An Audience With The King RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

HARAD/UMBAR

Urken sat in his magnificent villa which overlooked the shores of the Bay of Belfalas within the city of Umbar. He was one of the powerful warrior-priests of Harad who traced their ancestry back to the Black Numenoreans. His caste were known as "kingmakers" since they were the only ones in Harad viewed as having both the right and duty to lead a revolt against an unworthy king. It was this power to make and unmake kings which the priest prized abve all others. Urken wore the long robes and jewelled breastplate which distinguished his caste from all others in the realm.

He stared out at the waters, deep in thought. Before him sat the detailed reports of the recent Council of Harad. These outlined how the Kings of the united lands had elected to send representatives to Minas Anor in hopes of reopening trade negotiations with a host of different countries and peoples. The names of King Herumir and King Fuinur were specifically singled out.

Urken shook his head and snorted in disgust. "Trade"---as if exchanging coffee beans for wheat shipments could solve their particular problems. What fools some men were! But he would keep his mouth closed and make certain that his opinions were hidden deep. For, sometime in the future, he had a job to do. It was an ancient and honorable task. And one that he thought might solve a good number of their difficulties.

He was looking for allies to aid in this task. But if allies were not to be found, he would gladly carry it out on his own. There wre others wending their way towards Nurn, even now, to help with the task.

But his first job was to win his way into the delegation going to Minas Anor. Herumir and Fuinur thought they would mount a two-pronged attack on Umbar to secure access to the ships still being held by the Corsairs. But Urken knew something that the kings had failed to discover. Umbar had a clever system of fortifications and city walls. Any frontal assault on the place was bound to fail. Only by knowing the secret tunnels and hidden entrances could enemy soldiers find their way into the citadel, and from thence down to the port to seize the ships. And Urken knew those tunnels and hidden entrances as if they were part of his own house.

Urken looked again at the letter which he had composed to the Kings chosen to go as delegates:

Kings Herumir and Fuinur. Greetings.

It has recently come to my attention that you will be bringing a group of foot soldiers to Umbar to attempt to assault the city and secure access to the harbor and those ships which are being illegally detained by the Corsairs. You then propose to seize one of these vessels and sail up the Anduin towards Minas Anor.

I certainly applaud your good intentions. But let me assure you that your attempt will fail unless you have knowledge of the hidden tunnels and entrances which bypass the most heavily fortified places. I do have this knowledge and would be most pleased to share it with you.

I ask for only one small favor: that I be allowed to accompany you on this journey and meet with the King and his council in Minas Anor. This would be a small matter to you, but would permit me to advance the interests of Umbar. While Umbar's interests are certainly close to those of Harad, the two are not always identical.

I am sending this message to you by my great winged hawk. If you will have a scribe respond, and send a note back with the hawk, we will meet on the outskirts of Umbar some one day hence, and I will be glad to assist you.

Please respond immediately to my request.


Urken the Bear, Warrior Priest of the Guild of the Black Numenoreans.

Urken attached the message to the leg of the bird, and released him towards the east.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Thenamir]

====== Blue Mountains ======

"...what you really ought to be worried about, my lord, is tribute! What conquering man-king does not force tribute from his subjects?" Mikhelm Bonecrist grumbled as they climbed into the two-pony trap-cart which held their provisions and their gear for the long journey.

"They did not conquer *us*," ventured Theron from the rear bench (somewhat wider and more cushioned -- rulership does have its perks). "Tribute is exacted from the conquered, not from loyal subjects."

"Aye, but will he consider us 'loyal' if we insist on keepin' to ourselves, that's my question,” Mikhelm retorted. “You've known men to do worse, especially when there's power to lord over someone. Remember the tale that got back to us about our old friends, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, who got caught up in the scemes of that meddling old wizard Olorin? Remember that man Bard who led an army of men and elves to try to take their gold from the Lonely Mountain?" Mikhelm spat on the dusty road to show his disgust.

"And you've known the rest of that story too, Mikhelm," argued Theron, "that Bard became one of the staunchest of allies and best of friends with Dain Ironfoot after they joined together to fight off the orcs and wargs that came against them. And the wizard helped them too, which shows you tr to skew what little you know. If Olorin had not gotten them together, Smaug would still be sitting on that pile of gold and gems, and hundreds of fine dwarves would still be mining iron instead of crafting things of beauty”

Serin listened carefully as he clambered into his spot on the driver’s bench next to Mikhelm. Theron was not only an old warrior but also as close to a diplomat as dwarves got. It was a skill he would have to pick up on the way if he wanted to argue his case successfully to both lord Theron and King Elessar. He picked up the reins and urged the fresh young ponies down the road that led towards the Grey Havens, the White Towers, and eventually the Shire.

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE *****

It had been a long night, but well worth it, for Bard. He had closeted himself with the Master of the Guilds and the leading legal representative from the King's Council. And now he held in his hand the fruit of their labors.

They had hammered out a ten point proposal to King Elessar concerning, among other things, certain ongoing grievances and the need for a judicial representative of the High King's court to be made available in this region for the settling of such disputes.

Foremost, though, in the mind of the King and the Master was the need for Dale to secure certain rights of trade with areas just come open to them in the south. This was the area of the proposal which had taken the most time to delineate.

'There must be no appearance that Dale wishes to contravene the sovereign rights of the new regions.' About this, the King was quite clear. 'But the ability of Dale to secure and maintain her rightful place among the free-trading regions of Middle-earth must be understood and accepted.'

They had worked and reworked the wordings and had come to their final draft at the hour before first light. Now the King's quill moved over the vellum copy in bold strokes, signing his name. He took his great ring from off his hand and affixed his seal near his signature. Once the ink had dried and the wax set, he rolled it carefully and placed it within a tube of Dwarven silver for safekeeping.

He had called for wine then, and a dish of those sweet, dried southern fruits with which they might refresh themselves, and celebrate what promised to be the start of a new and prosperous era for Dale.

'Gentlemen! To Dale!' 'To Dale!' came the tandem reply.

It was then that Grim announced the arrival of Girion and Rubin, and bade them enter the council chambers. They both bowed low, and then Girion stepped forward to accept the silver tube from his father.

'I have sent word by our swiftest messengers that Rubin and I are on our way to meet with Orodan, to accompany them on this journey. We are packed and provisioned, and ready to set out to Eryn Lasgalen as soon as we have your leave, Father.'

'Then you have my leave, good sirs!' said Bard, looking with pride upon his son. And my heart, too he thought to himself.

He saw the pair to where their horses stood, and watched them mount. Rubin rode at Girion's side, a pack horse following. Bard stood and watched them for a long while as they moved in a westerly direction.

'Fare well!' he called after them. Their figures grew smaller in the distance, and then disappeared, as the road dipped down and then continued on.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Isilya]

<<<<<<<<MIRKWOOD>>&g t;>>>>>

“Prince Legolas, my king? Why, no, I have never made acquaintance with his lordship.”

“I greatly desire his return to me, but I am afraid that he has fallen under the spell of the sea. It seems he does not wish to see his homeland again. One smaller favor is all I ask. Whether you accomplish this or not, does not matter. If you can convince my son Legolas to return to his father, it shall make me very joyful. That is all I ask.”

Isilya, now weighted down with multiple burdens, began to question her decision to go. But, if the King had entrusted her with such important tasks, then it must show how deeply he trusts her. As one weight lifted off her chest, another settled down, but she would not give in and disappoint her lord. The tasks were simple enough, it seemed to her, but what if Nefros asked of her tasks? She would simply turn the subject and hope that it would not be brought up again.

She stepped into the doorway of her dwelling. She could hear Nefros humming something to himself that sounded unfamiliar. Good, she thought, he is making songs again. She went into her room and took out some extra belongings she might need, including parchment and some ink. Now completely prepared, she stepped into Nefros’s room, where he was strumming on a lire.

“I see that you are all prepared for our journey, Isilya.”

“Yes, I just needed to get a few spare things. Are you bringing any of your instruments with you?”

[Tharkûn]

***** DALE-Garlin *****

"Ah, Jarl, how are you this morning?" Garlin said with a smile as he walked in. "Fine, thank you," Jarl replied. "Fruit?" he asked, offering Garlin one of the two that he had purchased from the vendor. "Yes, thanks," Garlin replied, picking the fruit up. After taking a bite of it, he asked, "Still no word from the king?" "No," signed Jarl, "and at this rate, I'm going to have to go back to Dale." "Heh, remember, 'We need the coffee!'" Garlin joked, in a mockery of the King Bard's voice. "King Bard was good enough to send us on this errand," snapped Jarl, "so cease continuing to mock him,assistant!"My apologies," Replied Garlin. "Take it as a life lesson," Jarl informed the younger man.

Later that morning, Jarl and Garlin were walking through the streets of Harad, when Garlin spotted something. A vendor was selling fruits. Thinking that he could repay Jarl for the offering from earlier in the morning, he dashed over. Pointing to the two fruits he wanted, he asked, "How much?" "Seven gold coins,"replied the vendor.
"Three," said Garlin.
"No, seven."
"Four?"
"Seven."
"Four, final offer."
"Seven, or you get no fruit," said the vendor, ending the bartering. Sighing, Garlin reached into his pocket and pulled out the due fair, while the vendor couldn't help but smile. Once the fruit that he bought had been retrieved, he turned around, and, to his surprise, found Jarl had been watching him the entire time. "You need to work on those bartering skills," chided Jarl, "or things like that will always happen." Blushing, Garlin replied, "But I really wanted the fruit!"

[Elenna]

*****Rivendell*****

Meneciriel sat at a table with Erestor, Elladan, and Elrohir. Before them lay a map.

"Now, we have several options. We could go over Caradhras..." Meneciriel began.

"Absolutely not. Even if the Dark Lord is gone, the mountain has no love for elves," Elrohir said, his voice quiet.

"Or we could go through the Mines of Moria..."

"Hah! A group of elves, in the mines?" Erestor laughed humorlessly. "You'd go insane."

"All right, then we end up back where we were before - crossing the Misty Mountains into the land of the Beornings."

No arguments came from the others.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]

[Guildo]

<<<<<<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>>>>.

Orodan & Nefros

Nefros was a bit more jittery than usual, Humming aloud to himself as he skipped around the horses filling there packs with the Elven equipment and food. Nefros did some contemplation of the road ahead but it was mainly whether to take his flute and mandolin (as his sister suggested in his room), or flute and harp, or which was the best way to make “Dwarves and Elves and Men” rhyme with “Unlikely traveling friends”.
Orodan on the other hand was a bit more preoccupied with the disputes of the road, and hoping that Isilya is a bit more passive than her brother. He release a small smile and said in a low voice “ I just don’t know if I could keep two of them under control.”

Nefros over heard a bit of a murmur and said “did you say something sir?”

“Only thinking out loud my friend, but Nefros please calm yourself I don’t want you to frighten the dwarves if they decide to travel with us.”

“Don’t worry about that my lord as long as they are kind to you and Isilya I will be kind to them, I’m actually quite looking forward to their company.
Speaking of my sister I wonder what the King Thranduil has said to her she seems a bit more nervous…. She was excited at first.”

Orodan turned and put his hand upon Nefros’s Shoulder and replied. “I have a pretty good idea what duties my father has given her but let that conversation remain between the two of them. I know your anxious to have her with us but remember she is not only your sister on this journey, she is also a representative of Eryn Lasgalen you must listen to her just as much as you expect her to listen to you.”

“As her being nervous, I assure you not all elves are easily excited as you.”

Nefros slowly calmed him self and said. “Im sorry master I just cant contain myself, I just don’t know what to expect on this………….. OH! And the Periannath.” As he suddenly got excited again. “I nearly forgot they will be there too, I cant wait to see them and exchange lore, I bet there are more excited than I can imagine.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Orodan. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, from what I hear they are always less than anxious to leave their cozy Hobbit Holes.”
“But enough of that, here comes Isilya.”

[Nevtalathiel]

*****DALE*****

Once Girion and Rubin were out of sight of the palace and safely outof hearing, Girion burst out laughing.

"And I thought I would be in trouble again, how wrong could I have been? There are still many things I hope my father never discovers!" Girion continued to chuckle.

"Then perhaps you should stop doing such things." Rubin suggested, his face perfectly straight and his voice even, but Girion had known him long enough to judge when he teased and a laugh was his only response.

"Perhaps we should celcbrate our journey with a drink, a quick detour to an inn wouldn't slow us down." Girion said slyly. Rubin's only response was a cough which said more than words could have.

"By the time my father knows anything I'll be far away, and by the time we get back, he'll have forgotten. Anyway, nothing will happen." Girion continued with his argument, one which had been heard in different variations many times before.

"Your father still doesn't know about the last fight that didn't happen; you're lucky there were no visible results." Rubin reminded.

"I'll be good, I promise." Girion said pulling a sad face with large puppy-dog eyes and a quavering lip."

Rubin snorted, "Yes, I'm sure you will until you see a girl who turns your head or someone whose opinions differ from your own. Anyway, we must get to Mirkwood as soon as possible to meet with Orodan."

Girion sighed. He was not deaf to the voice reason as some would have it, merely a little hard of hearing.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

"But I really wanted the fruit!"

'Yes,' agreed Jarl, smiling at the fledgeling trader, 'and that "want" was so apparent to the fruit vendor that he knew he had you from the first! He laughed and clapped Garlin on the back. 'You'll learn soon enough to school your face to hide what you desire.'

They walked a brief while, exploring the streets near their quarters. A short walk brought them near the center of the busy city. The sights, sounds, and smells of a large bazaar drew their attention, and Garlin asked if they might see it.

Jarl begged off, saying that he must return to see if the King would now see him. Garlin's face fell at the prospect of spending another long day waiting in their rooms.

'You need not come back with me, Garlin.' said Jarl, reading the young man's face. 'Go to the bazaar. Be my eyes and ears. Let me know what is going on in the daily, common course of business in this city. I'll see you later. Say, late afternoon?!'

Relief flooded the younger man's face. 'Yes, later, then!' he said, his feet flying down the street toward the promise of new sights and excitement.

Jarl walked slowly back to his quarters, taking in the flavors of the city as he passed. A certain current of uneasiness ran hidden among the smiling faces, the relaxed and graceful movements of people as they went about their business, the laughter of the children. The smiles often did not reach to their owner's eyes; hands often strayed to touch the weapons hung near them. And even in laughter, the children seemed cautious.

He thought on this as he walked along, then filed it away, to be used later. He had reached his rooms. No word from the King had come to him.

'Ah, the envious life of a Trade Representative!' he thought to himself. 'New sights! New sounds! Unlimited excitement!' He took a book from his bag and drew the desk chair near the window, thinking to pass the time more quickly with a little reading.
_____________________________________________
THARKÛN'S POST

***** DALE-Garlin *****

As Garlin walked through the Bazaar, he couldn't help but marvel at the amazing area. The endless lines of stalls for the endless types of goods were staggering. There were vendors calling out everything from armaments to stones from Zirak-Zigal. The stores that interested him most, though, were the weapons shops. As he walked up to one, he noticed that there was an out-of-place group of military-types who seemed to be conversing with the owner of the shop. After a few words, the dealer pointed towards the center of town, and the soldiers walked off. Finally noticing Garlin, the arms-dealer rushed over to him. 'Can I help you with anything?' the dealer asked Garlin. 'No, I'm just looking.' Garlin replied, mesmerized by the breathtaking assortment of weapons. There were elvish longbows, powerful enough to slay two enemies if fired right, all kinds of dwarven daggers, from hunting to concealed to throwing, and ancient Noldorian swords. Sighing, Garlin reached into his pouch and found, to his dismay, he only had about 90 gold coins, less than a quarter the cost of the cheapest of those weapons. Sighing, he walked away.

Walking through the market, Garlin noticed another thing that caught his eye. A pigeon vendor was selling homing pigeons. Smiling to himself, Garlin walked over. He had been needing one for sending home letters while he was on assignment (which was fairly often). Walking up to the vendor's he accidentally walked into someone. 'I'm sorry!' he exclaimed, after taking a step back, 'I'm visiting here and am not used to the crowds.' 'It's alright,' replied the stranger, 'but what kind of person would visit here from up north? Your skin is too pale to be from the south.' 'I'm on a trip from Dale,' admitted Garlin, 'as an assistant for Jarl.' 'Jarl, eh?' replied the stranger, 'Come for the coffee?' Shocked, Garlin exclaimed, 'How did you know?!' 'I am Ethar, assistant to Gramil, who is Jarl's opposition. I would assume that you'd be Garlin?' 'Yes, I am,' replied Garlin, 'but I'm afraid that I'm hopelessly lost in this giant Bazaar.' 'Well then come on!' exclaimed Ethar, grabbing Garlin's arm and pulling him off, laughing, into the crowd.

[ September 30, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Robin Headstrong]

***Rivendell***

Fanelen rushed into the room in her usual green Ranger garb. She knew this was no way to make an entrance, but she had no desire to miss this meeting. She was preoccupied that morning with practicing her "magic" before remembering the other elves' meeting concerning Minas Anor.

"Forgive me for being late," she said with a slight wave of embarassment.

"What are you talking about?" asked Elladan. "What business do you have with our meeting?"

"I am going with you to Minas Anor," Fanelen replied. "My father has sent me to go in his place."

"You must have been very cunning on your part," Elrohir quietly retorted. "Or else your father was in a very fair mood." He chuckled a bit at his comment.

Fanelen remained solemn. "However I was allowed to travel with you," she stated, "I wish to know what I have missed."

"We're discussing which route to take to Minas Anor," Meneciriel explained. "For now our best option seems to be to cross the Misty Mountains into the land of the Beornings."

"I see," Fanelen replied. "That sounds like a reasonable plan..."

[Anarya SilverBranch]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor, Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

Glaven walked briskly down the hall, his long maroon robes swishing at his boots. The grey walls seemed to generate cold, making his thin pale figure shake. He had always
been a weak dwarf, ill health was his bane, but this did not hinder him from doing work.

As the King's Royal Head Scribe and an advisor in the court, he was skilled in the ways of
pen and tongue, twisting and forming words to make something seem believable or seem
like a lie. That was his specialty.

However, when he received a message from the king requesting his appearance at a
meeting, he had no explanation. There were rumours flying about the halls about dark
riders from the human country of Gondor coming to the Lonely Mountain bearing requests
from a man king. Men were a mixed lot, in Glaven's mind. They delved in the earth and
forged metal which was respectable, but they also had the unfortunate tendency to
communicate too closely with elves.

Glaven could have spit when he thought that despicable word. Elves, the disease of all
dwarfkind. He had read too much in his forty years of the ill deeds of that horrible race.
Yet now that that traitor, Gimli son of Gloin, had taken up residence with one of them, it
made him even more sick.

Glaven snorted with disgust as he turned the corner to the hall where he was to meet
the king. Then he saw another figure going in the same direction and recognized the
burly, robust form and stomping tread.

"Hail, friend Frain!" He called to the stout form of the Head Engineer, "Pray, where are
you headed?"

[Alkanoonion]

******HARAD/UMBAR******

‘Fuinur chuckled in agreement, great plan Herumir, devious but masterful. I will prepare to leave within the hour.'

‘Great. When you are ready to leave stop by the palace and we will leave together.’

Later that day while Herumir was putting on his sword, a shadow passed by the window. Herumir turned to look and noticed that a great winged hawk had settled down on the windowsill. Herumir approached the hawk with caution, slowly moving forward so as not to disturb the bird. When Herumir was a few feet from the hawk, the bird snapped its beak just missing his hand. 'Dammed buzzard!’

The bird hopped onto a chair and across the table. Herumir had noticed a message was tied to its leg. Curious Herumir once again tried to capture the hawk. The secret parchment could be important. However, the bird seemed to have taken a dislike towards Herumir. Each time he got close to the bird, it would hop to the next chair or table. After several attempts, Herumir started to get annoyed at the bird. He was about to swing at it with his sword when a great booming laugh sounded across the room.

Herumir spun around to see who would dare laugh at him. He saw that it was the Dragon returned from making his preparations.
‘What is so funny Fuinur?’, demanded a wounded Herumir.

‘You, you old dog. Why are you dancing around the room with a bird? Are you attempting to court it? I never knew the women in these parts were so scarce.’

‘If you must know it has a message on its leg and I was trying to catch it.’

‘ Although I have enjoyed seeing you dancing with a bird, let me try to capture your message.’ So saying, Fuinur put his arm out and whistled sharply. The bird returned the call with one of its own and flew into the outstretched arm of Fuinur. The Dragon untied the letter and handed it to Herumir with his free hand. Seeing the expression on Herumir’s face, Fuinur quickly hid all signs of mirth.

Herumir took the letter and read its contents and screamed for a scribe.

‘What is the matter’ said Fuinur.

‘Our plans have changed it seems, read this. Herumir passed the letter back to Fuinur who took the letter in his free hand. The hawk meanwhile had started to pick at a gold thread that was loose on Fuinur's tunic.

"Fuinur gazed at the letter in disbelief. Urken the Bear had written to them offering to help them find their way through the city's secret passages and fortifications. All he wanted in return was to be taken along with the delegation."

Fuinur looked up at Herumir
‘What is your reply? Do we risk the attack, or do we accept the Bear’s proposal?’

Herumir looked at Fuinur, ‘we accept. Urken has the power to destroy us. It does not hurt us to be diplomatic, but… if we refuse, things could get disastrous. You do not refuse one of the "Kingmakers" and live long enough to regret it’.

Herumir walked to the door and called for a scribe to write a message.

Urken the Bear, Warrior Priest of the Guild of the Black Numenoreans. Greetings.

After receiving you message, and consulting with Fuinur the king of Leowenna, I am happy to accept your offer for help. We will meet with you on the outskirts of Umbar one day hence.

Kings Herumir and Fuinur

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Alkanoonion ]

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhûn**********

Lovek looked around thinking. He still had not dismissed his men, so he knew they would still be practicing. He looked out towards the city, and spied a stable boy going past the door. Lovek grabbed the stable boy roughly.

"You, boy. Do you know the way to the training grounds?"

"I-I...yes, sir," the boy said, looking down, frightened.

"Go there...here, have this," Lovek gave the boy the necklace he carried in a pouch, "Give them this so that they will know that it is me. Tell them I told them they are dismissed until tomorrow. Then, take this to Grivek. Tell him to keep it until my return, and that he should take control of my men until then. Can you handle that?"

"Y-yes," the boy stuttered. Lovek pushed the boy away and the boy ran in the direction of the training grounds. Lovek turned back to the others.

"As for you..."

"Yes, Lord?" Khuleln said.

"Well, it seems that we are nearly packed. I know not what Great Captain Mislavini desires us to do next..."

Lovek paused and thought a bit.

"Well, as we seem to have time, at ease, men. Ulwyte, will you speak with me a second?"

Khuleln watched Lovek and Ulwyte disappear into a side room. Lovek closed the door behind him and turned to Ulwyte.

"You are young," he said accusingly, "I am not used to such young people in my company."

"Yes?" Ulwyte asked, fairly respectfully.

Lovek came in close to Ulwyte and spoke gruffly.

"Well, I just want you to know that, even though you are young, you will receive no special treatment on this mission. More will be expected of you. I know about you young men these days. You have no discipline. You think that you may use your army status for women and drink. I would like you to know that, because you are young, I may call on you to do more. Although I am still fit, youth is still better in things of stealth. So, I will have no shirking from you, or you will be left behind. And, if you continue to pursue and delay us, I will have no concerns with killing you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Ulwyte said, backing away. Lovek took another step closer.

"I have seen more than you can ever imagine, boy. Do not tangle with me. It is bad enough that we must go have dealings with the Westlands now. I will not tolerate laziness. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Ulwyte said, looking right into Lovek's eyes. Lovek was surprised, for none had dared to look into his eyes in a long time. Lovek took the step back, this time, startled.

"Well," he said, his voice nearly faltering at his surprise at the boy's courage, "You may leave now."

He mustered up his dignity again and opened the door, indicating that Ulwyte should leave. Ulwyte complied and left, going back to the stables with Kheleln. Lovek remained in the room and shut the door behind him.

"That Ulwyte will need some watching," Lovek said, speaking out loud, "Kheleln has experience. He will know what to do. But Ulwyte is young. I will keep my eye on him."

Lovek looked around the room, thinking about the many things he had seen in his life and the many insolent young boys he had broken. He hoped Ulwyte would not be as these boys were, constantly disobeying him.

Lovek took a breath in, then opened the door and went back out into the stables to see what the other men were doing.

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhuûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte nearly snorted out loud again. Truly! He had been on quite a few journeys, and was no stranger to disobedience. A trip through the wild meant nothing to Ulwyte, even if it was to a land he did not know. It was like any trade trip he had gone on, accompanied with his father. And as for slowing them down? Ulwyte didn't think that this captain had any idea how much experience Ulwyte had, young as he was.

Returning to the stables, he found that Khuleln was also finished packed and adding a few finishing touches.

'Are all captains like Lovek?' Ulwyte wondered out loud to himself. Lovek certainly seemed harsher than others. But perhaps a lifetime of experience gave him the harsh attitude.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[*Varda*]

The trap-cart trundled down the road towards the Grey Havens, then onto the Shire. Serin looked around him with interest, curious about the strange new lands that lay about him. This was indeed a big change from the stone halls of the Ered Luin, where dwarves mined deep in search of precious materials. He could only wonder why he had not travelled before.

Mikhelm sat beside him, a grumpy look on his face. He still could not understand the point of the dwarves becoming acquainted with the world around them. His friends Fili and Kili had died after leaving the safety of the Ered Luin, and he had never seen Balin again, last hearing he had left for Moria.

Theron called to them from his comfortable seat in the back.

“Make more speed, my friends. We want to reach the Havens by later today! We must make haste to reach Minas Tirith, we are the furthest away. It would not look well if we were late, would it?”

Serin didn’t respond, but only urged the ponies on a little faster.

[Kettle of fish]

*****DALE*****

Rubin smiled as he left following Girion, but ironed out his smile before Girion turned around, fighting the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

5..4..3..2..

"Perhaps we should celebrate our journey with a drink, a quick detour to an inn wouldn't slow us down." Girion said

Rubin coughed meaningfully and remembered the last fiasco. It had been a good thing that Rubin knew for certain that coin was effective in keeping the innkeeper's mouth firmly closed.

It was important that they get to Mirkwood quickly. If they were late for the meeting, the king and Dale be shamed and his own father would consider him responsible.

They started off, Girion wearing his puppy dog face. Rubin coughed loudly again, before turning to look into the distance with a smile.

"Why don't we take that way that doesn't go pass the tavern?"

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Kettle of fish ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Harad/Umber

Urken rubbed his hands together and smiled. The message lay before him on the table. So the two planned to meet with him outside the city gates one day hence. The meeting would take place under cover of night. One part of his plan seemed to be falling into place.

He wanted to be very careful not to make any mistakes. Trade had never interested him in and of itself. But he did see it as a valuable tool which could lead towards other things. His family had inherited enough land and status to live comfortably. And Urken was not one whe felt compelled to pile up large quantities of goods. But, still, how was he to get in and see Elessar with a small delegation?

And trade did seem to be a magic word right now: not just in Harad, but all across the lands of Middle-earth. With the war over, people's thoughts seemed to turn quite naturally towards their physical comfort and security. If trading was required, he could definitely learn how to negotiate deals with the very best!

With that in mind, he looked down at a letter just returned by the messenger. It came from a trusted underling whom he had secured a position for in the household of Gramil. He read over the letter with interest, noting the arrival of Jarl from Dale. Yes, he would definitely need to keep an eye on that situation!

Urken rose and called for his manservant. He instructed him to pack his belongings for an extended trip away from home, and to prepare his oliphaunt and steed for possible transport on a ship. Then, he went to the locked cupboard and took out his personal weapons. He pulled out an ancient sword, It was plain and unadorned, but its blade was still gleaming and sharp as if it had been made just yesterday. Yet, it was said to be one which had originated in the drowned lands of Akallabeth.

Beside the sword was a bow and two daggers. The latter had been purchased at considerable expense through one of the rare dwarf caravans still operating. The daggers were rumored to be of Elvish origin.

He slid the daggers into the sides of his boots, strapped the sword to his waist, and slung the bow over his shoulder. Then he went down to the stables to mount his steed and go down to the harbor. He wanted to take a good look at those ships, their layout and defenses, in preparation for their assault.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

Nodding his head in agreement and then bowing to Stonehelm, Hringa withdrew through a rear door, hidden behind a heavy, embroidered curtain. At the opposite end of the room, the two summoned dwarves entered and Stonehelm observed them closely. Here rode the hopes and aspirations of Erebor. Both men were strong willed, accomplished, tenacious. They had very different goals and aspirations, very different outlooks on life. Stonehelm did not doubt each dwarf individually, but he did hope they could put aside their different interests to ensure the success of the mission.

He stood up to accept their greetings and both Glavin and Frain bowed low, three times, each struggling to put aside their own thoughts with an appropriate measure of decorum.

Stonehelm addresssed them:

Glavin, your face looks like thunder itself, so crossed with frowns and anger. Do your eyes dagger me or some pain in that aching body of yours? And Frain, what crossed thoughts lie behind your cloaked, shrewd stares?

Stonehelm directed them to the large black oak table, ornately carved and strewn with maps, parchment, scrolls, even some delving tools and crafted wares. He seated himself but did not direct either dwarf to be seated. He decided to wait until they answered him. He needed to ensure that they would know how to answer a king without giving up anything.



[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

They had bypassed the Inn, and any hope of a drink and some fun fled Girion. Rubin seemed less willing to give in to his wishes this time, he thought. More focused on this trip than on accomodating the King's son. He challenged him on this. 'Are you not my attendant, Rubin!' he said. 'Should not my wants come first to you?'

It was a childish statement, thought Rubin. Though not completely without precedent in their long history together. He met it with a statement, more serious in tone. 'My first duty is to the King and to Dale.' replied Rubin, in an even tone. 'As is yours.'

He looked the future of Dale squarely in the face. 'The King has directed me that we are to make haste to Eryn Lasgalen to meet with Orodan and his party. There are to be no hindrances to the swift completion of this journey. Once there, we will proceed with them on the route they have chosen to Minas Anor. It is imperative that we arrive for King Elessar's audience in due time, and that you present Dale's proposal's to him. This was his directive to me. And I intend to see it done.'

Girion opened his mouth as if to retort, then closed it, thinking better of it.

Rubin moved ahead of Girion, the packhorse trailing behind. Girion was left to his sobering thoughts as they moved through the sere and dusty plain known as the Desolation of Smaug.

That night saw them camped a little more than halfway to the place where the Forest met the Forest River. Girion had spent a long time wrestling with his views on what his father expected of him for this mission.

He took the letter and proposals which his father and the Master had crafted and read them carefully in the light of the campfire. As usual, he was struck with how keen a mind his father had, and how he used that mind and all his resources to further the good of Dale. He felt humbled as he read it, wondering if he would ever be able to do such things.

Sleep was a long time in coming, and the new day to soon arrived. Rubin woke him, and they broke their fast quickly with sweet tea, bread, and cheese. Then they were on their way again.

The miles seemed to go faster as the great expanse of forest came into view. The midday meal was eaten in the saddle, and by early evening they had reached the appointed place.

Rubin held the horse, as Girion dismounted and strode to where Orodan was standing.

'Well met, my friend!' said Girion. 'We are here! Now what's for supper!'

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elenna]

*****Rivendell*****

After the others had left, Meneciriel still sat at the table, running fingers over the map of Middle Earth. It seemed like only a few inches from Rivendell to the White City, but she knew that it would be a very, very long time before she would return.

Also, she worried about what would happen to her home while she was gone. Elrond grew every day less and less interested in taking care of his house, and Meneciriel and her husband Erestor had been doing much. But, even though in her heart she knew everything would be fine, her fears did not abate.

Pushing worry aside, she began to work on an inventory list for the journey. After all, there will be much that we will need.she thought to herself.

[Brinniel]

*********HARAD/UMBAR*********

King Herumir sat in his private quarters, deep in thought. He knew soon enough Urken would receive the message. He and Fuinur planned to depart early the next morning and head for the place they had promised to meet him.

Though meeting Urken seemed safer than to attack, Herumir was still wary. He planned to bring along ten other men for protection. Once he and Fuinur have met Urken and felt trustworthy of him, Herumir would release the men. Then he, Fuinur, and Urken would travel alone with perhaps Fuinur's servant, Seth. If this plan worked, they would hopefully reach Gondor within a short time.

A knock on the door interrupted King Herumir's thoughts. He got up and opened it and found Seth standing there, his face grim.
"King Fuinur wishes to speak with you," he said, his hands motioning behind him.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

The guards at the counting house parted easily for Gramil who nodded to them casually, commenting to one, "Gormack! Good to see you back." He had never picked up the habit of treating underlings as furniture, and was probably the only one who knew of Gormack's sick daughter. The guard was trained not to smile or speak on duty, but his eyes sparkled with good news, Garlin could see. He'd find out later how she was.

The counting house of King Fuinur was a long low room filled with marble topped tables. The first impression one had was of tables, row upon row. The next was all of scrolls.. scrolls stored on floor-to-ceiling shelves so that the highest could only be reached by ladders; scrolls spread out or stacked on tables; scrolls on carts wheeled from one table to another; scrolls rising like cords of firewood behind which the clerks, most of whom were members of Gramil's family apprenticed to him, could hardly been seen. Lastly, because such a staggering display the mind could hardly comprehend, one saw the gold. It was piled upon the every table, and shelves below, stacked neatly upon the carts. It was poured into scales, measured against lead, and the lead was found wanting. Gold filled the eye, until all the tables and scrolls were forgotten. It seemed even the air was filled with it, as dust danced golden in the sunlight from the high windows that covered both the east and west wall.

Gramil ignored it. He knew the real wealth of the realm was contained in those scrolls, lists of tithed goods and land.

The bustling room fell silent. All eyes turned to him curiously, expectant. The news of his meeting with the King had spread like wildfire. Gramil knew one person who would welcome his news more than any other.

"Ethar, I will need maps." The young man barely glanced up.

"Of - ?"

"The route to Nurn." That had the insolent boy's attention. "Then I want you to find out all you can about this Jarl of Dale. Well? Off with you!" The suddenly hopeful young man scampered up the stairs to Gramil's quarters.

Gramil felt sorry he had been forced to leave the lad behind that last trip to Nurn, which would have been Ethar's first. His real purpose had been too dangerous to bring one who knew nothing of either trade or Nurn. Ethar wasn't the only one to remain, but he had clearly taken it hard. Yet his attitude proved to Gramil he had made the right decision.

Once again he thought to send the boy home to his family, and once again decided against it. He would give Ethar one more chance rather than send him home in disgrace. He had promise. A quick mind, if an equally quick temper.

Gramil gave quick orders, sending two or three nephews to the bazaar and entertainment houses: they would need supplies for a month, plus guards. "The best," he said, "see if you can hire men of Umbar.

"And I want a full accounting of expenses - ! Only the essentials. Just because King Fuinur trusts us too much does not mean we should prove him wrong."

"Dancing girls are of course essential, yes?" one young man joked.

"Naturally," Gramil said drily.

********

Ethar combed through Gramil's private closets, searching for maps of his famous route. He could not believe his luck! He thought the stranger from Umbar was crazy asking him for information. Nothing ever happened in the counting house. But now he had something to report. He thought now to sell the information, but decided against it. He'd wait until he had something they really needed.

This place is a mess, he decided after he found the maps Gramil the Gryphon required. He paused a moment to read the King's invitation on his table, impressed by the royal seal. What it must have been like to meet with the King himself in person, Ethar thought, visualizing the opulent throne room he had seen once. Gryphons are lucky, and Gramil was no exception. How he could have thrown it away to rot in this place, Ethar could not understand.

After depositing the maps on Gramil's table, everyone was scattered and the counting house closed now for the afternoon, Ethar slipped behind the guards and disappeared into the street crowd, unnoticed. Being rather small and wirey was an advantage sometimes.

He searched skies painted orange with the setting sun, frustrated. The hawk had come to him nearly every day when he had nothing to report. Now, he had great news, and it was nowhere to be seen. Typical. He decided his news couldn't wait, and approached a homing pigeon vendor. Ethar carefully used his own spending money purchase a bird from Umbar, instead of using the King's credit as he normally would.

Eagerly he wrote his message to the stranger from the Guild. A pigeon, looking like any other pigeon, lifted into the sky, and disappeared into the sun.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn * * * * *

Because the main door to the stable stood wide open, the three were able to see a group of riders that rounded the corner at the far end of the street. Several horsemen approached their position, each in the dark uniform of the Captain's Guard. At their lead was Kasteni, also dressed in black but wearing a coat of bright mail that gleamed from beneath his cloak. The riders pushed through the crowded avenue in a tight formation, forcing all traffic they passed to yield or be trampled. Finally, they stopped directly in front of Lovek and Kasteni dismounted.

"I see that you are prepared," he said to the old soldier. "That is good. It is afternoon and already later than I had hoped start, so we must be on our way as soon as my chariot is ready."

He looked back to the nearest rider and said, "I want my chariot ready to travel in no more than 15 minutes."

The rider jumped from his horse, took the reins of Kasteni's gray stallion, and led it into the stable.

Gesturing to the riders, he said, "These guards will accompany us on our journey. They will be under my command but are under instruction to protect us from any dangers on our road. It is likely we will need their aid, especially after we cross into Winzlen. The men there are not to be trusted, for they have often given allegiance to the Bardlings. And though they have promised peace, four strangers traveling through such a land would be an tempting target for brigands. So, I have brought extra protection."

They wait a few minutes in silence until the rider returned leading a Kasteni's steed, now pulling a golden war chariot. The Chief Advisor strode forward and stroked the beast's muzzle, murmuring quiet assurances to the animal.

“This is Petrij, Hammer-Hoof, my best field horse. He is a warrior, a true fighting spirit, and his lineage is of the Eorlean stock, for his parents were liberated from the Horselands long ago by now-dead thieves. Petrij will pull me anywhere without fear.”
Kasteni climbed into his chair and grabbed the reins.

“Mount your horses. It is time to go. We must reach the Kiseljak Hostel by nightfall.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Ransom]

=Rivendell=

A figure cloaked in gray slipped through the long, empty corridor of Rivendell. He could remember the time when these halls had been full of light and laughter. The Age of the Elves are coming to an end. His father’s words seemed to echo around him, weighing him down. And this bothered him. More than ever, he needed the façades and the skills he had developed all his life. Why was he letting this trip bother him so?

He made a sharp left, heading toward the stables. Elladan will be there packing for our trip. He must be.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++++

Elrohir sighed with annoyance. Elladan was not in his room, the kitchens, and the library. He probably had decided to go see the horses. Elrohir would have to take a trip outside.

The wind insisted on blowing his long brown hair into his face, a situation that was beginning to annoy him. Without stopping, he fished a leather strap out of his pocket and began to gather his hair into a ponytail. He did not notice Meneciriel as she supervised the packing of provisions directly in front of him.

Meneciriel tried to step out of the way of this new arrival, but her feet were not fast enough. Elrohir’s foot caught hers, and both went tumbling to the cobbles. Elrohir ended up softening Meneciriel’s fall, for she had somehow fallen on top of him. He gingerly moved his limbs and established that nothing had been broken. This is NOT a good way to start a journey.

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhûn Nation**********

Lovek nodded, "Yes, Grand Captain."

He turned to the other two men.

"You heard him. I will prepare my horse, then I will come back and aid if you have not yet accomplished finding horses for yourself."

Lovek went to Ratislav's stall and took the large horse out. He went to the tack room and got the big, thick bridle, and came back out. Ratislav willingly took his harsh master's bit, then received the saddle when Lovek provided it, hardly flinching for, although his master was hard, he never rode Ratislav until the point that his back hurt. The girth was cinched and the stirrups dropped. Rataslav stood as Lovek went back to help the others, but he saw they had found horses.

Lovek mounted Ratislav, and the horse pranced nervously, for he knew that the horrible screaming of battle was likely to come soon.

Lovek watched the other two men mount up critically.

Ah, I wonder what sort of a mission this shall be, Lovek thought. I hope Ulwyte is not as untrained and irresponsible as he appears. Well, as the Grand Captain is along, I shall not have too much responsibility over the boy...

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

Gramil crumpled the invitation in his hand, a rude way to treat such an elegantly drawn confection, but there it was. With the king gone - and Jarl had no doubt the absence of his private guard meant exactly that, despite the clerk's assurances he merely 'detained' - the jackels gathered. He stalked out of the counting house waving off his carriage, choosing to walk to the bazaar instead. The sky was turning purple, and music chimed ahead, but he had a good two hours yet before he was required at this 'State Dinner.'

The road was wide and cobbled, and at this cooling hour, nearly impassable, as the city came to life. He saw a carriage stranded, with elegantly dressed ladies crossly waving fans as the driver attempted to wend his way around a large sleepy bull that had decided to sit in the road. Vendors declared their goods, and the gamers, who arrived every evening and disappeared by dawn, called out their sure-fire wins from colorful stalls set up in the middle of the street. The nightly carnival had begun. Children scampered between the stalls, laughing and shouting to eachother, narrowly missing a troupe of dancers and acrobats who had "performed for the king himself, the Lion of Leonarra!"

Somewhere across the city Jarl of Dale was receiving an invitation to a 'State Dinner' that evening, similar to Gramil's. Of course, there was no State without King Fuinur, but a foreigner would not know this, and believe he was required to attend. No one of any import would come if the King weren't present.

Gramil felt obligated to accept an invitation he normally would have 'received it too late, so sorry' just to save Jarl of Dale - and the trade he represented - from the empty promises and power plays of lesser ambitious families. But he wished he had had more time to learn of this Jarl. Where was young Ethar? His eyes scanned the growing crowd, past dresses in a swirl of bright colors and jingling bells, with little hope of finding him. Gramil would have to gather what information he could on his own.

His one meeting was promising though, Gramil smiled, hoping Jarl traded better than he rode.

Gramil bought a stick of cubed, spiced beef from a vendor, the fat still sizzling as it was handed to him, and prepared for the worst. He hoped Jarl of Dale knew to eat before this gathering, though he thought it unlikely. Who would guess these 'State Dinners' tended to be more 'State' than 'Dinner'?

******

"Eh, haven't seen him much," Molnar said from behind his beaded curtains. The glass beads glittered in the torchlight of firebreathers nearby. Molnar was an old friend of Gramil's who ran more than this counter - his main business was off the books. "This Jarl, he's up in his rooms all day they say. His apprentice, what say, Garvin's his name, he's about. Or was the Garlin? Something like that. No tradesman he, hah! Seven spots just for fruit. Hee-hee. Saw him with your Ethar by the pigeons, not an hour ago."

"What does Dale need with pigeons?" Gramil puzzled.

"Don't know. But they - Ethar and Garlin.. whichever.. they go deep into the bazaar. That way." Molnar waggled his eyebrows and Gramil the Gryphon rolled his eyes at the direction they had taken. There the black market came to you. As did the wine carts. He suspected the boys would be good for little the next morning.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[The Fifth]

**********Rhûn Nation**********

Khuleln, looking for a horse, turned towards the horse that had gone mad earlier from the spider. He opened the stall door, letting it swing forth. He then searched about for a bridle and reins, and set them snugly, but not too tightly, upon the equine's head. He also set the saddle on, then mounted it.

Khuleln appeared to be ready for battle, with the helm upon his head, the light armor upon his breast, and the sheath of the sword attatched to the belt of his blackish-brownish jerkin. He watched Ulwyte pick out a fine bay horse and mount it. Thinking out loud, he said to his horse, "Ai, Spidernose!" He grinned a bit at himself for a moment when the guards looked at each other in brief confusion, for Khuleln was making fun of the horse, and the horse seemed to understand, looking quite annoyed.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte urged his horse near to Khuleln. He leaned over the horse's head. 'You know, Khuleln, that horse may just buck you off when we get to a tall cliff.' Ulwyte chuckled good-naturedly, leading his horse to 'Barking Captain' Lovek and Kasteni.

'All is ready,' he said. Except maybe that horse and Lovek's foul mood, Ulwyte thought to himself. They were now only waiting for Kasteni's chariot to arrive. Of course, any politician in such a position would want to ride in style.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Thenamir]

=========== Blue Mountains =========

Theron Axehand was not an overly greedy dwarf, as dwarves went, but an idea kept growing in his mind the longer they bouced along the road. A thought that stuck to the inside of his brain and would not be shaken loose, no matter how roughly the jostling of the cart rattled him.

After the War of the Ring, the few of the dwarves who actually participated returned with news, and stories. The news of Balin's death had hit them all very hard -- the Belegost dwarves would have packed up and taken the battle right to the Balrog in vengeance, though they might have died in the attempt. But another piece of news piqued his interest. It was said that Olorin had destroyed Durin's Bane.

Moria of old, the Dwarrowdelf, greatest of the cities of the Khuzd! The only place in Middle Earth where mithril, the truesilver, could be found. Without the balrog to lead and inspire the orcs of Moria, they would be leaderless, scattered, unorganized...the time was ripe for retaking Moria for good.

And the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains had as much of a claim as anyone to Moria - Balin Longbeard, the last Lord of Moria, still had relatives in Belegost. Surely the dwarves who wanted more "openness" with the surrounding lands might want to re-colonize Moria.

Theron was aroused form his half-planning-half-daydreaming by a particularly nasty jolt as the cart crossed a rut. He spoke none of his thoughts aloud just yet...this was something he must ponder awhile, an idea that must simmer before coming to complete readiness...

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

'A State Dinner!' mused Jarl, looking carefully at the gilded invitation that had been laid on the table beside his door. 'An interesting concept, seeing the King and the State are one, or so I recall.' He wondered what lay behind this invitation.

His sources, some of them trustworthy, some not, hinted that the King had recently left the city. Destination unknown. It was rumored, though, that he was travelling with King Fuinur.

The King would not be present at the dinner, that he was fairly sure of. Who would be? He left his room and hurried down to the street below.

A short walk brought him to a dusty tavern down an unnamed side street. He went in, and stood for a while, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. The windows were shuttered against the heat of the afternoon, and the only light leaked in through narrow slits between the boards. The tavern appeared empty of customers. Only the tavern keeper and a serving boy looked up from the bar when he entered.

Then, he saw the one he wanted, sitting hunched over a dirty glass filled with some amber liquid, back booth. Catching his eye, Jarl nodded imperceptibly at him, approached the booth when beckoned, and sat down. The serving boy arrived, dirty rag in hand, and smeared the dust in different patterns on the tabletop.

'You wish something to drink?' asked the boy, directing his question to the old man whom Jarl had joined, then nodded also at Jarl. A look of disbelief shown on his face as Jarl answered him, with a small smile 'Two of these.' he said, indicating the glass the old man held. The drinks were quickly brought, and Jarl paid for them, giving the boy a handsome tip so that he and the tavern keeper might occupy themselves at the bar, away from the table.

'What is it you wish to know, Jarl of Dale?' asked the old man. His eyes shown shrewdly in his leathered face. Jarl fingered his glass, turning it slowly on the dusty table before him. 'There is to be a State Dinner this evening. I need to know who will attend, and what they represent. A short list will do. I need some background on who I'll be dealing with.' Jarl passed four gold 'dragons' across the table. 'Can you get this to me soon?' he asked 'An hour, perhaps?'

The old man looked at him , eyebrows raised. 'An hour! You ask much of my poor resources!' Jarl passed two more coins across to him, smiling. 'Done! and done!' said the old man, pocketing them. He raised his glass to his lips and drank it quickly.

'Is there anything else you require?' he asked.

'Just one last thing.' said Jarl, draining his own drink. 'The whereabouts of Herumir.'
The old man blanched, and rubbed his neck, already feeling the blade laid on it. Jarl leaned in close, across the table, 'Ten dragons for that information. Five when it is delivered, and five if it prove true.'

Jarl stood and strode quickly to the door, nodding at the boy and the tavern keeper. He walked down the street and ducked between two old buildings, standing still in the deep shadow that lay between them.

He saw the old man leave the tavern and hurry down the street to it's corner. The old man beckoned to a person leaning idly against the side of a dilapidated vendor's booth. He whispered in the person's ear, and something passed from hand to hand. The person, now Jarl could see it was a young appearing man, hurried quickly in one direction while the old man walked swiftly in another.

Jarl returned to his rooms. To wash the grime from himself, and then to dress for dinner. By that time, he expected to have the information he needed to navigate the evening.

Along the way, he stopped at several vendors' stalls to purchase food and drink. If this were like most State Dinners, he thought, he would have need of it.

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale *****

Rubin was pleased that they had managed to meet up with Orodan in so little time. He stood silently with the horses as Girion greeted Orodan.

When they started travelling again, Rubin dropped his horse to travel behind Girion's - he and Orodan were talking as they rode.

Though he greatly respected Orodan, he was already regretting the extra company since he had to keep any teasing remarks to Girion unsaid. Much of the midday heat was filtered by the trees, and for this he was glad. Hopefully they would be out of the forest before long.

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo glanced up the sky- they had just passed Bywater. Perfect journeying weather- he hoped it wouldn't get too hot. Realising he was lagging behind the rest of the hobbits, he gave the reins of the pony a little shake to make him trot faster. He may have imagined it, but he thought Hardo gave him a disapproving look. He wasn't quite sure as to what to think of the elderly hobbit, but he thought it was best to keep out of his way to avoid reprimands.

Odo, on the other hand, was a slightly younger chap than himself, and he liked him. Brando seemed very mischievous, and Orlo made a mental note to keep an eye on him at all time.

He glanced up at the sky again, and his stomach rumbled loudly. He looked hopefully at the other hobbits, hoping that they would make some remark about lunch.

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Faye Took]

*******SHIRE********

Odo slowed down and got near to Orlo. 'I see your a bit hungry?' Orlo nodded holding his stomach. Odo reached into one of his side bags and pulled out a freshly baked bluebarry muffin. Odo handed the muffin to Orlo, and he began to eat it. Odo let out a little giggle, while watching Orlo stuff his mouth. 'Anuthor pleez.' Orlo said with a full mouth. Odo patted him on the back and handed him another. 'This is your last one. We'll need the rest for later.'

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

After their introductions, Frain stood near the table, seemingly speechless. He looked with stern eyes on the young King and in Frain's mind all he could think of was how unsuitable this dwarf was to be a king. He seemed so young and inferior, unable to comprehend anything going on around him.

When the King had heard suitable replies, Stonehelm invited them to be seated.

"I have summoned you here so you can decide which route you will take," the king started.

"So it is true, my King? That a messenger has come from Minas Arnor?" Frain suddenly was snapped back to reality from his thoughts. So the rumors were true.

"Yes, I have recieved a message saying that in little over a month an audience with the new King of Men will be held in the White City. I have been asked to send delegates, but as I do not trust the Men entirely I give you, Frain, the choice of a few exceptional engineers. I shall also send my chief delegate, Glaven," the King explained, taking note of Frain's interruption.

"Sir, what do we the people of Erebor need to talk to the Men about? And besides, it is a long way to Gondor, and there are still orcs about the hills," Glaven asked, with his already pale face turning almost white.

"That is what you are here to discuss. Now, the Elves of Mirkwood have sent a message asking the men of Dale and us to go with them. The dwarves of the Blue Mountains have sent us message saying they would like to discuss, when we are all in Minas Tirith, the rights of Khazad-dum. They believe they have some right to claim it," Stonehelm spoke now as though a heaviness was on his heart.

"Elves? They are dispiccable!! And the dwarves of the Blue Mounts have not had much to do with our place in Moria! We have nothing here to discuss!!We will go to Minas Tirith by ourselves and give those dwarves something to think about!" Glaven spoke in outrage, for he had little love for Elves.

"Now, now, young Glaven. I am prepared to debate a little. So long as," Frain spoke and looked from Glaven to the King. "As long as there is a suitable amount of payment, I would be delighted to talk to some of my best teams of engineers."

A gleam was caught at that moment in Frain's eye.

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Carnëiach]

Brando crept up behind the older hobbits. He jumped from behind a tree at Odo, who let out a yell.
"How can, I didnt...scoundrel!" The older hobbit huffed up before walking away and sitting near the others, eating a miffin self righteously.
The hobbit boy looked slightly phased and sighed. Theyd all taken against him for no reason! Ok, so maybe he liked a joke now and again, but still...
Brando shrugged and sat down with his own muffin, humming quietly and imagining what it would be like to meet the elves...

[Susan Delgado]

After finishing his own muffin- which was too dry- Hardo stood up and remounted his pony.

"Come on, people. We have to be at least in Whitfurrows by dark, and preferably over the Bridge of Stonebows and out of the Shire. If we have to go on this journey, we should get it over with as quickly as possible so we can come back. Not that that's very likely with the state of the world these days."

The others looked disappointed and a little rebellious, but when Hardo took off down the road without them, they had no choice but to mount and follow. The ponies objected to the cantering no less than their riders, but Hardo was quite serious when he said he wanted to out of the Shire by nightfall and they reached the Bridge a good two hours before the sun set. Even Hardo couldn't complain about their timing.

They paused just over the Bridge for a light supper, and when Hardo wanted to push on down the road while there was still light, he met universal resistance. The others had expected a leasurely, holiday-like trip South andHardo had severly upset their expectations with his hard ride through the Shire. They absolutely refused to go any farther this day. In fact, Orlo wanted to go back to Whitfurrows to find an Inn, but he was voted down. The ended up camping on the side of the road about two miles past the Bridge. The ground was too hard and lumpy to get a decent sleep, of course, and Hardo didn't know how the others had dropped off like they had.

[Isilya]

******MIRKWOOD******

Isilya walked into the room. Orodan and Nefros had been talking, but stopped when they saw her approach.

“My lord, when we arrive in Minas Anor, I would like to know how long the summons will last?”

“Of that, I am not sure, Isilya. I can guarantee you that we will be there for a number of days. How much more than that, we will find out when we get there.”

At this, Nefros got up and left the room, leaving Isilya with Orodan.

“I happen to know that my father spoke to you of my brother, Prince Legolas. There is no need to be alarmed; this has been troubling my father for quite some time now. One piece of advice towards it, though. Do not mention that Thranduil wants him to come home. He put this task on you, because having, if you beg my pardon, an average citizen asks of his return is more effective than having his father beg it.”

Isilya nodded, understanding.

“My lord, I too wish for Prince Legolas to return, but what if I cannot convince him? I would severely hate to have disappointed him.”

“If you cannot convince him, so be it. He was always a stubborn person, and did not take lightly to requests, especially from family members. Ah, Nefros, you have brought food!!”

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo's last thoughts before he dropped off to sleep were certainly very grumpy ones. He was tired out ("Thank you very much, Hardo Proudfoot"). He fell asleep, and dozed contentedly for a an hour or two before he was awoken by a persistent rumbling in his empty stomach. He sat up. The base of his spine ached where a stone had dug into it, and his legs were very stiff. "Nothing like a good fire to get rid of the pain!" he thought cheerfully. He leaned over and prodded Odo and Brando awake. He wondered whether to wake Hardo or not, but a warning voice in his head told him that Hardo wouldn't be very pleased to be woken up at midnight.

He smiled gleefully at the younger hobbits, and unpacked some firewood. Pretty soon, they were all pleasantly warm and munching away at toasted muffins.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Harad/Umbar

A sliver of a moon hung high in the sky, giving off only faint illumination. This was not the main gate which led into the city of Umbar but a side entrance. It was wide enough to let an oliphaunt through, but in a totally deserted location.

The entryway boasted a series of deep cisterns outside the city wall used for storing back-up water for the populace. For, in a climate as hot and dry as that of Harad and Umbar, water was a valuable commodity. Only two guards stood at the gateway. These two had their heads down and were deeply engrossed in a game of chance, spinning small bones in front of them on a large, flat stone.

The men never noticed the small party lurking in the surrounding brush. There were three hidden figures: Urken himself, and two of his most trusted household retainers. They approached the gateway with secrecy and swiftness. Within a single instant, both men had been sent sprawling into two of the deep cisterns. Despite their muffled cries, they were certain to remain undetected until at least the next morning when the first shift was to relieve at the gate. By that time, he and his visitors should be long gone.

Urken had sent back a messenger earlier that morning and instructed the two kings how and where to meet him. Their retinues should be approaching any moment now. The priest unlocked the gate with a large key which hung about his waist. Just south of the entrance,inside the city, but hidden to human eyes, was a concealed doorway. This led down by a broad ramp into a system of underground tunnels, with flat and spacious corridors.

These had been designed long ago to accomodate the wagons or oliphaunts loaded with pirate booty, providing a direct link between the port and the small city gate. From there, the raiders could transport their valuables to all parts of Harad. Urken had stationed ten foot soldiers down the hidden ramp, in case his guests proved less than hospitable. He did not think so, but it was better to be safe.

He had no intention of launching an assault on the city itself, which the kings had first suggested. It would be far wiser to slip silently down to the harbor, and take out the Corsairs on the few remaining ships. They would commandeer one or two vessels for their trip up the Anduin. His own guards would occupy the remaining boats and carefully "guard" them on behalf of the Harad Council, perhaps even on a permanent basis. He peered out carefully over the flat plain and thought he saw a distant retinue approach.

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

*****Rivendell*****

Meneciriel scrambled to her feet. Her legs had twisted awkwardly underneath her, and they hurt, but nothing was broken.

Elrohir lay groaning on the stone floor of the stable. Ciri dropped to her knees next to him and began to expertly run her hands over his limbs. "Well, nothing's broken."

"Except my pride." Ciri lauged and offered him a hand up.