Crusaders of Middle Earth

Archive: February 2005

These are archived posts from a Rolemaster game set in Middle Earth called Crusaders of Middle Earth. The PBEM game lasted from February until July of 2005 and are split off into monthly archives.

The background is basically that it takes place just before the official calendar start of the Fourth Age and some months after the War of the Ring had finished (and Sauron defeated). I took some liberties with the background of Middle Earth, such as the state of magic slowly increasing to a more common and less dangerous level and the basic nature of the Wizards becoming mortal as they also become extinct.

The game suffered near the end due to real life pressures intervening upon the time that I could properly devote to the game. Besides that, I also had a new group of players in which to play RPGs with in a face to face (offline) way. Since the group had just formed, I needed to choose between two things: continue the PBEM or set my efforts into developing my Game Master plans and background material for the offline group - which actually required a lot of free time on my part as not only were these new players but also a new campaign from scratch. I like to plan out character background details and then to plan how this relates to the background, as well as other nifty details.

-Steve Moniz (March 2006)

Prologue Part I
Crusaders of Middle Earth

Gandalf stared upward at the tower of Isengard. It was more than a year ago that this place housed his former friend; a friend who had betrayed everything for lust of power. He gingerly stepped onto the next rock and then onto the next dry piece of land. The floodwaters hadn't entirely left Isengard and had left a muddy landscape. However, life always never held back! Already the grass and plants reclaimed what was once theirs. Still, it was hard to walk here when the ground sucked at your boots as you pulled your feet up.

"Aaaahhhooooy!" yelled a voice from up the tower walls. Gandalf spied Alatar the Grey up on one of the lower balconies. "Teleport!" Alatar shouted his advice.

Gandalf was about to voice an immediate warning about such use of magic but caught himself. He did feel that the world was much safer to wield magic these days. This mysterious change had occurred just about the same time that Sauron met his demise.

Alatar heard a slight popping sound to his right. Gandalf looked around himself quickly to catch his new bearings. Alatar chuckled, "So, I suppose you were about to walk clear across all that mud and grass to get to the front door, eh?"

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Well, if you had been alive all those hundreds of years you would have gotten used to NOT showing off your magic like I have."

Alatar nodded. "Tea?" he offered.

"Of course.."

* * *

"I recall that you were much older," Gandalf remarked.

Alatar set his own tea down. "Yes, a little strange, isn't it? It seems that changes are abound and all around. Changes that I am sure a mortal-born cannot see. I am sure that the Elves are becoming wise to the changes, though."

Gandalf shook his head slightly. "Not only that, but you are mortal!" He set his tea down and pointed at Alatar. "It is so very slow but I can see it. I think you have about a thousand years left!"

Alatar blushed slightly and seemed taken back by the announcement. "I'm going to die?"

Gandalf waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, I am sure something unnatural will happen to you long before then to cause your demise. However, if you Wizards are to come back younger and younger with each passing age, then I suppose eventually there will be no choice but to be born of woman."

Alatar laughed a little but then grew serious. "What do you mean 'You wizards'?" Alatar asked the question but he already saw the answer in his friend's eyes. "You don't mean to stay. You're leaving with the Elves."

Gandalf cast his gaze downward for a time but then said, "I mean to remain for a little while, to be sure that things remain or is given to good hands. There is other... smaller... matters to take care of before I go to the Undying Lands. I shall not return. There will never be another White. Not like I am, or any other Wizard before me. There will never be another Grey after you."

Alatar mused softly, "Nor another Blue, Green, or any other. They will be titles only and never measure of power and ranking."

Gandalf finished for him, "As it is with the Elves, the time for Wizards will pass. Magic is passing well into the hands and the will of mortals. It will be soon shared equally by all."

Alatar quested, "Will we not continue to come to this realm? Has the Song of Eru changed that much?"

"Only as mortal born..." Gandalf answered, "... as beings who might grow to be beings of legend. Easy to take to magic and powerful they will be but still mortal. None of our own Wizard abilities will follow. It will be up to us to choose when, I think."

"The song has changed," Alatar said plainly.

Gandalf smirked. "As if I needed to tell you any of it."

"I've missed your high-strung warnings and utterances of doom... That's about all." Alatar joked. The two of them laughed heartily.

"...And I have missed your wit. It is good to have you back!" Gandalf said. "How are those magic users who escaped the attention of Sauron?"

Alatar said mirthfully, "There are many, actually, and they are well. Of course, there are the ones we had in training all along. It is good that they have our guidance. Since the fall of Sauron the apprentices' attempts at magic has seemed to drain them less and easier to control. It's quite astounding. Will you be staying to assist in teaching?"

"I'm afraid not", Gandalf declined, "I must speak with you about an important matter. It concerns the old Dwarven settlement Khazad-dum." Right after Gandalf said the name he cleared his throat loudly with slight coughing.

Alatar nodded. "Yes, about the same time I arrived back in physical form. I had been lost in timelessness, and yet your demise awakened me. The Song altered and I was called forth."

Gandalf spoke, "I met my death there in the Deeps of Khazad-dum. I slew my enemy, a Balrog demon, but it cost me my life."

Alatar stroked his beard. "There could be more?" he asked.

Gandalf sighed. "Yes. There is an opening somewhere down there. A gateway if you will, where the demons can come out into our world. It needs closing."

Alatar mused aloud, "The Fellowship can't be banded together again?"

Gandalf shook his head negatively. "I cannot ask more of them. They've done enough."

"True." Alatar almost whispered. Louder, he said, "It's time for new heroes, then."

Gandalf nodded. "There is a band of dwarves at Minas Tirith who are interested in looking for a band of adventurers brave enough to enter the dangers of Khazad-dum. They are here looking for support from King Elessar. I suppose they are after a blessing and supplies. They've come a long way."

"I've heard of that, actually. It seems the rumour mill has been at work over the lands. Wasn't that the dwarves who came to Minas Tirith as diplomats?"

Gandalf acknowledged, "The very same. They are after an item of lost heritage and power - the Crown of Seven Stars."

"Ahah! I thought so!" Alatar exclaimed. "Well, two different reasons for going. Very important reasons actually. If that Crown falls into the wrong hands..." Alatar shuddered. "It doesn't need explaining."

Gandalf raised a finger to drive another spoken point, "You cannot enter Khazad-dum. Neither can I. Mortals must go if they are to find the gateway or the Crown without raising an alarm among the demons who may yet dwell there - if any. If we went we might as well as shout our presence to them all the entire way down."

Alatar shook his head. "Damn. The best I could do is raise the band of heroes myself? What will you do? Shouldn't it be you to do this?"

"No. I have many other matters to tend to. For one thing, there's the reunification of Arnor. I can take the time out to check in on Isengard from time to time. In fact, that is exactly what I plan to do now. The sooner you go the sooner you'll be done." Gandalf came to stand by his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know I have experience with this kind of thing. However, if I am to give Middle Earth to your care you should learn these things now while I am around."

Alatar looked shocked. "My care? Isn't that too much too soon?"

Gandalf replied, "Why else do you think you've been brought back?"

-----

Prologue Part II
Crusaders of Middle Earth

Alatar stood for a moment and glanced around him. Beside him his tall brown and white spotted stallion, who was laden with brimming saddlebags, snorted impatiently. It had been some days since he left Isengard and the weather had been kind to him so far. However he felt that the weather was about to change soon. That change was going to be rain - lots of it. Alatar could feel it in his bones. As well, his steed had grown restless by it.

"Lovely weather we're having..." Alatar said aloud. Alatar traveled with a companion whose clothing dressed over most of her body. Even a hood was employed over her head. Only some her long black locks of hair rebelled against the hood to be blown about by the wind (as well as her face). "Best enjoy it while it lasts..." Alatar chuckled. Behind him he could hear yet more companions hustling to make it past a short incline in order to catch up to them. Their armor made their usual metallic clinking sounds as they moved.

"What did you say, Grey Wizard?" asked a woman clad in chain armor and belted longsword. She was fair skinned, with long blonde hair that is was tied behind her the nape of the neck, and slender of build.

Alatar couldn't help but feel a little compelled to turn and look. "I was saying that the weather will not hold for the best, Andrade. Rain will be upon us very soon... perhaps tonight. If not tonight, then in the morning to be sure."

The fourth companion grumbled his displeasure through his beard and smaller but denser stature. "C'mon then, let's be on with it. The more steps we leave behind us will be the less we need to take!"

"Yes, Gimli, of course. Let an old man rest a little, will you?" Alatar smirked.

"Hah!" Gimli said with disbelief. He shook his head but said nothing more. He looked around for any sign that showed him if Legolas was near... all he could make out was that he did pass through here some time ago.

Alatar noticed the dwarf tracking along the ground. The female rider upon the horse watched him too and remarked, "Isn't it unusual for a dwarf to be tracking?"

Gimli made a grunting noise, continued his observations, and ignored the woman. Alatar answered instead, "He's been taught well enough, Selene. He should at any rate, for he is taught by the same one he has been trying to outdo."

Gimli grumbled some more and said clearly, "If only he could swing an axe as well as he can track!"

"And if only you could track as well as you can swing an axe..." came a voice suddenly near their midst.

"Legolas." Alatar announced. It was uncanny how the smiling Elf could seem to just appear out of nowhere. Alatar asked, "Any sign of danger? What can you tell?"

"Wagons with lots of booted feet. All Men. I've not seen track or sign of Orc or Troll anywhere, not even anything more than a week old."

"Hmmm" Alatar pondered. Legolas could guess what Alatar was thinking - that not one single sign of Orc or Troll was strange. It was true that was what Alatar was thinking, indeed. Alatar decided that perhaps it wasn't so strange after all. They had neared Helm's Deep after all, and the Rohirrim did patrol these parts regularly.

"Let's continue then..." The companions traveled in a southeasterly direction until nightfall. It rained around the time of midnight.

* * *

Some time later Minas Tirith appeared into their view. Alatar breathed deeply a sense of relief that they had made it. He really hated to travel. He wished he could just plainly teleport around place to place - but that was not for him! Mortals could do that sort of thing and attract far less danger than he could. He briefly glanced at Selene for a moment. Yes, one day she may very well be doing just that.

"We will go and see the King" Alatar stated. "From there we can decide what course of action to take."

"Let's be careful not to be fooled by braggarts and glory seekers," Andrade warned, "There are plenty of those who'd like the opportunity to boast their deeds to everyone."

Alatar's forehead wrinkled in thought. "What would you have us do?"

The trio thought about it for a time as they walk on to the city walls. It was Selene who offered, "Perhaps we could post signs on parchment and hang them in public places?"

Alatar cleared his throat, making a scoffing noise and gesture. "Ridiculous. Every fool and braggart, not to mention drunkards, will then indeed come to us."

Andrade remained a moment in thought but then said "I like the idea." Before Alatar could say something, Andrade cut in with: "I'll be the judge of character."

Alatar rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. I leave that for you to manage. You are forgetting about the dwarves, remember?"

Andrade nodded her head. "I haven't forgotten. Perhaps they have managed to raise some hardy folk. Maybe even soldiers. It doesn't hurt to have a second plan."

* * *

"Brave and Hardy Folk Wanted!
Risk life and limb for Glorious Reward offered by the Dwarven Descendants of Moria.
Come and parley with Alatar the Grey of Isengard at the Old Guesthouse".

- - - - -

OOC: just a compiled post to make things clearer than as they stand in my mailbox. I shall email my post soon. Aeren, what are you doing?

IC:

[Compilation]

The air smelled slightly of low cost tobacco smoke and spilled ales. The din of The Wizard and King was not very loud nor very full (it soon will be in a few hours) and the windows had been opened to the spring evening air. It had been almost a week since any merchant's caravan came looking for mercenaries, and although your own personal money will keep you well for some time yet there is some concern growing among the other mercenaries here. Some have even left Minas Tirith for other places to find work.

Arval Varro had his work as a City Guard but even he felt a restlessness from his spirit. Hammering sounds came from the direction of the barkeep - he was at the section of wall devoted for job postings. It had been bare as of late but now he was nailing a notice on the wall. Almost everyone in the establishment came forward at once.

"Back ya goobers! Back!" the barkeep shouted. Apparently he wasn't done hammering but that didn't stop the rough and tumble mercenaries who frequented here. The barkeep gave up and pushed his way to the bar.

A tall mercenary clad in chain shirt with a belted longsword tore the notice off the wall. He glared at each nearby mercenary with open hostility. "This one's for my comp'ny", he said carefully and firmly. He dared anyone to tell him otherwise with his glares.

Culdor kept his pack and war hammer close at hand while he surveyed those in this establishment. As Culdor took a drink of his ale he tried to determine if the others of the mercenary's company was in the bar. He could see a common element among four of the mercenary patrons: they were all wearing a brooch that tied their capes. The brooch was fashioned as a dragon with wings spread. It was made of metal (perhaps ordinary iron or steel) and was unadorned with gems. Culdor turned to the others at the table and said, "That could be a worthwhile job for us on that notice. I'm going to go take a look. Mind my pack while I am gone".

Nursing her cider, Faerindel watched Culdor with a serious expression when he got up to confront the mercenary. "Be careful Master Dwarf, people look a bit testy tonight and we don't want the entire establishment down on our heads."

Culdor got up and walked towards the mercenary who held the notice. When he reached him the dwarf said, "Hey there laddy. What's so special about this job? My companions and I are probably better qualified for it. So hand the notice so I can see for myself and no one will get hurt". Culdor held out one hand for the notice while the other hand was ready to draw his warhammer had the chain clad mercenary decided on violent action.

Arval Varro had been watching as the mercenary issued his challenge and the dwarf stood up to meet it. Foolishly, in his opinion, as there were other ways to find about the contents of the notice than risking a confrontation, like asking the barkeeper. Still, he couldn't help but smile as the small creature squarely met the burning gaze of the man. Remembering his duty as a guard, he moved from his chair and walked towards the crowd . If things got out of hand, he would be in a good position to stop any newcomers from joining the fight, and maybe even stop it completely. Arval looked around as he approached, trying to guess which sides would form if anyone drew a weapon. He was not going to try to stop a free-for-all in the Wizard and King single handedly. Arval also observed the other mercenaries who wore the same kind of brooch that Culdor saw.

Bailey saw his companion heading for trouble, so he decided to do his best to tilt things in Culdor's favor before things got out of hand. He quickly stepped to the side of his rash dwarven associate and tried to keep events from going unnecessarily deadly. On the way he gestured to his companions to follow him, as he hoped to outnumber the mercenary with the paper note and hope that he saw the error of his selfish ways. Once he reached Culdor's side he did his best to act intimidating, yet tried not to provoke the big fellow in front of him to violence - or at least tried to be as intimidating as a Hobbit of his height could be. It might even provoke the mercenary to laughter and defuse the dangerous situation. "Ugh! An opportunity to get thrown in the lock-holes for a fight over a piece of paper. That's not one that the grandchildren are going to want to hear over and over, is it?" Bailey said.

Harm sighed for what must have been the tenth time in that candle-hour. This certainly wasn't turning into anything interesting! Certes the _journey_ to this cool northern land had been much more interesting: vicious pirates, colourful Haradrim merchants, even a meeting with an elf or two! But now that the journey had come to an end of sorts, he found that he almost wished the road could have gone on. Almost? He snorted in disgust! He DID wish it! This foolishness of lolling about with little to do was grating on his nerves, making him as soft as a Koronandian noble! He was Hathorian, born to rise up to any challenge, take it by the soft parts, and wrestle it to the ground!

Minas Tirith was an interesting place, it being so queer and all compared to his home (and even those of places he had seen in Umbar), but it was so . . . boring. No games, by the Sun! How could people live without games??!! He had heard this new king of theirs, Elessar, was planning on sending colonists west to another land, but that wasn't supposed to be for some time yet, and they only wanted people of Gondor to go! Of all the queerness, this was the end of it!

Once, upon seeing some lads playing in the streets (ah, how like them HE had been . . .), he asked them where a stranger might go for fun and excitement. The boys had looked at him curiously, one even so churlish as to demand where his _horse_ was! Upon confessing that he didn't ride and preferred to walk, the boys' thunderstruck expression had almost had him laughing out loud. One boy, perhaps a leader of the group, from his sturdy build and flashing eyes, said that his brother had told him there was much excitement to be had at The Wizard and King, a tavern on the second level of the city. The boy added that men of Rohan would be welcome there, even if they didn't have their famed horses with them. Puzzled about this "Rohan" and why he should be associated with it, Harm thanked the boys and followed their instructions. And now, here he sat, bored still. Bored enough to weep!

His boredom had lifted marginally after a group with what looked like bearded children came in! Craning his neck, he saw these folk were not children at all, but little men, brawnier than the Hillmen of Dushera who lived to the north of his land and maybe even smaller! Were they cursed, as ancient history had said the Hillmen were? Then he heard a melodious voice! An elf! Harm immediately perked up and looked around. There! With the little men! It had been too long since he had last met one of the Ancient Ones, and Harm always felt a little bit of home come to him when he listened to those gentle voices.

Harm got up and brushed himself off, holding his mug of ale. He walked over to the table where the elves and strange folk were sitting, avoiding but well aware of the one little man who seemed eager to come to blows with the drunken lout in chain. Harm Herotor was a tall young man, trim, with an athletic build. He was dressed in simple brown pants, shirt, and vest of well-made homespun with simple leather boots on his feet. He had blonde hair, trimmed partway over his ears down to nape of his neck. His skin is lightly tanned. He had a thin, clean-shaven face with a short, slim nose, clear blue eyes, and a generous mouth with thin lips. He wore no jewellery.

"Greetings, Travelers," this man said first in flawless Quenya then in Westron. "Please forgive my presumptuousness, but I am far from my home, and your company, with such wondrous folk, would be a balm to me. May I join you?"

* * *

Lennier sighed a little and closed the last book with disgust. The thieves guild did have a good thing going here where people like Lennier could learn their craft in relative secrecy and with access to the library. However, sometimes that access had to be restricted. Word of guild need wasn't enough on it's own - sometimes one had to give a little in order to gain a little. Lennier hadn't tried that route yet.

Lennier almost jumped when he heard the door open. He peered over some short shelves to see that it was one of the scribes entering. The scribe walked towards Lennier and placed a small parchment on the long table. "I thought you'd like to read this. It was hammered to the wall this morning. Since you wanted books on that Crown, well, I thought this should be of interest." The scribe backed off a few steps.

A voice cut in from behind one of the tall shelves. "Begone, scribe!" As the scribe quickly walked away, a darkly clad man with hooded robe stepped forward into view. It was one of the Lieutenants of the guild; the second hand men who ranked under the Master himself. Lennier recognized him as Lothor.

Lothor's craggy face peered out from the hood at Lennier. "Heard that ya got int'rest in that Crown..." It really wasn't a question as Lothor continued with, "There's others who got da same want for it. Told us ta leave it alone. I say we need a man on da inside. Find out things like what's it for? What can it do? No one tells da Guild it's business! So I'm sendin' ya. One more thing - no one knows yar goin' to do this, either. Had to act quick-like and make choices. No blessin' from da boss, if ya know what I mean..."

Lennier watched with amusement as the scribe retreated from the hulking Lothor. Lennier looked at the scrap of paper that the scribe had laid down on the table. It read: "Brave and Hardy Folk Wanted! Risk life and limb for Glorious Reward offered by the Dwarven Descendants of Moria. Come and parley with Alatar the Grey of Isengard at the Old Guesthouse".

Looking up at Lothor, Lennier said, "I suppose that I'll get no fee for this treasured information. At best, I'll have the boss' good graces?" He wryly remembered how the boss was displeased with how Lennier had skimmed extra profits from a local embezzlement scheme. Ah, well. It scored points with the boss' rivals! Without waiting for an answer (he knew the answer), Lennier got up, brushed past Lothor, and made his way to the Old Guesthouse.

Finally arriving, the fat dwarf announced between breaths, "I am Dorrd, son of Morrde. I represent a number of very interested dwarves who arrived here some days ago. There was talk about a dwarven scholar here and I had to be sure... Even if you don't work here we still need you. You know how to find information, yes? We're willing to pay!" Dorrd's stomach grumbled loudly. "Ach! There's my bones growing lighter by the second. I never do business on an empty stomach you know. Makes for bad business. I know a place. Let's go, and I won't take no for an answer, either... Help your kinsmen, will you?"

Along the way to.. well, Arden knew it was the seedier part of Minas Tirith he was in at the moment... Dorrd resisted answering questions and only citied his favorite dishes (which was many) and the best ways to prepare mutton. He had about gone into a tirade about bad quality wines when he said suddenly, "Ah! This is it!" Dorrd pointed at a sign that said "The Wizard and King". Probably honoring Gandalf and the King Elessar, no doubt...

*    *    *

"...My companions and I are probably better qualified for it. So hand the notice so I can see for myself and no one will get hurt". Culdor held out one hand for the notice while the other hand was ready to draw his warhammer had the chain clad mercenary decided on violent action. Once Bailey reached Culdor's side he did his best to act intimidating, yet tried not to provoke the big fellow in front of him to violence - or at least tried to be as intimidating as a Hobbit of his height could be. It might even provoke the mercenary to laughter and defuse the dangerous situation. "Ugh! An opportunity to get thrown in the lock-holes for a fight over a piece of paper. That's not one that the grandchildren are going to want to hear over and over, is it?" Bailey said.

Aeren moved away towards the wall beside a table with room for him to jump up onto if needed. His bow was tucked partly into his cloak, an arrow already knocked and ready to be drawn...

"Leave be these little ones, you, or you will have the worse of it," growled Harm, waving a balled and mailed fist under the mercenary's nose.

Lennier arrived at the Inn expecting to find men-at-arms who wanted to sell their services. As it happened, there was much more than that. Lennier decided to wait to see how events unfolded. He put a hand close to a throwing dagger.

"Uhhhmmm..." the chainmail clad mercenary stalled. His eyes wavered over to his companions, confirming the link with the brooches. None stood to be with him or lend him any support. One of his companions had actually turned around on him and cleared his throat. The notice-holding mercenary grinned. "Well then, seems I got a little hasty now..." He offered the notice to the dwarf but then let it slip from his fingers.

"Whoops" the mercenary said. He watched Culdor in between glances toward Harm and the rest, but especially Harm. The other mercenaries tensed, almost in unison...

The barkeep came around and tapped a mug loudly on the bar. "What'cha gonna do now, runts? No fightin' in my bar! Ya does it oot-side! Get on now!"

After Lennier had arrived at the Wizard and King (which was only one of the facets of the Old Guesthouse - there were other establishments) and took stock of the situation, more people yet arrived. One was a fair skinned human woman with long blonde hair (that was tied at the back of her neck) and slender of build. She was clad in chainmail armor and had a scabbarded longsword on a belt. On her back she carried a shield. She stopped and watched the unfolding development with her hand on the hilt.

Two rough looking dwarves clad in leather armor brushed rudely behind the human woman and came into the Inn, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. One was a balding but barrel chested dwarf who wore worn leather armor and a large mace on his belt. The other was an enormous dwarf of wide girth who breathed heavily as he walked (yes, this is Dorrd). He wore no armor but simple robes. He had a large belt strapped around his shoulders which held belt pouches. Behind those two dwarves was yet a third who appeared at the doorway (this was Arden Stonefister). The fat dwarf heaved, "Come on, we haven't got all day..."

The chainmail clad mercenary of the dragon brooch eyed his companions once more. He hissed, "Now!" The mercenaries withdrew their weapons from their sheathes, some stood up, others advanced upon the party...

Faerindel watched the battle unfold...

Aeren let loose an arrow. It whistled in the air and a split moment later the noise stopped. The mercenary who had been hounding Culdor (with the notice) had gotten an arrow pierced through his upper leg. He yelled out in pain. Blood poured freely from the wound. Bailey took the moment and half swiped and half stabbed his shortsword's blade into the mercenary's hip. His weapon belt, sliced in two, fell from his body. One of the other Mercenaries came around to pounce upon Bailey, thinking him an easy target. He was wrong! Bailey rapped the man's longsword away from him and parried the blade with his own sword.

Arval came around towards where Arden and the lady clad in chainmail, but his eyes weren't on them. He had attempted to sneak towards what seemed to be the Mercenary leader (the one who had taken the notice) but another mercenary saw him and came directly toward Arval. Arval deftly turned the merc's blade with his own, parrying the blow. Meanwhile, another of the mercenaries attacked Culdor and struck mostly Culdor's armor. The blade did not penetrate but it did bruise! Culdor shrugged it off as he swung his warhammer up at the mercenary leader...

Harm drove his fist upward towards the Mercenary leader's face. At the same time, another mercenary's blade had plunged into his side! Harm's own strike was weakened and only impacted upon the mercenary leader's face in a very minor way. Harm himself stumbled back a few steps but righted himself (he was now 10 feet away). Just as Culdor's warhammer swung upward, the mercenary leader's blade swung down upon the dwarf. This blade swiped at Culdor's shoulder. However, Culdor's warhammer impacted into the man's chest. The sound of bones breaking could be heard as the mercenary leader fell backward, and he landed HARD. Some of the patrons who were watching winced in imagined pain.

Lennier had begun to say, "Milords, the keeper of this place has asked you to take your fiery tempers outside. I suggest that you comply with his request..." but it had been too late - the fight already started. He noticed that there was only four other mercenaries who joined the fight, along with the one who seemed to be the leader... the one who was now on his back. Lennier spotted someone he did know - someone who was wanted by the guild, in fact. His name was Eldred. Wanted by the Guild for simply not joining the guild for the last three years. Eldred noticed Lennier staring at him. Eldred got up from his seat and started for the bar.

Faerindel had not yet joined the battle. However, when the back of the mercenary who attacked Arval presented itself, she made her choice. Her broadsword came out of it's sheath and sliced up the mercenary's leg, causing a shallow bloody line.

Aeren called out in a clear voice, "Halt this fighting, you are bested!" He drew back on his bow and took a bead on a mercenary. He said a little gentler, "Your life is short, pray do not shorten it further..."

Aeren's demands seemed to fall on listening ears... the mercenaries backed off a little, very cautious of their opponents and others around them. Some took quick glances at their captain.

Lennier, seeing that his attempt at diplomacy had failed, and highly conscious of his limitations in a straight fight, sheathed his blade. Spying Eldred's movement toward the bar, Lennier moved to meet him.

Aeren looked on, hopeful that this would be the end of the fight. He still scanned the room, in case of more trouble or if someone was getting too close to the party's possessions.

Culdor cautiously picked up the notice put it with one hand into a belt pouch while the other hand held his war hammer. He still kept a watch on the others in the bar while Culdor stood over the fallen merc leader. He said, "See laddy you should have given me a look at the notice!" Culdor made a quick visual assessment of the mercenary's injuries. Just by looking alone Culdor could not begin to gain facts about the leader's situation. The man's chainmail would not reveal much. The leader lay upon the floor and gasped through his teeth, weary with pain it seemed. The mercenary was bleeding, however, and quite profusely.

Faerindel looked around the room and checked to see if any of her friends were seriously hurt. For the moment they seemed to be holding up well, so she concentrated on her end of the fight, hoping that the mercenaries will give up now because their leader was down. Faerindel searched her memory for any reference to the curious dragon-shaped brooch the mercenaries had in common. She drew a blank for any remembered reference to a dragon design as seen by the mercenaries' brooches. Faerindel saw the brooches, as could anyone else with eyes to see. The mercenaries had openly and proudly fixed them upon their cloaks.

Harm cursed his luck! His first fight here, and he barely touched his foe! It must be the climate! Favouring his injured side, Harm moved back towards his foe, hands at the ready to catch and strike. The mercenary that Harm was after had taken a few small and tentative steps away from Harm towards his fallen leader and watched Harm cautiously. Harm could see fear in his eyes but also disciplined determination there.

Bailey Furfoot lowered his sword while he still kept an eye out for any threatening moves on the part of the mercenaries in front of him. "Culdor, I told you. This isn't the kind of desperate life and death struggle that gets recorded for our ancestors," Bailey said. He then pointed to the fallen mercenary leader with the point of his sword. "You," he said to the nearest mercenary, "tend to your fallen friend. He'll bleed to death if you don't see to those wounds. This situation has gotten out of hand quite enough for one day, don't you think? Let's see to it that it doesn't get any more so."

Arval nodded to himself when he heard the hobbit. Maybe he hadn't sided with a bunch of blood-thirsty troublemakers, after all. He locked eyes with the mercenary, who now was glancing nervously towards his fallen leader and spoke. "He's right, you know. You are outnumbered, and things don't seem as if they are going to improve. Put down your weapon. Now." Arval moved so the mercenary couldn't keep both the woman with the Eru sign and himself in his field of view at the same time and waited for an answer, without lowering his guard. Some people were just too stupid for their own good. The mercenaries backed off towards their fallen leader. The mercenary leader himself gasped in pain on the floor but began to move slowly now.

Culdor had already gone back to the table with the notice. Aeren hopped off the table he had stood on and apologized to those who had sat near it. There was two that had sat there but they seemed to have recovered their flasks of drink already as they were in hand. They gave Aeren a hesitant look: if he was a Man, surely they would have given him dangerous glares, but Aeren was an Elf. One who had used a weapon without hesitation. They both said nothing at all.

The bartender came around the side of the bar and into the patron area. His face was red with anger and in his hand was a heavy looking club reinforced with metal bands. It was definitely a weapon that meant business, not some mere carved tree branch. "I told yas to stop!! Get that man outta here!" the bartender pointed to the fallen mercenary. The mercenary had stopped moving - unconsciousness and shock had taken hold. "Brings him to tha Healers!" The bartender continued his rant and ordering: "You, you and you!" he said and pointed at Arval, Bailey, and especially Harm. "Yer bleedin' all over muh floor! Get 'is arse on a chair and wrap 'im up!" From behind Arval, the woman with the design of Eru upon her clothing spoke to Harm, "Allow me to tend your wound."

The mercenaries began to gather the mercenary leader into their arms while one of them began to bandage him. They cast wary glances out at the others, though. One of them vowed, "The Band of the Dragon will not forget this day!" The bartender turned to him and shouted, "Shaddap you! Had enough of yer troublemakin' and bullyin' around here!"

As the bartender made his rants, Lennier had made his way to Eldred. At first it seemed that Eldred was making to avoid Lennier. However, Lennier caught up to him as Eldred avoided making a scene. Smiling, Lennier greeted Eldred, saying, "Greetings, Eldred. You've got guts showing yourself around here. The boss would not be pleased. What brings you here?"

"Nothing," Eldred muttered. "Tell your boss I'm not interested in joining..." Eldred seemed to want to move past Lennier but then he seemed to get courageous. Eldred faced Lennier and pointed a finger onto Lennier's chest, making his points as he said, "I am a free man and I don't work for peanuts. I'll make my mark on who I please and the guild's fate be damned like it did with the Eye."

A nearby female voice purred, "I wouldn't say that about the guild..." The voice belonged to a young woman of long raven hair, full red lips and blue eyes. She had applied mascara to heighten her beauty. Her clothing was a black simple dress, but Lennier had noticed a slight hump under the dress' skirt that was the tell-tale sign of a concealed weapon, perhaps a dagger. Also, Lennier had also realized she wasn't there a moment ago. Eldred had allowed his sight to linger over her. Lennier turned to the woman but kept a bead on Eldred.

Lennier thought, "Well now, here's a tasty treat" as he leered at the young woman. "Well well, what have we here?" he said. "Who might you be, saucy one? I don't believe we've met, which means you must be new to Minas Tirith. I know most of the regulars. I'm Lennier, and this is my very good friend, Eldred. May we join you?" Lennier was lying, of course. He was trying to impress this beautiful lady with his "importance." However, he knew that the boss would probably send some flunky to make sure that he did his job as assigned. He found himself hoping that the boss did in fact send this incredible specimen.

*    *    *

Isillome walked up the steep path up towards the Houses of Healing. Idleness and something resembling boredom began to well within and perhaps was the reason that turned Isillome's attention to where her sister learned under the hands of the Healers. Besides, Anarsil did complain some nights ago about a lesson or two - "book learning" as Anarsil derisively named it - but both knew that her intuitive skills and application of her own talents had nothing to be desired. Not for a novice anyway. Anarsil excelled where other apprentices did not. Still, Anarsil did complain... what better reason than to visit? Isillome knew a thing or two about healing and she loved to surprise Anarsil with a tidbit of knowledge here and there. However it had been getting harder and harder to come up with something she did not know.

Isillome came around a bend in the path, and it thickened with trees and bush. Up ahead there was a large gazebo that was placed within the grounds of one of the first Houses. The trees and foliage was alive and actually quite loud with birdsong and insect noises. A scurry of four legged small animals was heard and then evidenced by the movement of parting tall grass and thin branch. Fallen leaves unmasked the sounds of the otherwise silent predators: Isillome heard and then saw a fox skulking across the path ahead, and then later it was a small snake that killed by paralyzing touch and constricting (too weak for large creatures like people, but tolerated for medicinal purpose: the extraction of the paralysis component). Isillome saw Anarsil in the gazebo. Anarsil was standing and talking animatedly with a tall Elf. The gazebo was still quite a distance away - out of earshot.

Nearby, a man struggled his way with crutches along a sidewalk towards Isillome. When she saw the man's face she had to choke her surprise. His lower face was scarred horribly. Half of his jaw was missing, and skin had grown over it with a large scar that somehow was more ghastly than the rest. The man looked away and covered his head by pulling up a hood. The man mumbled a wet-sounding greeting as he passed by. There was no malice in his voice.

Despite her first (and quite natural) reaction, Isillome placed her hand briefly on the man's arm as he passed and said, "May Nienna's tears wash away all our pains." She did not hinder nor attempt to stop him, she merely wished to let him know of her sympathy for his plight. She watched him for a moment as he continued on his way.

From behind Isillome came the words, "The result of the truest sense of an Orc 'maggot hole', as they are fond of calling it. The flesh-eating ones, that is. Horrible creatures... and I mean maggot and Orc alike..."

Behind Isillome stood a man less than 15 feet away. He had salt and pepper hair with a long beard to match. His eyebrows were a little long but not wild, and his nose did not come to a point - yet the man wore the Grey robes of one from Isengard - as evidenced with sigils upon the collar, hem and cuffs. He held a staff of metallic blue and silvery color, and atop that was an abstract bird shape.

The man smiled and introduced, "I am Alatar the Blue..." Immediately the man shook his head and corrected, "No, I mean the Grey. Alatar the Grey. I used to be the Blue but that was a long time ago." Alatar motioned towards the gazebo with his staff. "Your sister has quite the natural talent."

Bowing in respect, Isillome smiled in agreement. "Yes, she does. Even as a baby she was special. Her first smile healed a wound in my soul and her laughter can still chase away sadness. But I am surprised that you recognize that I am her sister. Most people marvel that we are even related much less siblings." She looked at the gazebo again. "But tell me, do you know who that elf is with her? I do not think I have seen him here before."

"That is Lord Elladan, one of the twin sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, brother to Queen Arwen. The brothers stay in Rivendell mostly and are now caretaking in it's affairs. Elladan had arrived here some time ago; when exactly I do not know. Elves are drawn to magic, you know... sometimes like a moth to candle flame if it is attractive and bright enough," Alatar explained. His gaze leveled upon the gazebo once more and smiled. "I recognize those who have traveled ways with the Rangers. Your particular story was given to the Scribes of Isengard and had already been known to the Elves. Moreso than that, you've been gifted by the Elves - this is why your story has been scribed. It is in Isengard's best interest to record as much as it can about all known magical things... especially items of power, no matter how small that power may seem...

There is a new matter that I must gather a new fellowship against. Before I explain it, tell me: do you still feel any camaraderie with the Rangers?"

[Isillome -New]
>"Ah now I see the resemblance. I have only met him once before."
>she replied having moved closer to get a better look at the elf.
>She grinned, remembering that night in the Hall of Fires with
>fondness. It wasn't often that a woman like herself could count on
>being in such company.

> >[DM- Old]
>> "There is a new matter that I must gather a new fellowship
>>against. Before I explain it, tell me: do you still feel any
>>camaraderie with the Rangers?"
> >

[Isillome -New]
Isillome frowned for a moment, "Anarsil and I left on good terms with the Rangers, although they were disappointed to see us go. I have nothing but gratitude and fondness for the whole of the Dunedain of the North. They took us in and raised us as their own, even though we are but distant cousins."

She looked northward and added with a small grateful smile, "But Captain Brandur gave me free leave to seek better teachers for Anarsil's gift of healing. We came south only because I had heard that the thoughts of all the elves have turned towards the West and leaving. Indeed, every elf I have met since the end of the War has been so preoccupied."

She turned to face the wizard, her eyes searching his as if seeking some answer in their depths. "Your words imply that there is already some new threat to the People of the West. What is it and from where does it come?"

[DM - New]
"The Elves are leaving, which leaves the land under the care of Mankind..." Alatar said, returning his gaze upon Isillome. "That was wise to seek better teachers for Anarsil. Melkior, the Old Enemy, no longer has Sauron. I am sure he is searching for one to be his new avatar..." As Alatar finished, a sudden breeze stirred and whistled through the trees. It was gone as soon as it came, and lasted only a mere moment. Alatar seemed displeased with the event.

"That makes me wonder. Yes, indeed," Alatar almost muttered as his eyes looked to and fro. Then he shrugged and faced Isillome once more. "As I was saying, those who have not the willpower may fall under the sway of Evil. Sauron may be dead, but that's not the end of it. Evil still awaits for those who look for it or fall into it's clutches. There are unresolved matters."

Alatar asked, "There may be an entrance into our world deep underground, where the Dwarves of Moria had dug too deep. I feel it in my bones: like an open wound is to the flesh, this underground entrance is to the land. I would be certain if I had seen it for myself but, alas, I have not. Also, by circumstance it seems, there are some of the Dwarven line of Durin here in Minas Tirith, with a diplomatic party. They plan on retrieving their heritage from the depths of Moria - the Crown of Seven Stars. Hopefully I do not need to remind you about powerful artifacts, like the One Ring... maybe you have heard of it? They need to be handled very carefully. This Crown is one such artifact of power."

[Isillome- New]
"I have not heard much of the crown, save that it was lost long ago when Moria was first abandoned by the dwarves." Isillome answered honestly although she continued with a hint of droll in her voice, "As to the One Ring, I doubt there are many now alive who haven't heard at least something of it, even if they care not to believe in such things."

She thought for a moment, "It is to be expected that the dwarves long for such things of heritage. Much has been lost of old, and not just by the dwarves, but of men and elves as well. But too much longing can blind one to the dangers that still lurk in this world. Do you fear that the dwarves will find this entrance you speak of in their search for the crown?"