something "odd" about them...." Galhardir then continued.

"Know what I mean?" he then asked, when Freyn didn't answer. "I suppose so," he muttered unwillingly.

Galhardir felt like he had behaved strange and unlike himself. He didn’t know why, and he didn't know how it had come to pass. But all of a sudden, he just felt that nothing mattered anymore. The death of Carandû had made a sudden change in him that no one could have foreseen, and it scared him a bit. He had become unconsiderate and rash, just over night. He pulled himself together, as he saw the barrels.

His forehead was already covered with sweat drops.

[piosenniel]

‘Watch out below!’

There was hardly need to call out the warning. The Lossoth oarsmen rowed hard away from the Elven ship as the barrel broke lose from the winch and plummeted down to the icy waters. For a brief moment it was submersed entirely then bounced up, riding on the waves. It rolled round and round, making it hard to get hold of with the long oars. Once corralled, the ropes were resecured and the barrel hauled upwards again.

Rôg helped to support the runaway barrel as it was taken up to the Elven ship. For a brief moment, the edge of the barrel end rested against his shoulder, near his ear. A frown crossed his face as his ear was pressed against the staves. But the rope tightened, the barrel swung up, and he bent to help secure another barrel.

As the second barrel made its way to the ship’s deck, Rôg bent near Galhardir and whispered a question. ‘Was it my imagination, or did that first barrel seem to be whimpering?’

Galhardir looked oddly at the other man. Rôg shrugged and smiled sheepishly. ‘Perhaps it was just the wood creaking . . .’

[Arry]

Annû was on deck the next day to assist with the barrels. Perhaps I should have stayed below he thought, seeing how others looked away from him, not knowing what to say. For the Elves, it had been a long time since one of their own had died, and in such a brutal manner. And for the Lossoth, it was probably just the fact that they did not feel they knew him well enough to offer their sympathy . . . or perhaps it was simply their custom. He really did not care. Best that all leave him to his own grief.

The barrels were large, too heavy to be picked up and moved. Annû motioned for one of the Lossoth aboard to help him tip them over one at a time and roll each to a place more out of the way of traffic. Most of the barrels had some simple marking on them. In an effort to stack similar goods together, they placed the barrels with similar markings in groups about the deck.

One of the barrels, the first one in fact they'd brough aboard, was unmarked. They rolled it to a nook near the main mast, intending to place any others that were unmarked near it . . .

[Lalwendë]

The noble Elf was standing alone by the rail. He was watching the boats arrive with the goods, and had been on watch since the Lossoth had left the shoreline. Tarn had spotted the figure of the captain almost straight away, standing apart from the others onboard, his eyes trained on the line of boats heading out towards the ship.

Tarn kept a watch upon him as the small boats pulled across the waves, expecting the Elf to move towards the winch and make ready to meet the traders, but he remained motionless. He reminded him of a sea bird, eyes keen for prey, but still and calm on his perch.

In the second boat sailing towards the ship, Tarn helped the oarsman to steer the small craft towards the centre deck, where the winch stood. The great ship made the swell of the waves much larger, and Tarn’s face whitened a little in fear as for a moment he thought they would be swept under the hull by the undertow. But the oarsman was in control and soon lines were being thrown down to secure the smaller craft.

Tarn made sure that the scarf wound about his face was secure. The Elf Captain had now moved towards the winch machinery where all the activity was beginning to take place. He sent others to do his bargaining, and remained on deck to watch. He set to work helping with the winding of the winch handle. Still he remained silent.

Feeling as though those sharp eyes were boring into his own, Tarn turned his face away quickly and not noticing the shouts of the Elves, the falling barrel caught him unawares. The men in the first boat took up their oars quickly and pushed the little vessel away from the winch with all the force they could muster, sending their own boat crashing into Tarn’s. He fell to the bottom of the little boat, jerked from his feet by the bump. As the barrel broke free of its moorings and crashed into the water, it sent up a mighty plume of spray. The boat rocked and was swamped for a moment. Shaking his head, Tarn started to bail the water out furiously.

[Niluial]

Elwë helped the others move the huge barrels, it was a hard job, the barrels wouldn’t budge and they needed three or four elves just to lift one barrel but Elwë’s mind and heart was too heavy, too sad to put all his effort into helping or even worrying about the barrels. He did know he had to move on but Andtuariel meant everything to him, he loved her a lot even though he didn’t admit it. He wouldn’t even dare to think what the Corsairs were doing to her, if he did think of it, horrifying images came to his head… even worse was the thought that she may not even be alive.

He thought back to the evening when everything was perfect; the moon shone brightly in Andtuariel’s cabin and she looked lovely herself. It was the perfect evening Andtuariel had kissed him… He now regretted not telling her that he loved her, he regretted not hugging her and he especially regretted shouting at her all the time. Tears filled up in his eyes as he slowly rolled the next barrel.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Marreth waited inside the barrel as he felt the boat come to a stop in front of the main ship. He could not have been happier to leave his wooden prison. Drenched, cold, and nauseated, Marreth vowed never to travel in barrels again. He had been tossed around, pummeled by waves, and covered in flour, which still stuck to his soaked skin. It would be amazing if he didn’t catch a deadly illness soon after.

With a jolt, Marreth felt his barrel being lifted onboard right after it had been hoisted from the sea andthen rolled over to a spot. He was becoming dizzy, but took some consolation from the fact that he had devised such a perfect plot. He chuckled with glee as he thought that the very people letting him into the Elvish ship were the Elves themselves. With a dull thud, Marreth heard the barrel being set down on the ship’s wooden deck. There was the sound of feet scurrying away then silence.

Slowly, Marreth lifted the lid of the barrel, creating a small space barely large enough for him to look around. He peered out and saw that he was in the middle of a secluded niche, surrounded on three sides by walls. Bit by bit, other barrels containing his comrades were being set down, slowly filling up the deck. In his immediate area, however, he was alone. Marreth felt like jumping out and slitting some Elvish throats, but his common sense prevailed. His purpose here was to sabotage the ship by weakening its mast, inviting the slightest wind to snap it in two.

Marreth knocked cautiously on the side of his barrel, but there was no reply. He cautiously lifted the top an inch more and stared out. Marreth hoped that the Elves, too preoccupied with loading the supplies onto the ship, would fail to notice anything amiss. With all eyes rivetted on the containers still being loaded onto the ship, Marrreth was able to slide his body out of the barrel and then slink down to the floor.

Carefully replacing the top, but leaving a pile of flour in his wake, Marreth crept forward and reached the main mast, which stood strong, reaching high into the salty sea air. After hiding for a moment under a piece of excess sail canvas near the mast, Marreth began his climb. He moved nimbly skyward, clutching the boring instrument firmly in one hand while he scaled the pole. So far, the operation was proceeding flawlessly, and soon it would be complete.

Carefully aiming his tool, Marreth began boring energetically into the mast about half way up. A broad smile was on his face. When he had finished making the tiny whole that went from one side of the mast to the other, he removed a small piece of paper from his pocket and slipped it inside the hole. He was intent on his work, but his attention was suddenly diverted by a loud noise coming from the deck below.....

[Child of the 7th Age]

The last of the barrels had finally been brought aboard. Tarn and Nilak, the two Lossoth in charge of the shipment, had climbed up the side ladder and now stood beside Luindal, waiting for the Elf to sign off on the bargain. The Captain paced up and down the deck counting the number of containers and making sure that they were in good condition.

Coming to the far side of the ship, to the first barrel that had been loaded, he hesitated for a moment. The lid of the container was not secured tightly but seemed askew, as if someone had removed the top and then hastily tried to replace it. On the floor of the nearby deck were puddles of water and what looked to be globs of wet flour. Luindal walked over, tramping through the sodden mess, and leaned over, peering down to the bottom of the barrel. It was barely one-third full.

"Is this what you've sold us? Half-empty boxes?" The Elf turned towards Tarn with a look of displeasure on his face. "We paid for a full shipment. How many more are like this?" Remembering the warning that Rôg had brought him earlier, Luindal wondered if the Corsairs had tampered with their supplies, or if there was another explanation for this. His fingers strayed imperceptibly to the hilt of his sword.

When the Lossoth failed to answer, Luindal hurried over to the next batch of supplies, a scowl set firmly on his face, as he handed Rôg and Freyn heavy metal levers, asking them to wrench off the lids. The two immediately went to work, each on a different box. The first ones were opened with little fanfare. But as they began tearing off the tops of barrels three and four, the containers themselves began to rattle slightly as if there was something inside trying to move about. Rôg and Freyn exchanged puzzled glances.

Luindal opened his mouth to give orders to surround and wrestle the barrels to the ground when, high above, from the central mast, a voice rang out, "Get out mates! We've been discovered. Time for us to leave....."

A dozen barrels or more shook ominously as lids popped off. Luindal snapped an order as his followers charged forward with swords and daggers raised to try and keep the Corsairs from escaping.

[Arry]

Once the barrels had been brought on board, Annû had taken up a position on the quarterdeck, intending to keep a close watch on the proceedings. So far, nothing seemed amiss. The captain was with two of the Lossoth who had brought the barrels from the mainland, and was looking displeased. He had pried the top off one of the barrels – the one they’d stack by itself. Annû could see him gesturing and shaking his head at the two Lossoth. The stances of the two native traders stiffened as the captain handed a tool to two of his crew member, indicating they should pry open the other barrels.

A shout rang out from somewhere above and all at once a number of Corsairs clambered from the barrels they’d been hiding in, weapons drawn. Annû fired a number of arrows at them, nicking several in the arms. The foe was moving about quickly, heading for the sides of the ship. Annû fired several more arrows, most causing only minor wounds, but one sunk deep into the fleshy thigh of a Corsair.

Luindal had drawn his sword, and Annû could see the two traders start back a few steps then look menacingly at him. He could not get a good shot at them. Slinging his bow on his back, Annû drew his brother's sword and leapt down to where the captain stood against the two. The tip of his blade was leveled at one of the men’s chests. An older fellow, his dark hair gone grey at the temples. The fellow’s dark blue eyes widened at the presence of the second Elf. Then he scowled, squinting fiercely at Annû.

A certain rage boiled up inside the Elf, and he pressed forward, intending to run the man through. But the Lossoth feinted quickly to one side and knocked the blade away with his much padded arm. The sharp want of revenge mixed with the memories of his brother. Annû wanted to pound this Corsair sympathizer into dust. Rage rising further, he dropped his blade on the deck and stepped in close to the man, fists balled.

Grey eyes flashing in his stony face, Annû felt a stab of satisfaction as his knuckles collided with the man’s nose . . .

[Niluial]

BANG! The noise didn’t scare Elwë, nothing did and nothing could. He had changed, he didn’t care about his life any longer, or even the Palantiri, only about his precious stone, Andtuariel. His eyes were cold and hard like ice, filled with hate and revenge. As the bang had happened Corsairs scramble from the barrels they had been hiding in. They drew their weapons with evil looking smirks on their scarred faces.

Elwë exploded, he charged at the Corsairs shooting his arrows at them, one of which pierced a Corsair's dirty skin. He found pleasure in watching the Corsair fall to the ground. Elwë glanced at Annû who’s eyes were also filled with the same anger and hate. They both smiled at each other, not a loving smile nor a caring smile but a smile that almost said charge, fight and if I die, it was nice knowing you.

Corsairs charged at him, hitting him with their pointed weapons. They smelt dirty and looked it too. Elwë’s hands were stained with a mixture of his blood and the corsairs blood. He had been stabbed in the side with a pocket knife, but it was numb, he couldn’t feel it, but it bled a lot.

[piosenniel]

Rôg jumped back involuntarily as the barrels erupted with fleeing Corsairs. They looked like so many rats as they scurried to get off the ship. Well-armed rats, that is. And here he stood with only a short crowbar in one hand and a hammer in the other – the tools he’d just used to take off a few of the barrel heads.

His first thought was simply to crouch down behind the barrels that had not been knocked over and wait for the wave of Southrons to pass him by. And to be honest his knees, of their own volition, buckled and plunked him down behind two of the still standing barrels. The gap between the two barrels afforded him a limited view of what was happening. Legs and torsos of Corsairs could be seen running and stopping as they encountered the ship’s crew. The shiny blades of both sets of combatants could be seen and heard swishing through the air; glinting metal arcing back and forth; clanging loudly as one met the other.

Rôg dared a peek over the barrel top. There was Annû, near the Captain. He’d thrown down his blade and was swinging at one of the Lossoth who’d come over with the barrels. A murderous rage was in his eyes. Luindal was chasing, now, after one of the other Lossoth, his blade held high.

‘Courage, man,’ Rôg admonished himself with a dry whisper. He stood up completely, his jellied knees firming up at his command. One of the Corsairs ran by his barrels making for the side of the ship the cargo boats were on. Rôg ran out, his tools turned weapons gripped tight in his fists; his arms swinging in mad arcs as he raced after the man. He yelled as his feet propelled him along.

‘Run, you scurvy southron sea dog! Or feel the wrath of one whose clan you’ve oppressed too long!’

The Corsair was mystified as he heard the battle cry and peered behind him. Rôg’s hammer went whizzing past his ear; the little skinchanger had not the eye for hitting a moving target. The Corsair smirked, his mouth twisting into a leering grin.

‘Well, then,’ cried Rôg, his cloak streaming behind him as he ran faster. ‘Feel this!’

A mighty swing of the crowbar connected with the side of the Corsair’s left knee, a satisfying crunch and a howl of pain following it. The Corsair fell, rolling the few feet to the side of the ship and through the gap between the deck and the ship’s railing. He clung to the edge of the ship, trying to save himself from a fall into the icy water. Rôg, by this time, meant to finish him off. He gave a sound thwack! of the heavy crowbar across the man’s knuckles. A splash finished this little skirmish and Rôg turned to see how else he might help.

[Lalwendë]

Lost for words when the tall Elf captain challenged him about the state of the goods, Tarn had simply stood and stared at him as though he had not quite heard what he said. It was one of the worst things he could have done; the captain was instantly suspicious and Tarn noticed his hand move towards the sword at his side. Standing as still as he could, his thoughts were confused by the realisation that he had made an error in not speaking to the captain. A chill ran down his spine as he stood motionless, frantically trying to think about what he ought to do now. The captain had taken the measure of him and had not been fooled.

From somewhere above, came the voice of Marreth and suddenly Corsairs were swarming around and the Elves, alert, were drawing weapons. The ringing of steel as it was drawn by seemingly every hand, was loud and Tarn realised he had only his knife. He lifted his hand, reaching for the inside pocket of his coat. But before he could pull out the blade, the tip of a sword was pointed at his chest, preventing Tarn’s hand from getting anywhere near his pockets.

A feeling of panic quickly gave way to rage and Tarn glared at the Elf who clearly intended to kill him. His look was one of defiance and he ducked quickly sideways, With a thrust of his forearm as he moved, he knocked the blade away and squared himself up, to run or to fight. The sudden movement knocked the scarf from his face, and it hung about his chin limply. The Elf came towards him in a rush, anger boiling in his face. Tarn made ready to fight and drew back his powerful arm, ready to knock the sense from this Elf.

Before he could move any further, he heard a cracking noise as though his skull was splitting open. Burning pain spread through his head and he reeled backwards, blood pouring into the back of his throat. He bent double, retching, and spat it out on the deck. Instinctively, he reached up his hand and he felt the mess on his face and knew his nose had been broken again.

Pain and anger came together and the vision of the elf in front of him seemed red. Whether the vision was coloured with blood or with rage, Tarn could not have said, for he was entirely gripped with the need to hurt this Elf, who seemed to be coming in with another swing at him. Stepping back again, to give himself the room to recover, Tarn saw that the Elf was relentless, moving towards him again, filled with the same anger which he himself was feeling. He knew an opponent filled with the same fury could be dangerous, whatever their size.

Coughing with the suffocating blood which was pouring into his mouth, Tarn suddenly turned and ran up the steps to the foredeck. This only tricked the elf for a moment, but it gave Tarn enough time to draw the scarf back around his face. He needed to stop the blood flow and soak it up as he was now choking badly. With the blood soaking into the cloth, he could now breathe at least. He got to the top of the steps, steadying himself on the hand rail. But instead of carrying on forwards, as the Elf expected, he stopped. Twisting round, he let out a great roar and launched his foot at the pursuing Elf. The kick was fierce, meeting the Elf full in the stomach. He doubled up and fell down backwards with a groan. Tarn’s kick had been so forceful that when his foot met no further resistance, it continued forwards for a moment, and he stumbled onto the deck himself.

[Arry]

Get up, little brother! You’ll not let this puny son of the snow best you!

Annû rolled to his knees, his brother’s words ringing in his ears. Or rather, the remembrance of similar words, urging him on in various seamen’s taverns when cups too numerous had been drunk, and a jest of Carandu’s taken ill. ‘Well, at least, I’m not drunk,’ he thought, heaving himself to his feet. His gut, tight with pain from the Lossoth’s kick, protested the move; he gagged back the bile rising in his throat.

‘Up, you dark hearted dog!’ Annû growled as reached down with his left hand. Grabbing the man by his weathered overcoat, he hauled him to his feet. For a brief moment his hard grey eyes sought to pierce the other’s, wondering how low this specimen of man had sunk. ‘Shadow scum!’ he spat out, pushing the man roughly back in disgust. The man squinted at Annû, his blue eyes glinting with a feral light. The Elf could smell the thick, heavy smell of congealing blood coming from him; that stain on the scarf he wore about his face already turning dark in the air.

The Elf moved in closer to the man. His fists were balled, and he made a series of feints countered easily by the Lossoth. The man was a skilled fighter, taking the opportunity to jab the Elf hard followed by a cross punch to the jaw with his right fist. At one point, Annû reeled back from a particularly hard blow, head ringing. Shaking his head to bring the multiple images of the Lossoth into focus, Annû rushed at the man, grabbing him about the neck with his left arm and delivering a series of jabs to his face and chest. He could feel the man’s body slacken against him, as if he were about to collapse. Annû loosened his grip, thinking to let the man fall.

Against his left side, he felt the sharp, cold point of the man’s knife as it touched his skin . . .

[Orofaniel]

‘Was it my imagination, or did that first barrel seem to be whimpering?’

Why hadn't he seen it before? Why hadn't he taken Rôg's suspicion seriously?

There was no time to think; this was the time for actions. What was he going to do? All of a sudden there had been an amount of Corsairs popping out from the barrels. How does one respond to that? He didn't have any weapons available, and he didn't know how to fight without a weapon. Then he remembered that he didn't really know how to fight at all. He had never been a fighter, at least not a good one.

Suddenly an arrow passed him. Even though it wasn't even close of hitting him, he knew somehow that the Corsair would try again. He searched for cover, but he didn’t seem to find any. He ran across the deck, as he saw a sword lying on the ground. It had belonged to the enemy, but obviously the owner had let it go for some reason. He picked it up, and he didn't have the time to get used to it, before a horrifying surprise, enough to scare anyone, was waiting for him; Two Corsairs, one with a bow ready to shoot, and another with a sword. Galhardir gasped. He gasped for air. He felt as I he couldn’t breathe properly. His legs felt weak and numb. He couldn’t collect his thoughts and the dizziness he felt made it difficult for him to stand up properly. It was as if he was only a shadow of himself. He held the sword tight. The sweat in his palms was making it difficult though for him to fasten his grip.

The sword hewed towards the enemy, but it didn't hit anyone. The next thing he knew was the arrow. It had gone off; the enemy had shot him. The arrow had hit him in the arm. As painful as it was, he struggled not to scream. Luckily it hadn't hit the arm he was holding his sword so he would still be able to fight - or try to fight.

"Give it up," the Corsair hissed.

[Lalwendë]

It was that rare thing, a fair fight. This Elf was a match for him. No simple blow to the chin would bring this one down. Tarn’s rage deepened into a kind of desperation and the world shrank away so there was only this struggle, which he must win at all costs. He ducked the fists which were thrown at him and with lightning speed managed to connect with the jaw of the Elf, who staggered away from him.

Thoughts of triumph started to enter his mind, and a smirk began to spread across his broad face. And then the Elf hurled himself forwards and taking Tarn unawares, grabbed him about the neck and pummelled his fists into Tarn’s chest. Tarn struggled, but try as he might, he could not get his hand about the Elf’s strong left arm to break his hold. The blows rained down faster than he could breathe and his chest tightened up quickly. His vision stared to blur and his frantic struggling started to slow down. He could not even manage to cough between the relentless rhythm of the hits he was taking and he felt as though pins were being stuck into his ribs. He could not feel his feet or hands and became almost calm.

Not like this, he thought to himself, managing to take a breath as the Elf started to punch his face instead. No, this was like drowning. This was what he did to others. No-one would do this to him. Not to Tarn.

His arm dropped from the Elf’s shoulder where he had placed it in an effort to shake off that powerful grip. It was limp, but not useless, and Tarn, taking another breath, slid his hand into his coat and withdrew the knife. As the Elf stood back to drop what he thought was an unconscious man to the deck, he got a nasty surprise.

Tarn pushed the knife as firmly as he could into the Elf’s flank, pushed through his jerkin until he felt it give way in the flesh, jerked it roughly, and pulled it out again. Tarn, exhausted, and still gasping for breath, then dropped to the deck where he sat in a heap and laughed as the Elf, his eyes wide as he saw the knife, staggered backwards.

The Elf fell down opposite Tarn, clutching his side, his breathing laboured. Tarn, wheezing, examined the tip of the serrated blade, and then looked deep into the eyes of the Elf. They were defiant but misty with pain. Those eyes widened as they went to the knife, not only covered in Elven blood, but grisly with remains of rotten reindeer flesh, flecks of something black, and threads of old twine.

Tarn lightly touched the tip of the blade, gently pulling it towards him, and then let go. The blade sprang back, splattering the Elf’s face with a mixture of his own blood and the foul remains which must by now have entered his body through the wound he had just received. “Feeling sick are we?” gasped Tarn, laughing wheezily. “ Should really…” Tarn could barely finish what he wanted to say. He spluttered and spat out more blood, which was almost black and very thick. “Ought to keep it cleaner, that knife.” He didn’t have a chance to see the reaction of the Elf as another fit of coughing took him and he doubled over with the pain which returned to grab his chest with a vengeance.

[piosenniel]

Rôg spied Galhardir attempting to look a great deal braver than he felt. He understood the feeling and recognized the signs. The sword in the Lossoth’s hand was wavering and beneath the grim face he’d put on, the skin was blanched white. And then, of course, there was the added problem of the pain from the arrow. Rôg could see how the Lossoth favored his leg. He was sure to fall soon. The Corsair with the blade had advanced closer to Galhardir, the fellow with the bow had already turned and run for the side of ship, attempting to get off as his captain had ordered.

‘Give it up!’ Rôg heard the Corsair hiss at Galhardir. A leering grin on his face, the Corsair drew closer to the man, knocking the sword easily from the Lossoth’s hands.

‘No . . . you give it up!’ yelled Rôg, running up behind the Corsair, his weapon swinging in an arc. This time the crowbar connected with the side of the intended target’s head, knocking him unconscious to the deck. The clatter of metal against the wooden deck made Rôg look round. Galhardir had collapsed on the deck, his leg bleeding. Rôg crouched down beside him.

‘Can you make it over there?’ he asked, pointing toward the hatchway stairs that led into the interior of the ship. The man nodded, yes, and Rôg motioned for him to make haste. But Galhardir put his hand on Rôg’s sleeve and pointed toward the stairway to the quarterdeck. Annû had just collapsed as had the man he’d apparently been fighting. Another Lossoth . . . Annû’s face was battered and a sickly shade of grey; his hands clutched at his side, blood welling up between his fingers. The Lossoth opposite him laughed, his knife held up to taunt the Elf.

‘Can you manage on that leg at all?’ Rôg asked Galhardir. The Lossoth flexed his leg, grimacing, but indicated he could still use it. ‘I’ll distract that Lossoth fellow – you grab Annû and get him to safety down below.

~*~

The small, blue-grey merlin circled once above the Lossoth holding the knife. Legs extended, he dove down from behind him, his sharp talons tearing into the man’s skull. He beat at him with his wings and tore at his ear with his strong, curved beak.

The man lurched to his feet, beating at the demon who besieged him, and stumbled toward the ship's railing, blood streaming down his face from the cuts on his head . . .

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lalwendë's post

As if the pain in his chest were not bad enough, a sudden searing pain gripped Tarn’s head and he couldn’t help but let out a loud groan. He put his hands up to the top of his head, to find his hair matted with fresh blood. Clumps of hair and skin fell away in his fingers. But what was the shrieking noise? He thought he was going mad, or that maybe he had died and was meeting some kind of dark devil. He opened his eyes and looked up, just in time to see the blur of wings and claws swooping down at him for another attack.

Putting his head down just in time, he attempted to cover it with his hands, to protect it from another attack. But this thing was relentless. It wanted to hurt him. Whatever he did to cover his head, it was determined.

He felt a surge of pain at the side of his head and fell sideways. Looking up, he saw a Merlin with a piece of his ear in its beak, and he almost fainted. Covering his eyes with one hand, he lashed out wildly with the other. He hit nothing but air, the bird was too swift for his confused, half-conscious flailing. Staggering to his feet, almost falling back down again, he lurched towards the side of the ship, blinded by madness and fear.

Ripped apart, with a broken nose and ribs, missing part of his ear and bleeding profusely, Tarn collapsed over the railing at the very edge of the deck. His arm caught in the rigging and prevented his half conscious body from falling into the icy waters. As he hung there, the ship tossed about on the waves and a plume of spray splashed his face, waking him from his nightmare. He opened his eyes and heard the voice of Marreth, urging the other men to escape.

[Orofaniel]

After being hit in the arm by the Corsair's arrow, he'd fallen, and hurt his foot as well. It was bleeding heavily by the time Rôg had rescued him from the bloodthirsty Corsair.

Meanwhile he spotted Annû, who was also lying on the ground after a fight with one of the enemies. Galhardir felt uneasy and wanted to hurry over to help him, but he couldn't. His leg felt stiff and the pain was aching, and it was torturing the poor man. At the same time, he had forgotten about the arrow that had hit his arm. He could only feel the blood flowing from that wound as the pain had disappeared, or just forgotten in all the chaos. Slowly, Galhardir finally managed to get up with a little help from Rôg.

Galhardir halted towards Annû closely following Rôg with his eyes. "Hurry Annû!" Galhardir whispered and took him by the arm. Annû followed and together they made it down below without great difficulties. Of course, both of them were badly hurt, but together they were stronger than one would have thought in the first place. In Annû’s room both of them felt exhausted and said little. Galhardir was still shocked by having his enemies so close. They had surprised them once and for all. This surprise wasn't highly appreciated. They were both tending their wounds, examining their injuries; The wound on Galhardir's arm was not bleeding anymore. Instead there was a thick mass of dried blood that was covering the wound, but while cleaning if off, it started to bleed again. It was in fact deeper than he thought at first. The bandage was luckily close at hand, and Galhardir managed to tend it as good as he possibly could. Then the leg remained. Even though he was still bleeding heavily this wasn't such a major injure. He would be able to walk properly on his leg within a couple of days, or so he expected.

Annû poor thing had some pretty nasty bruises which probably would last for quite some time. Galhardir asked him, when he was finished tending his own wounds, if Annû needed some help. Annû smiled but told him that he would manage on his own.

Just as this had been said, Galhardir could hear from above that the Corsairs were feeling…”About time,” he said angrily.

[Imladris]

The elf buttoned her lips and sat up a little straighter. Jynne sighed, and eyed the liquid filled goblet. "Elf," he said silkily, "I would highly recommend you tell me what I want to know."

"I do not fear pain," she said stiffly. "Or anything else you have to offer."

Jynne smiled thinly. "Whoever said anything about pain?"

Her face paled, yet a spark of hope flickered for an instant in her blue eyes.

"Do you see this goblet, elf?" he asked, drifting it in front of her nose. "This goblet is full of wine...no doubt your kind would consider it crude...but it is fine quality aboard ship."

She licked her lips. Jynne figured she would be thirsty. Extended stays on salt water had a tendency to do that.

"In this wine, however, there is a fine poison...it is deadly, however," he said, looking at her with a sort of sinister puppy eyes. "It is also relatively painless. If you do not give me the information I want, I will force this down your throat. There you will be faced the dread knowledge that you will die...and not face the doom of elvenkind. In a way," he said in a musing voice, "I'm glad I did not give this to Jarlyn as it would not have the same affect mentall on him as it would you..." he tapped his temple meaningfully.

The door crashed open, and Diera flew into the room. "So it has been you that has been making Jarlyn sick...I am sure that Marreth would be very interested in hearing this news." She smiled viciously.

Jynne sniffed. He tried to remember why he had been poisoning Jynne in the first place....ah yes...so that he could gain Marreth's trust. Pity the plan had failed miserable. As he licked his lips, he drew his dagger and flung it at Diera's chest. He could almost see the poison spread through her veins as she stumbled backwards, her hands clutching the hilt of the dagger.

[Regin Hardhammer]

As soon as the fighting had begun, Marreth had climbed down the mast as quickly as he could and joined in the fray. His own work was done. He had cleverly bored through the wood leaving a well concealed hole that none of the Elves should be able to see. The next time Luindal went sailing and a stiff wind blew up, the mast should snap in half and leave him helpless to sail any further.

Just let the Elves go out and pull up one of the Stones from the depths of the Bay, Marreth would be waiting nearby and kindly relieve him of the prize. Just to make sure that Luindal would know who’d done this to them, Marreth had left a little note tied onto the lower portion of the mast with his signature prominently displayed in bold letters.

Too bad their little ploy had been discovered. His men might have caused more havoc by emerging from the barrels after the Elves had put them on one of the lower decks and then retired for the night. But now that he’d finished his chore, their real job was done, and they needed to leave the ship.

Marreth signaled to the men to retreat and go immediately for the shore. One of Luindal’s Lossoth allies had scuttled their small boats so they would have to swim for it. That shouldn’t be too hard. They were fairly close to the beach. The only problem was the bitter cold waters. But they should be able to make it and warm themselves by the hot fires and by changing into dry clothing.

Some of the men had been injured, but even these were managing to make it over the side of the ship and swim to shore with the aid of their comrades. The one who looked to be in worst shape was Tarn. This was the Lossoth who had helped him set up this little operation and Marreth had no intention of leaving him behind if he could help it. Tarn had staggered over to the railing and was barely standing upright.

Quickly, Marreth retreated to the side railing and put his arm around Tarn’s shoulders, supporting his sagging body. He yelled out an order to another Corsair to hurl one of the half empty barrels down into the Bay. Fighting off the others with his free arm, he managed to climb over the rail. The two slipped together into the water with Marreth continuing to hold onto Tarn. “Here, grab onto the barrel stave as hard as you can,” he shouted at the Lossoth above the noise of battle. Marreth took off his belt and tied one end about Tarn’s shoulder and the other onto a half loose stave to make sure the wounded man would not let go.

Amid a volley of arrows, Marreth climbed up on the barrel and managed to grab one of the poles they’d brought on the small boats that was now floating in the water. He bagan paddling furiously for shore, keeping his head as low as he could. Once more, Marreth’s luck held. Despite the arrows whizzing through the air, the Corsair received only one cut on his upper arm as the sharp edge sliced through his doublet but then buried itself in the wood of the barrel instead of his own body, or that of Tarn. It was not long before they reached the shore. Some of the men left behind were waiting there with thick fur hides and blankets. They had sledges drawn by deer which took them immediately back to the ship where there was hot drinks and healing herbs as well as beds to rest. Marreth immediately asked the cabin boy to go get Diera so he could tell her what had happened and find out how Jarlyn was doing.

[Kitanna]

After the Corsairs were discovered a battle on the Elven ship began. Nilak had done little in the way of fighting. At first he did what he could to make sure the Corsairs were out of the barrels. He wouldn't want any to be left behind by themself. During the battle Sernir had stayed close to Nilak. Probably using me as a human shield, Nilak thought, but Sernir did watch his back.

Nilak took a few punches from the angry Elves and the Lossoth allies, but he just punched right back. Somewhere between taking and giving hits Nilak turned to see Tarn being attacked by a bird of prey.

He tried to come to Tarn's aid, but he heard Marreth urging them to escape. The Corsairs jumped over the side of the ship. Nilak would have joined them, but he felt the need to get Tarn first. He stopped when he saw Marreth helping Tarn over the edge and into the icy water. Nilak leapt over the rail and into the water. He swam alongside the Corsairs toward the shore as arrows from the ship rained down on them.

Once on shore Nilak was given a fur blanket to warm himself. He had someone help him back to his hut where he started a fire and changed into dry clothes. He fell asleep not long after.

[piosenniel]

The Corsairs had left the Elven vessel. Captain Luindal called for those of the crew who were not injured to go in groups of three and check that there were none of the Southrons or their allies hiding yet on the ship. The small patrols swept the Sea-Spirit from stem to stern, reporting back to the Captain, at last, that all was safe and secure.

‘There are a few of the crew with scrapes and bruises,’ one of the Elves reported. ‘Annû, though,’ chimed in his companion, ‘seems quite beat up.’ The Elf grinned, and Luindal looked at him questioningly. ‘He says we should have seen the other fellow!’ The first Elf nodded his head, but added with a note of concern. ‘He waved us off when we asked if he needed a healer to see to him. Said it was just some bruising and nothing to be done about it. Said he’d be fine.’

Luindal organized the crew to clear away the mess made on the deck when the barrels had opened and the Corsairs burst from them. They salvaged what goods they could, stacked the staves of the broken barrels below in the hold for further use, and checked the ship for any damage needing repair. ‘The Corsairs had been in such a hurry to flee that there had not been enough time for them to accomplish any real mischief,’ the crew reported.

The Captain thanked them for their thoroughness then ordered all to attend to their wounds if they had sustained any, take their meal, and rest until the next day. The Sea-Spirit would put into the bay to search beneath the water for the palantiri.

~*~

On the way to his cabin, Luindal found Rôg, crowbar still in hand. The man held it up, grinning. ‘Not only a useful tool, my dear friend,’ Rôg said, waving it in the air, ‘but a useful weapon as well for cracking the heads and knees of Corsairs.’

‘If I didn’t know you better, I would say you enjoyed that encounter,’ the Captain commented, motioning for his friend to accompany him to his quarters.

‘Not enjoyed, really,’ Rôg said, his face now more serious in its demeanor. ‘But there was a certain satisfaction in driving the scum from the ship.’ He entered the cabin as Luindal held open the door. ‘So, the plans we’ve discussed,’ he went on, shoving a few books, maps, and the odd piece of clothing from one of the more comfortable chairs in an effort to find somewhere to plop his tired body. ‘We’ll put them in motion . . . tomorrow . . .?’

[Arry]

With the help of Galhardir, Annû had made it to his room. A fierce, generalized ache and hurt had begun to assail him where the traitorous Lossoth had landed his hard blows, and already the purplish spread of new bruises had begun to creep across the pummeled areas. He would be sore for a while, but the bruises would fade, the ache recede, in time. What worried him the most was the wound from the man’s knife.

With careful fingers, he peeled off the temporary bandage Galhardir had applied, a wadding of clean rags bound on with the belt Annû wore. The flow of blood from the wound had slowed to an occasional oozing. It was not a large cut nor had it gone in particularly deep he saw, as he twisted this way and that to see it in the room’s small mirror. But even this soon the edges of it looked red and angry, and the serous fluid did not run clear but was tinged with a yellow color. He cleaned it as best he could, with water from the jug and a rag. Some folded strips from an old clean towel served as a bandage, with one longer band of it to tie about him. Fishing through his pack he found a soft, loose tunic to pull on.

His movements were stiff from his bruises and the wound, but he steeled himself against the hurt, and walked carefully to the galley to find food and drink. Many of the crew were already there. He nodded to those who called out to him and passed by them as quickly as he could. Taking a bowl of the inevitable chowder, a chunk of ship’s bread, and a mug of tea, he made his solitary way back to his quarters.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal nodded in agreement and then beckoned Rôg towards the table in the center of the cabin where maps and scrolls were haphazardly strewn. “I didn’t have a chance to show you this before, but this is where we need to search.” He pointed to a spot on Cirdan’s map that was highlighted with a small circle. Rôg could see that this location was not far from a lengthy sandbar that stretched along the eastern side of the Bay in relatively shallow waters. “But how do you know for sure?” Rôg queried.

Luindal handed a parchment to his friend and explained. “I don’t know for sure, but read this and see what you think. When I first arrived, the Elders presented me with a document penned in an ancient Lossoth tongue, hoping it would aid our search. The words were inscribed on deer hide and described what happened the day the Elven ship sank. The hide sat on a shelf in the Hall of Elders for countless years and was totally forgotten until this latest threat. Few among the Snowmen could even read the old script, but Alahseey had been taught as a child at her great-grandmother's knee. After our arrival in the Bay, she spent many hours translating it and filling in as many missing parts as she could.

Rôg’s eyes scanned the sheet quickly. Then he looked up at Luindal. “I see. With the water so shallow, the sandbar iced over early in the year. When the wind picked up, the Elven craft lurched closer to shore and collided with the ice, crushing the hull.”

“I would agree,” countered the Elf. “Cirdan’s map of the Bay when placed beside the account of the Lossoth suggests that this is probably what happened. If that is true, we need to search just west of the bar. Lucky for us, it is still there after all these years and not frozen over yet.”

“But so close to a sandbar and in shallow waters?”

Luindal sighed. “In one way, this should make it easier to pull up the Stones, since the shallow water would be less frigid than the depths of the Bay. But, to begin, I would suggest we leave the Spirit a ways away and approach the area where we plan to dive with smaller boats. If we find the small stone first, we can just retrieve it with the small boats. If it is the larger one, then we have a problem. We cannot get the larger palantir off the bottom of the Bay and lift it up without a winch. Even aside from the winch, its size and weight would swamp any of the smaller boats. We'll have to sail the Spirit closer, hopefully on the western side furthest from the sandbar.”

“A tricky piece of sailing,” Rôg observed.

“Tricky indeed. Let’s just hope the weather holds. Or tricky may become close to impossible! Now get to bed and tell the others to do the same. We’ll need all our wits and strength in the morning. And make sure to bring along those air bladders and special diving suits.”

[Lalwendë]

The dreamless darkness slowly subsided and Tarn awoke from the deep sleep he had fallen into. His eyes had been wiped clean of the blood which had streamed across them and set hard, but some of the congealed blood was still stuck to his eyelashes and he winced as he opened his eyelids. Automatically, he lifted his hand to his face to pick the bloody coating off and he let out a low, hissing gasp as he felt the pain searing across his chest.

He reached to touch the place where he had felt the pain, and found that his coat and layers of sweaters had been removed and replaced with a cotton shirt. He felt inside the shirt and found that his ribs had been tightly bandaged with strips of linen cloth. Who had done this? And where was he? A sense of panic rose and he almost screamed aloud with pain as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked about him and saw that he was in a small, low ceilinged cabin; he heard water and realised he must be on a ship.

Tarn’s eyes widened as the frightening thought came to him that the Elves may have taken him captive. Looking round, he saw a door, and it did not look locked. He had to get out of there, whatever the pain he might feel, whatever the cost to his strength. But he could not see his normal clothes, and in particular his coat, which contained his only weapon, the knife. He felt dizzy, but he could not give in and lie back down. From what he had heard, these Elves disappeared over the seas from time to time and were never heard of again. That was not going to happen to him, of this he was determined.

Putting his feet to the floor, he was relieved to find at least his boots had not been removed. He lifted up the mattress of the bunk he had been lying on, but his personal effects were not concealed under there. He scanned the room and could find no cubby holes. Then, bending down to examine some of the panelling, he stumbled giddily and crashed into the wall with a great racket.

“Ho! What’s going on in there?” boomed a loud voice. Angry footsteps came rapidly towards the door and then it was flung open. A large, bearded man with blackened, frostbitten fingers stood there, glaring at Tarn. “What are you doing, man? Are you a fool?” he roared.

“Regan!” gasped Tarn, clutching the edge of the bunk, to keep himself steady. “Where am I? I thought I was going off to some Elven prison. Am I on Marreth’s ship?”

“And where else might you be? “ said the man with a grim, short laugh. “Think Corsairs abandon their own do you?”

“But I…”

“Enough, you fool. You are one of our own, or so says I. A man who is decent enough to rescue me, I will make sure he gets the best of care. And besides, the Captain himself bore you back to shore, strapped over a barrel, like a bloody haunch of meat.”

Regan was bluff, but it was his way. Tarn appreciated and understood it. He was feeling pain, but no agony would grip him so hard that he could not still present himself as a tough and resilient man. Regan had bandaged and bathed Tarn himself, he saw it as a return of the favour, the right thing to do for a comrade in arms.

“You’ve a fair souvenir there,” said Regan, laughing grimly again. “Have you seen yourself?” Tarn had not seen the full extent of his injuries. He remembered the broken nose, and the cracked ribs, but the injuries inflicted by the maniacal bird had slipped from his mind, so delirious had he been during the attack.

“Follow me”, said Regan. He did not offer a helpful arm to Tarn, that would be going too far. But at least he walked slowly from the cabin and up the gangway towards the mess room. Once there, he pointed to a mirror on the wall, and Tarn, swallowing hard, looked up at his reflection nervously. He saw the bruises on his face first, but then turning slightly to one side, saw that a chunk of the top of his ear was missing, the gash crudely stitched together. He leaned forwards to take a closer look and examined himself as any dandy might examine himself in a new suit of clothes. A slight smile crept across his face.

“That’s a corker, aint it?” said Regan. “A real beauty”. Tarn laughed as hard as he could and agreed that it was a spectacular injury. The broken nose was nothing new, he’d snap it back in place when he had the nerve. But this, it was a truly impressive wound. He admired himself once more and sank down onto a bench as the pain surged through his ribs once more.

[piosenniel]

Even before the sun was up, Luindal came knocking at Rôg’s door, and finding it unlocked, entered. ‘I thought you wanted our wits about us! Mine don’t gather until the day’s light is over the horizon!’ Luindal chuckled as Rôg sat up, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. ‘What’s that in your hand, you pushy Elf?’ Rog got up out of bed, the sheet wrapped round him. ‘It’s tea, and laced with honey. I can smell it.’ He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers at the Captain. ‘Come on. Give it over! And it better be strong if you’re expecting me to even dip one toe in that icy water!’

Two cups of strong tea later followed by a quick bowl of porridge, and Rôg was ready to go. He’d been up late into the previous night checking on the equipment they would need. Two nets – one small to accommodate the small sphere; a larger one to secure around the bigger palantiri. Rôg had gotten one of the Lossoth to help sew a tight fitting suit of seal skins for Luindal. With a thick coating of bear grease applied over his entire body before donning the suit, the captain should be fairly insulated against the cold. And finally, there were several airbladders sewn from sealskins, the seams sealed with pitch. They were blown up with air and tied off tightly to be used as floats.

‘You shouldn’t have to be in the water very long,’ Rôg said to Luindal as they walked up to the quarterdeck. The First Mate had already given the order to weigh anchor. The ship was on its way toward the sandbar that had been identified in the Lossoth document. ‘I’ll do the diving; all you have to do is be ready to secure whatever stone we find with the net and clip the net to the ropes that hang from the airbladders. They’ll show where the globe is while we move in with one of the longboats to hoist it in.’

The Sea-Spirit drew in as close as she could to the sandbar. It would not serve to have her run aground, so she anchored a little west of the area they planned to search. Two longboats set out from the ship. One with Rôg and the Captain in it, along with two Lossoth to row and two armed Elves. The other boat held most of the equipment and several more armed Elves.

It was only a short distance to the area just off the sandbar that Luindal wanted to explore. Rôg threw off his robe and slipped into the water his now sleek body pushing itself gracefully beneath the low lapping waves. He arched back up toward the surface and peeked his head back up to where Luindal looked over the side of the boat. ‘Get going!’ Luindal hissed as the seal regarded him with his large dark eyes. The captain scratched his chest, squirming a little in his suit. ‘This . . . thing . . . you’ve outfitted me with is beginning to get rather aromatic . . . if you catch my drift.’

Rôg twitched his whiskers and grinned, slapping a foreflipper on the water’s surface. ‘I’ve not only caught your drift, but so have the others, apparently.’ He nodded his nose to where the others in the boat had drawn up their scarves about their noses. ‘You’ll notice they’ve positioned the end of the boat your in, downwind from them!’ Before Luindal could make a rejoinder, Rôg dove beneath the water and began his search . . .

[Regin Hardhammer]

Marreth awoke and glanced out of his window. He caught a glimpse of the Elven ship searching for the Stones once more. He smirked with glee while envisioning their mast snapping off, stranding the Elves in the middle of the bay.

Marreth recalled in a haze the unsettling events of the night before: finding the body of his trusted friend slumped over on the deck of the ship, limp and already going cold. The sight had stunned and shocked him so that he did not know what to do. Diera had been one of the most trusted officers who had ever served him. Who could have done such an abominable deed? And how had they managed to do so unnoticed?

Arising from his bed, Marreth decided to return to the body and see if he could gather any clues. Scanning the still body, he noticed the jagged line of the gash, red and inflamed even in death. He bent down to examine it more closely, as his nose picked up the acrid stench of poison. Marreth roared with anger when he realized what must have occurred. He longed to get out on the Bay so his men could get ready to attack the Elven ship as soon as its mast snapped, but this was a matter of even greater importance. No captain who failed to discipline his crew would ever survive.

“Jynne, Jynne,” he bellowed to the cabin boy, “Get Jynne over here instantly. I must talk to him.” The boy nodded and scuttled away, but then returned in a few moments shaking his head and reporting that Jynne had been in his cabin, but had stubbornly told him he was busy and would report when he got around to it.

Marreth bristled and then stormed off in the direction of Jynne's cabin. This betrayal within his own crew infuriated him more than all of his previous failed plans and bad luck finding the Palantiri. Heads were going to roll for this, most certainly Jynne’s.

Coming to Jynne's room, he thrust the door open and bellowed, "You cox-livered peapod, scum of the earth, how did my first mate Diera meet her death? The smell of poison is on her. And I know of no one else on this ship who is fool enough to carry a poisoned blade without my approval. From the moment you came on this ship, you have done nothing but cause trouble. I should slit your throat here and now, but first I will let you answer before I haul you off to the brig." Marreth's fingers strayed to the hilt of his sword....

[Arry]

‘You really don’t look very well. Shall I have one of the other Elves help you?’ The Lossoth’s face peered up from his seat at the ruddy face of the Elf. Annû had stood up, the better to catch the breeze off the Bay’s waters. His face was flushed, as someone who had exerted himself hard and long. But beneath the tinge of color that stained his cheeks and neck, lay a lingering pallor. His eyes glittered, but not with the fair light of the First Born. Rather, they bore an ill glaze from some fire that burned within.

‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,’ returned Annû, waving the man’s offer of help away. He pointed to where the filled airbladders lay at the front of the longboat. ‘Help Galhardir get those tied to those coils of rope, if you will.’ Annû nodded to where Rôg could just be seen gliding back and forth beneath the water. ‘Once Rôg has found a palantir, we’ll need to have those air-filled floats to tie onto the net Luindal will put under it – to mark its place so we can haul it up while they search for the second one.’ Galhardir welcomed the man’s assistance, though he glanced curiously up at Annû, after a whispered conference with his fellow Lossoth.

Elwë picked his was to the middle of the boat, his bow in hand. He’d heard Annû protest the offer of help and now stood looking at his fellow Elf. Annû managed a meager smile in greeting, saying again that it was nothing. Something he’d eaten had not agreed with him. Changing the subject, he asked if Elwë had seen any sign of the Corsairs. Elwë said he had not, and the two passed a brief time in conversation as their eyes scanned the low lying hills and rocky outcroppings that lined the edge of the bay, looking for signs of any who might be spying on them. After a while, the two Elves changed placed in the boat, taking the opposite ends from each other. Their weapons were ever at the ready as their keen grey eyes swept in an arc, toward land and water. All was well as Rôg continued his searching dives for the stones.

Galhardir glanced up from his work with the ropes and nets, startled to see that Annû had thrown back the hood to his cloak, letting the chilly breeze ruffle the hairs escaped from his hastily done braid. Unaware of his concerned observer, Annû fished into the small pack at his waist now and again, bringing out small pieces of willow bark to chew on. It was meant to keep down the fever he could feel rising. And to ease the pain in his side. It was doing neither very well as far as he could tell. He forced his thoughts away from the pain and the fevered discomfort, setting them solely on keeping watch against the foe.

[Imladris]

Jynne was expecting Marreth -- the captain had been a fool to send the cabin boy. It was too bad that Marreth had been alerted and knew that he had been the woman's slayer. He had hoped the water would have done a better job hiding Deira's body. He shrugged.

As the boy dashed back to Marreth, Jynne slipped around and knelt in the darkness that oozed under his cot. He lifted the wooden chest, opened it, and chewed his finger tip. Poisons...such innocent liquid. They were like traitors. Fair of face, yet laced with malace. He selected a curvacious vial and lifted it to a flickering ray of the dying sun. The rose tinted poison trembled in his hand, the glowing aura streaked with golden shafts. The cabin walls behind him was splashed with red and violet -- the spirits of the flowers that had bled for him. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the smooth glass. He whispered a curse over it.

Jynne tucked the vial in his sleave, took another bottle from the chest, and turned around, leaning against the cabin walls. He glanced down at the black glassed bottle cradeled in his hand and smiled at it.

Marreth stormed in, his face an obscene purple as he raged at Jynne. "I have caused nothing but trouble?" asked Jynne silkily. "Whose idea was it to block the cave? Who rested that Hilde? I, Marreth, have been no trouble to you. In fact, I have been your greatest asset," he whispered.

"But I don't care about that," said Marreth with a coldness that rippled with anger. "How did Diera meet her death?"

Jynne shrugged. "Why would I know?"

"There was poison in the wound!"

"Maybe there are other insolent dogs who would flaunt your authority and bring a poisoned blade. You do not," said Jynne with silky delicacy, "have a thorough knowledge of your crew,"

"You liar!" Marreth roared, ripping his sword from the scabbard.

Jynne ducked, tugged the cork off the black bottle and drowned it's dark liquid. He felt a fiery strength course through his veins, he was suddenly clear headed, and he crouched like cat against the wall, as he watched Marreth control himself. "Take another swing at me," he said softly, "and I promise you that you can ask Diera herself how she met her death.

[Orofaniel]

"Is everything alright with you, Annû?" Galhardir asked He could see the discomfort in the eyes of his friend, and he didn't like it. "I'm fine, Galhardir. Don't worry," Annû replied quickly. Galhardir noticed a certian insecurity in Annû’s answer, but he wouldn't bring it up once again.

Galhardir himself, felt recovered. His strengths were returning to him after the battle but his wounds were still healing; he could still feel the pain in both his arm and his leg. The mood however, was as joyous as ever. The net they had prepared was ready. Galhardir wondered if Rôg would be able to find the Palantir. He hoped he would find it as soon as possible, so that this whole “adventure” would be over, both for his sake and for Rodhal’s. He didn’t think at first, when he had volunteered, that it would take this long. Galhardir had been of the impression that the whole thing would go ever so smoothly, without anyone getting as little as a scratch. It had turned out quite differently; Carandû was dead.

To be honest, he wondered if it had been worth it.

He cast those thoughts away as he knew it was unreasonable to think about such things. Of course it had been worth it. If they didn't find the Palantir, the Corsairs would, and that would be bad indeed. He shuddered.

"We wait, don't we?" Galhardir then said to Annû. Annû chuckled, while he nodded. "Yes, and we hope. We wait and we hope..."

**

Rodhal had spent the last time quite alone on the ship. He had not witnessed the battle with the Corsairs as he had been under deck by the order of Luindal. He had however, seen the result of it; his uncle was still in bad shape even if he didn’t admit it. He was smiling still though. Poor Annû had been badly beaten up, and Rodhal could sense unhappiness in the eyes of the elf that he hadn’t seen before. Even if he is a nine year old boy, children at his age sense those things quicker than one would have guessed.

“Uncle!” Rodhal gasped. “Did you make this net?” he asked slowly, examining it. “Well….” Galhardir started, looking at it. “What will you do with it?” Rodhal continued, even before Galhardir was could answer the boy’s first question. “Eh…Well, we’re going to use it to secure the Palantiri when Rôg finds them,” the man answered, looking at the boy. Rodhal smiled. “Has he found them already?” he cried, seeming very excited about the news. “No, not exactly,” Galhardir then answered, while his eyebrows narrowed slightly.

Rodhal’s face expression showed disappointment, but it disappeared as soon as Annû told him that Rôg would by all means, find it by the end of the day. “How can you know for certain?” Rodhal asked Annû, curiously. “Now, you’re asking so many questions my ears are about to fall of,” Galhardir said, seeming a bit annoyed. However, Galhardir could never really be angry with the boy; it was after all his only nephew. Besides, he knew how though it had been for Rodhal as he had been alone- constantly; First Galhardir had fallen through the ice, spending several days recovering from the bitter cold and the horrible fever, and now; the battle. Poor Rodhal had been taken care of himself all along. While wondering if Galhardir had indeed been most irresponsible when he had taken Rodhal with him to this mission in the first place, he was interrupted by Rodhal’s howling laughter. The boy was still awaiting the final answer from the elf. “Well, I have a good feeling about this,” Annû told him. “He has to find it, or this will all be in vain…everything we’ve done will be in vain,” he finished.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Marreth could feel the blood pulsing through his veins as he took in Jynne's disturbing words. Lies, all a pack of lies! But it would do him no good to succumb to anger letting emotion rather than wit determine the outcome of their dispute.

Still, his initial instinct was to hurtle towards Jynne with sword extended and make an end of the miserable wretch. He had no doubt that he could best him in swordplay. Yet something caused him to draw back. Jynne had used poison twice before: he would surely not hesitate to use it again. And Marreth had no wish to be on the receiving end of a poisoned blade.

Marreth watched in disbelief as Jynne uncorked the black flask and drank its contents. Marreth's hand slipped from the hilt of his sword as he deliberately took three paces back. "You fool! You have brought your own doom upon your head. I will not sully my blade with the blood of one who is a traitor and coward to boot."

"A traitor?" Jynne raised one eyebrow and glared over at the Corsair, relishing the final stroke that was yet to come. "I am no traitor,"he purred. "I do only what I have been instructed to do by a mighty lord of Harard who thought you so weak and untrustworthy that he hired me to keep you in line."

"You lie!" snarled Marreth, hating the thought that what Jynne said might be true.

"No, it is you who lies. You lie to yourself, with your illusions about honor and the sacredness of your command. You are nothing more than a pawn for Lord Castamir. To be thrown out and discarded when your job is done."

Blind fury seized Marreth as he detected the truth that underlay Jynne's claims. Heedless of the danger, the Corsair hurled himself at the dying man. With one final effort, Jynne reached inside his sleeve and ripped out a second bottle of inky liquid, quickly uncorking it. Marreth stood frozen to the spot as if unable to move. One more second and he would have no chance. The contents of the flask would reach his skin, and the only possible escape would be death.

But in that split instant just before Jynne's hand flicked out, a shadow suddenly appeared behind Marreth. Small and stout, dressed in the furs of a Lossoth, Hilde appeared from nowhere,: a silent witness who bore a heavy axe. She brought the blade down twice in a paroxysm of rage, cutting straight through Jynne's wrist and sending the man screaming to the ground. His cry died on his lips as the poison took hold. Jynne shuddered once, twice, then lay silent in a heap.

Marreth looked down on the woman, astonished that one so short and grey-haired could have so much power in her arms, and even more astonished that she had done this for him. His eyes asked the question, even before his mouth opened to speak.

She shrugged her shoulders, "You played straight with me. You paid me well and pulled me out of the brig when the Elves would have skewered me in two. I owed it to you."

"So there is honor even among thieves," Marreth mused with a hint of a smile.

"Perhaps a little," the woman conceded as she picked up the axe, cleaned the blade against the cloak of the dead man, and abruptly walked out.

Already there was a large crowd in the hallway to peer and gawk at what had happened. Marreth looked up and snapped at the helmsman, "Raise the sail. We head out now to the Elven vessel. Feed this dog's body to the sharks at Sea." He gave a hard kick to Jynne's behind.

Once the others had left, Marreth ran over to Jynne's satchel and began searching. Digging deep, he found a hidden compartment, with a small piece of parchment rolled up. He pulled it out: a document from Castamir to Jynne, confirming what the man had told him. In a fit of anger, he threw it against the wall and snapped. "I swear I have had it with great lords and great Elves. They deserve each other. I will get those Stones for myself. Let all the great lords come begging to me.....I will turn up my nose at them." He turned away and headed for the main deck intending to have his revenge on the Elven ship....

[Lalwendë]

Regan had brought Tarn his effects together with a needle and a reel of rough thread to mend the long rends in the leather of his coat. It was obviously a needle that had previously been used to stitch a wound together, possibly his own wound, as it was tipped in encrusted blood; and it was a crude, quite blunt one, but Tarn had insisted upon having it. The rips had been awkward to fix, and the needle had gone into his finger more than a few times, but these hurts did not register on him.

Finally he had fixed up his coat as best he could. He was sitting looking at it with a frown, as it had been an expensive purchase from a Southern trader and he was not happy to see it in such a rough state. As he contemplated cleaning it, he heard a crashing noise coming from a cabin along the gangway and leapt to his feet, swinging the coat around his shoulders without a thought.

Fully kitted up again, he followed the noise down the gangway to Jynne’s cabin where he was just in time to see little Hilde hurling her axe. He stepped back away from the doorway in amazement and not a little fear. He was not alone; a crowd had gathered, Regan amongst them. He raised his eyebrows at Tarn silently, and a smile crept about the corners of his mouth. Tarn nodded and thrust out his bottom lip in a grimace, appreciatively looking at what the woman had achieved. It was one of the only times he had approved of the actions of another Lossoth.

Looking up, Marreth barked out an order to set sail and the crowd instantly dispersed to take up their posts. Tarn did not have one, and he knew he would have been allowed to remain within his cabin, but adrenalin now surged through his veins again and he ran down the gangway after Regan, eager to play whatever part may come to him.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal had expected that Rôg would find some evidence of one of the two Stones within a relatively short space of time. But for the next two hours they had little luck. Luindal watched and waited with impatience as his friend repeatedly dove in and out of the water, coming up to the surface every now and then for a fresh lungful of air.

Luindal fidgeted in his place and wished that he was back on the Spirit. At least, he would have been able to move around and pace the length of the deck instead of being miserably hunched in one spot. Not only was his suit emitting a definite odor, but the seal skins Rôg had used pulled so tight across his chest that he felt he could barely breath. Rôg had finished searching the waters immediately surrounding them without finding anything of interest, and had beckoned his companions to follow him to a spot some ways eastward that was closer to the edge of the sandbar.

Luindal frowned at this piece of news. They were in no danger sitting in the smaller vessels, but it would be a tricky piece of sailing to manoeuver the Spirit so close to the bar and not have her stranded on the shallow bottom. He glanced back nervously at his beloved sailing ship, which was still positioned in the deep waters where he had told the rest of the crew to wait. He wanted this job done quickly. There had already been too many instances of guile and deceit on the part of Marreth and his men. He did not trust Marreth for a minute to let them search in peace.

Added to that was the fact that the wind was blowing briskly. The distinct hint of moisture in the air and the grey clouds scudding overhead indicated a storm could be brewing. Their job was a delicate one, and they would have no hope of pulling up the Stone if the weather turned bad. Already the waters of the Bay were beginning to churn, and small, choppy waves made their small boats bob up and down in the waters of the Bay.

Just as Luindal was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't call off their search, he caught a glimpse of Rôg swimming purposefully towards them. The shapechanger came up beside the boat and announced that the larger of the two Stones had been found on the floor of the Bay just west of the sandbar. It had not been buried in the sand and appeared to be in perfect shape.


Overwhelmed with feelings of curiosity and relief, Luindal pushed aside his doubts about the weather and slipped into the water at Rôg's side. The pair dove and then swam towards the spot where the palantir lay......

[piosenniel]

Pio's post:

‘I’ve found it,’ Rôg had told the captain. ‘Hidden in plain sight as it were!’ He chuckled, then, seeing the frown on Luindal’s face, went on. ‘As far as I can tell it’s intact, but the years and the waters have left their protective cloak over it.’

‘And . . .?’ prompted the Elf.

‘And why don’t you come see it yourself,’ Rôg continued. Luindal eased himself into the water from the longboat. The shapechanger offered him a flipper to hang on to, and off they went.

It was not far below the surface where the palantir lay. But time and tides had nested other smaller rocks about it, and coated it with a fine layer of sediment, making it look irregular in shape. Limpets and barnacles had attached themselves along the upper surface. Rôg supposed that even when the tide was out and a small section of the scaly top of the globe exposed, it would not be recognizable as something as grandly crafted as a palantir.

Luindal dove down to the base of the globe with Rôg. In his explorations, the shapechanger had poked and prodded at the small rocks along the sloping edge of the bay leading down from the sandbar. When he’d worried several of the small rocks in the place, they had jarred loose a layer of encrustation from the globe, allowing him a glimpse of the smooth surface beneath. A crystalline shimmer, even in the dim light of these northern waters, made him pause and inspect further. Luindal grinned when his friend showed him the surface that lay beneath the ‘rock’ and motioned for them to surface.

In a pre-arranged signal, Luindal called the ship near to where the palantir lay. The longboats had already come near with their cargo of nets and ropes. Taking a stout pike in his hands, the captain and Rôg dove down again to begin clearing the smaller stones from the far side of the palantir’s base. Luindal resurfaced a number of times for air, and finally for the large net. He wedged the bottom edge of the net as far as he could beneath the globe, Rôg helping as best he could using his teeth. The pair resurfaced to get the ropes with their stout hooks tied on and dove down again to attach them to the net. The ropes had rings on their opposite ends which were slid over a stout, thick iron hook from the windlass used to haul up the anchor. They were pulled taut as several Elves put their muscle to the handles of the horizontal cylinder and pushed it slowly round. It was a hard haul at first, as the globe was dislodged from its sedimentary base; but it broke free at last and was pulled quickly toward the ship and then upwards, secure in the net, to the deck.

Numerous hands reached out to help it swing gently over the railing and lower it down gently to the nest of canvas prepared for it. Luindal and Rôg had come quickly back to the ship as the globe was maneuvered through the waters and watched as it was finally levered safely onto the deck. ‘Put some chock’s about the base,’ Luindal called out. ‘So that it doesn’t move. and let’s get the other net over it and secured down to the railings so that it won’t pitch overboard should the sea turn rough on our journey back to the Havens.’

Satisfied that the precious cargo was safe, Luindal asked that Rôg continue his search for the smaller of the seeing stones. ‘I’ll give it my best,’ the shapechanger said, maneuvering himself to the side of the ship. ‘But given how the big one looked, I’m not sure I’ll recognize the smaller at all.’ He leveraged himself over the side of the Spirit and dove into the water.

The clouds parted for a brief moment; the weak sunlight hit the ship, lightening the spirits of those aboard as it did so. It bathed the stone as it lay on the deck, glinting off the small portion of smooth crystalline surface that had previously been exposed. A reflected ray shot out from the palantir, glittering wildly from within; a brilliant flash, driving away the darkness for a brief moment as the thick dark clouds rolled in once more.

A triumphant signal, it might be said, or perhaps even mocking, seen clearly by the Corsair ship . .



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Regin Hardhammer's post

Marreth had never suspected Lord Castamir to be spying on himself. Had he always been monitoring Marreth, or was this an extra precaution that had been taken to safeguard the Palantiri? Marreth had never been focused on the Stones themselves, because his use for them was limited. He did not have political aspirations, preferring to voyage the sea in search of lute and plunder, rather than hatching schemes inside an office. Vengeance welled deep in his heart against the Gondorians, the murderers of his father, and the personal glory he would gain both mattered much more to him than actually using the Stones. But betrayal, either by Lord Castamir or his agent, made Marreth’s blood boil like the water in his tea kettle. Marreth vowed to seize these powerful weapons and use them against Gondor, because of the anguish he knew it would cause to Castamir, watching his most desired treasure being reaped by another.

His eyes scaned the horizon, and Marreth began to pull his thoughts away from the vile Castamir and focus on the immediate task of securing the Palantiri. Marreth had not succeeded so far, but he realized that his mission must continue, whatever the betrayal Castamir had made, since the thought of allowing the Stones to reach Gondor caused a visceral pain in his stomach.

As he sat weighing yet another tactic to use against the Elves, he saw something sparkling in the dull blue waters. Marreth turned his head and watched in horror as the Elvish ship pulled a large opaque stone from the sea using a winch and nets. Beside the ship, Marreth noticed a seal barking towards one of the Elves on board who then flashing a big grin, which he thought was rather odd. The seal, once on board the smaller ship, changed shape into a man with brown hair and olive skin before Marreth’s very eyes. Marreth had heard of shapechangers before in tales told on his travels, but he had never actually seen one. So that’s how they found it, thought Marreth. Even with the most trained seal, a human would be able to search out the Stones and find them faster than the Corsairs ever would.

After he stopped cursing and kicking furniture, Marreth calmed down enough to realize that if the Elves have found one Stone, the other probably would not be far away. All they had to do was find it, it, attack the Luindal's ship, capture the other Palantiri, and send those on board to a grave on the ocean floor below the wall of ice which would soon cover the water’s surface. Marreth was confident of his victory because, although he could handle the sword deftly, his greatest strength lie on naval warfare, where his ship was swifter than a shark.

With a holler, Marreth blared to the ship’s crew, “Boys, it was a bad bit of luck that the Elves got the first Palantiri, but there’s still another one out there. And we are going to go out and get it before those stinking Elves do. It probably isn’t too far from the spot that they found the first one. After we take the other stone, we will launch an attack on those Elvish vermin so hard that their ship will be shattered into driftwood. Let’s get moving.”

[Imladris]

Marreth had been quite clever when he had realized that Jynne had been the one poisoning Jarlyn...Jarlyn himself had put up quite a fight to the poison, thinking of his beloved city, of a certain lady friend that might have waited for him...such thoughts gave him hope and gave him the will to live.

Jarlyn often said that sickness in the body is like a sinking ship in the teeth of a violent storm. No matter how hard the crew may try to bail the water from the decks, no matter how many things they hauled overboard, the ship would sink, unless it was saved by some miracle (and everybody knows that they are scarce to come by and Jarlyn was of the opinion that the world had run out of them a long while ago).

The poison that sucked and choaked the life from Jarlyn's body did its work quietly, not tearing his flesh with maliced claws, nor gnashing his flesh with burning fangs. It corroded his spirit away, like rust gnawing at metal. Marreth had tried to help Jarlyn, and he had helped him a little bit. But just a little. Jynne had done his work well.

As Jarlyn slept, a brown skinned maiden with shimmering hairy of ebony dancing in his mind, a dark phantom slipped into the room, summoned by the poison. What little blood that had lingered in Jarlyn's cheeks fled in silent fear. The warmth seeped from his skin as he received the kiss of death and went silently to the doom of men.

[piosenniel]

The wind was picking up. Even below the surface of the bay, Rôg could feel the water pushing this way and that with a stronger force. He rose up toward the surface, poking his head through a hole in the thin ice. It was sleeting, turning to flakes of heavy snow here and there. With the increasing change for the worse in weather, came a dimming of the natural light. It grew dark the further down he dove and he had to feel his way along with snout and flipper for anything that might be the palantir. A few promising rocky formations had been pushed and prodded against, but none yielded the smaller globe. He remained persistent, despite the worsening conditions. Two hours, though, of diligent searching brought no results. Luindal called him aboard, saying they needed to move the ship into the deeper waters of the bay to avoid being pushed up on the sandbar by the surging waves.

Once Rôg was aboard, the Elves weighed anchor and unfurled the mainsail, preparing to head into the interior of the bay. The wind lashed at the sail as it was hoisted, driving the ship through the waves at a rapid rate. Below, on the deck, the crew who were busying themselves with securing anything on deck against being washed overboard in the increasing storm. The main mast groaned as the sail filed out with the powerful gusts of wind. And a number of times Elves near it peered up the length of it to see if there were any reason it had begun to also make a sharp creaking sort of sound.

Luindal had just come up to see what was left to be done, when one of the crew called out a warning. An especially strong breeze had slapped itself against the sail in a sudden squall. The mast groaned as the sailed pulled on it and twisted as another gust of wind hit it from a different angle. With a crack, a long section of the wooden mast in the upper half of its length, snapped in two, and heaved toward the deck. Elves scrambled to secure the sail and the broken length of mast before it washed into the bay. The captain ran to give assistance, but was stopped short at a call from his first mate. pointing back to the sandbar and the area of it fronting on the bay.

The Corsairs! It seemed they had taken rapid advantage of the Elven ship’s retreat and now its misfortune and had pulled in close to the sandbar with a number of their longboats, preparing to make their own search for the other palantir. Luindal ordered a few of the crew to keep an eye on the Southrons’ ship, while he and others repaired the mast as hastily as was possible . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

At first, Luindal had no idea how this mishap could possibly have happened. He had carefully inspected all the rigging and the mast the morning before. Everything had been in perfect shape at that time. The wind blowing through the Bay was brisk, but not so forceful that a healthy main mast could be sheered off from the force of the storm.

Luindal worked steadily with his crew to rig up a gerrymandered sail on the lower half of the mast. It would at least give them limited ability to maneuver the ship till they could put in at port again to secure another mast. Yet all the while the Elf worked, he was furiously reflecting on how this could possibly come about. It must somehow be linked, he reflected, on the unexplained incident from last night when the Corsairs had been discovered in barrels that the merchants had loaded onto the ship. Exactly what had Marreth been trying to accomplish then? Undoubtedly, he wanted his men to stay hidden until the barrels were stowed in the hull. At that point, late at night, the Corsairs could creep out and visit all manner of havoc on both the men and the ship Still, the risk of discovery was unacceptably high, and Marreth must have known that. It was common practice for the Captain of a ship to check two or three random containers to make certain the merchants had properly packed and transported the goods. And while some of the barrels were filled only with supplies, a great many also hid a stowaway. The odds were quite good that the Corsairs would be discovered before they ever got below deck.

Perhaps the real reason for the incident was that it was planned as a diversion, to take the Elves' attention away from something else that was suposed to happen. A grimace of realization passed over Luindal's face as he gestured to his men to halt their work. He quickly mounted the main mast and climbed to the spot where it had snapped in two. Closely examining the jagged spears of wood, he could see what appeared to be the bottom half of a smooth tunnel bored expertly through its very center. He glanced over at a rope that now swung free: a small piece of parchment had been painstakingly tied to it at some earlier point. Ripping the dagger from his side, he sliced through the rope, retrieved the note, and quickly scanned it.

Grim faced but silent, Luindal climbed downward and thrust the message into the outstretched hands of Rôg and Galhardir who were both waiting at the base of the mast. Rôg looked it over and quipped, "Marreth, again! He is like a cat with a dozen lives. You never know where he'll turn up next. Strange, though," he pondered, "that he should write with such a scholar's hand."

[Arry]

‘Scholar or no,’ said Annû drawing near to where Luindal and the others stood, ‘the man is a black-hearted scoundrel and a common thief.’ He drew their attention to where the longboats of the Corsair ship had been lowered and were now slowly scouring the area where the large globe had been found previously by the Elves. they could see that there were Lossoth with the Corsairs, and that they had brought seals to use in the hunt for the globe. ‘He still means to have the smaller palantir with no thought to the cost of obtaining it. He’s a single-minded blackguard it would seem.’

Annû nodded to where Elwë stood at the Ship’s railing, his eyes straining for a glimpse of Andtuariel. ‘This incident with the mast will not be the last of his tricks to keep us from securing both the stones. He’ll use our own better nature against us, I’m sure of it. Offering her safety as a reward for letting them have both the stones. We mustn’t trust him, no matter what he promises.’

[Regin Hardhammer]

Marreth’s excitement rose as the Corsairs raced towards the wounded Elven ship. The other Palantiri was bound to be somewhere nearby. Marreth called in the Lossoth trainers and told them to send out their seals. “And they better find the Stone or there will be a new item on the menu tonight,” he snarled. He would not stand to lose the Palantiri again, especially with such a prime opportunity. The trainers called their seals and instructed them to search the vicinity where the other had been found. After watching the seals glide downwards through the icy waters, Marreth look once more at the Elveh ship. He saw them working frantically to try and rig up a sail, and laughed giddily at the sight. Fools, thought Marreth, no one can save them now. Soon after the other Palantiri was in his grasp, Marreth would spring his attack and capture the one the Elves held. He would take no prisoners, and especially relished the thought of watching that fool Luindal walk the plank.

“Get ready mates,” he ordered. “After those seals find the Palantiri, we’ll have to use the winch and pull it up with the net. Make sure that both are working.” Several crewmembers ran towards the devices to examine them. Minutes crawled by as he waited for the seals to arrive and Marreth felt as if he were stranded in the middle of the sea waiting for the wind to pick up. Infernal beasts, he thought, never did us any good. It will be a miracle if they come back at all.

Then, just as he was about to vent his frustration on the seal trainers, he heard a distinct barking sound in the distance. He ordered the crew to follow the noise and, after arriving at its source, Marreth smiled warmly as he saw a circle of seals.

“Lower the net slowly,” cried Marreth, “Give the seals a minute to push the Stone into the net, and when you pull it up be careful. We don’t want to break or lose it.”

One of the seals again surfaced as four members of the Corsair crew began turning the crank at a steady pace, eagerly awaiting the prize. After a few moments, a black opaque stone, smooth as a pearl, appeared caught in the net. Marreth rushed towards the net as it was pulled on board, pushing the others out of the way. Trembling with excitement, he lifted the stone in his hands. It was heavy, but not burdensome for Marreth, who was strengthened by years of battle.

Stroking the Stone repeatedly with his palm, Marreth gloated: I have one of the legendary weapons of power. Let Lord Castamir take heed!

“Onward,” barked Marreth, “Set a course straight for the Elven ship. We will approach her while she is still dead in the water and slaughter all on board. Spare only the Captain. I have special plans for him.”

With that Corsair ship set a course right for the stranded vessel.

[Kitanna]

Nilak had brought his two best seals to help find the last stone. He leaned over the ship and whistled for the seals. Their heads surfaced in the dark waters and they barked happilay when they saw Nilak. "Kaltag, Eleri. You know what to do, do not fail me." He clapped his hands and let out one long whistle. The he pointed toward where the other trained seals were headed. Kaltag and Eleri took off without hesitation. Now all any one could do was wait.

Nilak stood by the ship's rail watched the icy waters waiting for the seals to return. As he stood he sensed someone behind him. He had a good idea who it might be. "Those beasts better find the stone." Sernir growled in Nilak's ear.

"They will. Those two are my best seals."

"They better be. Remember the reward that is at stake if your seals are not the ones to find that stone."

Nilak clenched his teeth together. Soon he will be gone and life can go on as it always has, Nilak thought.

~*~*~

It was theirs. The seals had found the second stone and now it was aboard the Corsair ship. It had not been one of Nilak's seals that found it, but after all that had happened he cared not.

Everyone crowded around Marreth as he held the stone. The captain looked at the stone without paying attention to anyone else. Everyone near the stone had a look of longing and jealously in their eyes as Marreth held the stone. Nilak also felt a pull toward the stone and it's power, but he was more curious.

What was so important? What power did this stone hold that so many men had died because of it? Nilak wanted to take it from Marreth and try to better understand it. He wanted to learn its secrets. Marreth turned his back to Nilak and the Lossoth's head cleared.

The captain yelled out orders to head for the Elven ship. Nilak grabbed some fish he had and threw them over the side for Kaltag and Eleri. He tried to forget about the stone, but his curiousity kept rising. Maybe he could try to sneak a peek when everyone else was on board with the Elves.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Captain, look!" Galhardir pointed grimly towards the Corsair ship as the pirates began to reel in their line and haul the smaller of the Stones onto the deck. For an instant Marreth's ship halted as if its captain was uncertain whether to take his prize back to shore or continue on and try to seize the other Stone. Then, abruptly, the vessel turned and begin to bear down on them. Its path would bring it alongside the Spirit in a matter of only a few minutes.

Glancing anxiously towards the mast, Luindal signalled to the men who were working on the rigging. "We've got to get out of here and fast. Is the sail up and secure?"

Elwên's voice came back, "She's up, sir. The rigging has been repaired the best we could. But whether the lines are strong enough to hold, we can't know for sure."

"We've no choice," countered Luindal. "Go ahead and unfurl her." Then he shouted to the helmsman. "Get us out of here."

The Elves pulled at the lines trying to coax the sail to unfurl on the central mast. The storm had passed and the sea was once again silent. For a moment, the canvas lay limp and unmoving, waiting for a fresh breeze to come. The Corsair vessel continued to hold course as the distance between the two ships shrank. Then the wind picked up. There was a creak and a groan as the rigging pulled taut and the sail billowed to its fullest. Slowly, the great ship began to move.

Luindal glanced nervously at the groaning lines but the sail continued to hold true. "I've got her, Captain," the Elf at the helm cried out and the Spirit skimmed along the top of the waves, as if Ulmo's unseen hand pushed her gently from behind. Within a few moments, the ship had maneuvered out of the way of the Corsairs and had swung around to the west, positioning itself further from the sandbar.

Luindal's first thought was to make it into port and permanently repair the damaged mast. As much as he would have liked to confront Marreth and seize the other Stone, he was unlikely to have success in the shape they were in now. But just as Luindal was about to turn his ship about and race to the shore, Annû's voice rang out, laced with suspicion, "Sir, look again. The Corsairs have stopped dead in the water and they're signalling to us...." Annû grimaced and placed his palm about the hilt of his sword.

[Arry]

His hand went to the hilt of the sword hung from his hip. It was Carrandû’s blade; Annû wore it more for the comfort of having his brother with him still in some small manner, rather than for his ability to use it well. At his back was hung his bow, and now his hand went up to it, bringing into place in his right grip; his left hand hastening back for an arrow. He nocked one, loosely, keeping his eyes on the Corsair ship as he walked to the ships railing and leaned against it. They were still too far away, even for the strength of his bow. Three more ship lengths, he thought, and I can begin to pick them off.

His eye was caught by a struggle on the southron ship at the entrance to the below-deck passageway. A crewman had come up to the deck and was now pulling on something still in the passageway. A slender figure was pulled onto the deck with another crewmember shoving roughly from behind. A woman – her hands tied behind her struggle to free herself from the grip of the two Corsairs. Elwë had come up along side Annû; his attention focused on the events taking place across the water. ‘Andtuariel!’ he gasped out in strangled voice.

Annû clasped his fellow Elf on the shoulder. ‘Your crossbow, Elwë. Fetch it quickly. You will need it if we are to rescue her.’