LOCATION

Main Deck of the Adunabar

Measuring a full 80 feet by 20 wide is this strong and maneuverable war ship. Three slim masts rise to cradle the webbing for sable sails of the darkest hue. Above it all on the primary mast flies the crimson and black silk of a mythical dragon. Off of the stern flutters another kind of flag, one of amber gold with a small black ship overlaying a red hawk with wings just opening to take flight.

A pair of ready ballista sit upon the shrewdly crafted deck, cargo hatch just aft of center. In the other end there is a door leading down to the sleeping quarters and the dinning hall. Above in the rigging upon the forward and aft masts are archer's nests and look out points. A smaller deck rises at the stern with the door to the offices and Captain's quarters. The hull at deck level is plated with overlapping scales of steel, each one as wide as a man is tall and painted red. When she's under sail, sails like great black wings of a mythical dragon, she is fast and very maneuverable.

Obvious exits:

Overboard

Three weeks of sea already and now the small fleet is in the middle of Belegaer, no coast, nor cap giving the slightest idea where, in the middle of nowhere some sailors chuckles, trying to frighten the few not used to sea travel. No birds have been seen since two weeks and the life aboard is quiet, boring. A slight swell stirs the sea and crashes steadily on the bow of the tall and long ship, all sail set to catch the marine breeze.

Right at the bow of the princess ship is Marazon, as far as the bulwark allow him, he is alone, despite the presence of at least two people or more that are knonw to him, namely his sister and the maid he carried on the ship.

Shadows are lengthening rapidly as the sun descends towards the horizon.

To one who has not travelled by sea before, the gentle swell seems anything but gentle. A slender shape emerges from the hatch that leads to the sleeping quarters, and stands by the side of the ship, shivering slightly. A few wisps of dark hair stream past her face as she stares straight ahead, while whitened knuckles grip the combing tightly. Her face is pale, and every now and then she swallows convulsively, yet despite the chill of the sea breeze and the darkening skies she does not return below decks.

In the shadow of the forecastle, a lone figure stands. He is a contrast of styles; his face is soft, his eyes hard, and his clothing conservative. He gazes out with narrowed eyes at the sea as it crashes against the sides of the ship.

The sun slips below the horizon and the sky begins fading into night.

Roziliel, for her part, is not only used to sea travel, but quite enjoys it. Making her way to the deck of the ship from below, she lifts her face to the salty breath of sea air and draws the light woven shawl closer to her shoulders turning to the westward to watch the fading colours of twilight yielding to dusk. Her lips part slightly with her smile, and looking towards the bow, sees Marazon there. The other two are seen but not immediately recognised, and with a curious glance to the maiden who seems overcome by sea travel, and an offered smile, Roziliel crosses the decks towards her brother. "Good even, Mara," she offers, looking once westward once again. "What weather are we afforded for this even's journey." She looks back doubtfully over her shoulder to the maid. "It seems some are not given to the gentle swells of the sea as they are..."

"Good eve Rozi" Marazon replies, tearing his gaze from the flowing and golden glory of the sun sinking into the ocean; just the top of its fiery rim now visible. "You missed the sunset, it was gorgeous as ever" he says and moved by sudden elan of fondnes wraps a arm around her shoulder and steals a kiss from her cheek. He chuckles as he stands back, looking now over her shoulder "Aye, you seem not, it's good, we must have this in blood" he smiles and leans againt the wood.. "Tomorrow will be fine, there is no clouds in view... But this swell omen nothing good.. There shouldent be... We're going into wind"

The maiden notices Roziliel's look, and a faint flush of rosy pink begins to suffuse her cheeks, the first sign of colour in the pallid face. She turns her head away, muttering under her breath, "I cannot be ill," as if attempting to convince herself. She starts to turn her head away, but halts the movement, gazing with a hint of interest in her green eyes at the figure standing there - a tall man, plainly dressed. This momentary curiosity is almost her undoing, for as the ship swings into the wind she loses her footing, to tumble across the deck - fortunately away from the side. She raises wide, terrified eyes to watch as the sailors begin to swing the boom round.

From his hideout beneath the forecastle, the man sees all. He watches first the one called Marazon, second Marazon's sister, and third the sickly maiden. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he strides forth from the shadow. His legs move swiftly across the rolling deck and he sees used to the conditions brought forth by the raging waters.

Smiling at her brother's affectionate greeting, Roziliel's grey eyes sparkle, unhampered the rolling waters that sway and shift the ship with their insistence. "Tis hard to believe that I have not been to sea for so long," she says with a shake of her head, though grins. "And better yet to see I still have ability to enjoy it without becoming ill." Again the grey-blue gaze sweeps to the maiden near the railing. "But it seems that one is not faring well--" And at that very moment the poor maiden tumbles to the planked deck. "Marazon!" she says in surprise and alarm.

"Poor little thing" Marazon mutters as the deck brutally shifts under all their feet. Himself is cut in his speech and grasps the wood bulward tight, his left hand keeping a solide hold on Roziliel shoulders, even as she cries and slips of his grip "Rozi my hand !" he shouts, lowering it to her as she starts rolling. Now the deck rises under their feet pushing them upward and the ship wood cracks lke an old man joint.

The rise and fall of the ship is slower now, yet the range of the motion increases. It is as though the Adunabar is set at first atop a grey-green glassy hill, then in the trough of a steep-sided valley. Some sailors continue their efforts to adjust the sail as the ship begins to buck and heave like a living thing, while others hurry to make sure that all is fast on deck.

"Out of my way," says one brusquely as he passes the frightened maiden.

She shrinks back into an angle between the hatch and a storage chest, looking more miserable than ever, her gaze directed towards the bow.

Even though Roziliel is pitched unceremoniously towards the decks, she manages to find balance and catch herself upon one of the railings near the ship's bow. But more concerned does she seem for the seasick maiden, who seems unused to such buffetings. "I think she is in more need of assistance than I," the young woman says to Marazon, motioning to the frightened passenger that shrinks near the hatch and storage chest and looking back up to her brother as she finds her feet and balance once again.

"Mistress," says the sharp-eyed man as he approaches the frightened, "do not be frightened by the brisk nature of the sailors. The sea is a rough mistress, and they are coarse for it." He extends a hand to her, a long-fingered and slender thing.

Marazon nods as he regains his balance "This one was rough" he simply says and moves, swaying oddly as he does walk, to Roziliel. "Yes poor her" he says and looks dagger at the sailor, sayig nothing but glancing not less. "Seems she has her knight servant already" he points with a certain mirth, watching the young man help her.

The maiden shakes her head. "It is not the sailors...," she begins, then clutches at the man's hand as the ship lurches again. "I thank you, sir," she manages to force out, between alarmed glances round the ship, though the light is fading fast and it is hard to see clearly. "Tell me, since you seem to be knowledgeable - is this a very great storm, or are such things common at sea? It seems worse than before, somehow..."

The knight-servant gives a slight shrug of his shoulders; the only sign that he moves at all is the rustle of the fabric of his shirt. "'tis not a great storm, mistress. But it is enough to cause problems for even the most seasoned of sea-farers." Then he smiles and bows slightly at the waist. "I am Niluinzil, a diplomat of Umbar. I will bequeath my knowledge of the seas to you, if you will have it."

Roziliel nods, grateful that someone has finally come to assistance. "Perhaps I should share with her some seatraveller's tea. It seems it might benefit her, for she looks rather pale..." The mariner's sister looks back out to the seas, the blackening waters choppy and restless. "Well, tis fortunate that there are no clouds to harrow up a storm, at least," she says. "I have never /quite/ gotten used to storms at sea, no matter how oft I've travelled."

"It is justly cause there is no cloud, I can say there was or is some wind" Marazon grins. And his glance flies back to Roziliel as she speaks. "Yes go... I think she will do her the best, even again sea sick there is no heal.. "

The maiden stares up at the man who had aided her, and breaks into a timid smile. 'I'd rather not have to require such knowledge,' she says, momentarily flustered. 'It seems that the sea and I are not such good travelling companions.' Another long swell hits the ship, and she looks down as she struggles to keep her footing, before adding, 'Oh, how rude of me. My own name is Gimilphel, and,' her voice drops to a near-silent murmur, "I am Galenrien's apprentice."

"Then let us not discuss the sea!" responds Niluinzil with a broadening of the smile. His eyes and his facial features, it would seem, are more at odds with one another than the sea and Gimilphel. "I have heard little of Galenrien. She is a healer, if I am not mistaken?" The inquiry is accompanied by an upraising of the brow.

Smiling to her brother, Roziliel makes her way across the decks--holding loosely to the handrail--until she approaches the other two. "Good evening," Roziliel greets, offering a faint smile to the man and woman who speak in conversation. "Forgive if I intrude..." the maiden says, loosening the pouch carried about her wrist. "But I could not help but notice your unease," she now says to the other maiden. "I have a tea that is helpful for seasickness," she offers. "A remedy oft-used by sea-travellers. Would you care to try it?"

Marazon follows his sister to learn of the unfortune of the young Gimilphel. a kind smile bathes his lips, compassion stressing their natural mirthful curves. "It is very good... I till ease you for a while.. I am surprised Galenrien didnt tell you this, she isnt seasick herself too.." and he directs the intensity of his glance at the young man, "Aye she is, and well known I see" he adds zith humour.

Gimilphel nods miserably in answer to Niluinzil's question. "She is a healer," the maiden replies, "a very great healer of wounds, and it is an honour to study with her. Yet -" she breaks off, noticing Roziliel approach, closely followed by another person, before murmuring, her words directed at Niluinzil, "If Galenrien knew I could not even cure the sea-sickness, what would she think? I don't dare tell her." Turning now to Roziliel, blushing, she replies, "I thank you, but I fear it may do no good. I have already tried several things, but to no avail." Gimilphel's young face is grave as she contemplates her mistress's displeasure, heedless of the fact that she herself is no longer swallowing after every breath of air.

"I have been named a great healer of wounds upon occasion." Niluinzil says with a single note of wry laughter. He glances towards the sibling pair and gives them a slight bow, before returning his eyes to Gimilphel. "But the wounds that I repair require no needle and thread, and they are of a more onerous nature than the wounds of the flesh."

This utterance by the gentleman spurs Roziliel's curiosity, and looking to the man she smiles vaguely. "Such a riddle you have offered," she says, quirking a brow, and letting the pouch drop back to her side. "What wounds would they be which you speak of?" she wonders, glancing back to the sea for a moment.

Niluinzil regards Roziliel closely for a moment before he speaks, "Those of a diplomatic nature, mistress. There are men in the colonies who do not take well with our laws and taxes, and it takes a smooth tongue to assauge their violent opposition." His eyes glimmer brightly against the black of the night and he inclines his head to get a different perception of the woman.

Meanwhile Gimilphel gazes up at Niluinzil, a questioning look on her face. "I don't understand, sir," she begins, before halting and giving a gentle laugh, "Why, how stupid of me. Your work as a diplomat, of course." She at last notices Marazon's look towards Niluinil, and it seems that she realizes she is still holding Niluinzil's hand, for she lets go, a faint flush still apparent on her face in the wan light of the crescent moon that floats above the horizon. She looks to Marazon, asking, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The mariner's sister smiles wanly at Niluinzil's words, nodding her head as she returns her gaze from the seas back to him. "Truly spoken," she says, her own gaze flickering with a remembrance which also causes the corners of her mouth to flinch in a barely perceptible frown. "Laws and taxes only some of which they take exception to. I, myself, have not been too long in Umbar," she says, glancing kindly to Gimilphel and smiling with the next thought. "Galenrien is a talented healer. And a good friend. I am Roziliel," she discloses finally, glancing at her brother. "Marazon is my brother." The smile broadens.

"I ventured to Umbar as a merchant," begins Niluinzil with no small amount of rue tinged his tone, "and now I find myself a diplomat of the Governor. But it is honest work and wearisome; peace cannot be attained through treachery nor through sloth." Then he turns to Marazon and gives the man a slight bow, "Well met, Marazon brother of Roziliel."

"I shall endeavour to meet this Galenrien," muses the diplomat aloud, "for I have a little interest in the arts of healing."

Marazon hadnt noticed their hand clasped, but now Gimilphel flushes and turns to him he rather blank gaze; he notices the quick motion, arching a brow but saying nothing more. "I did say that Galenrien wasnt prone to seasick", he repeats, listenning the diplomat carefully ere talking.

Gimilphel nods as she hears Marazon's reply. "I've been trying to stay out of her way," the maiden admits, "that is, Galenrien's been so busy - working, and then..." She trails off, looking to Marazon and then quickly away again. She sways slightly as the deck moves, and then steps back a pace to avoid notice, listening silently to the others' conversation.

"You'll perhaps be happy to know she is on this boat, she decided herslef to board at the last time" Marazon says with wry irony and glee. "You will soon... W. She usually take a stroll on the deck during the evening, when the sun is less hot" the Uinendili says, leant comfortably on the ramp of the stairs leading updeck.

Marazon's words about Galenrien spur Gimilphel into action. "I should go, then," she says quickly. She looks pleadingly at the sailor. "Please don't tell Galenrien about me being seasick," she whispers to him, obviously embarrassed. She turns to the other two, saying, "Thank you, sir, for your help - and you for the tea, lady." With that she begins a precarious crossing of the deck as she heads for the hatch leading to the passenger quarters.

Participants:

MARAZON

Standing well his two rangas is the man before you. He isnt in his teens anymore and still his main features keeps an air of lasting youthHis dark hair is cut medium long, and is often in a mess, still the wind seems to have no hold on the steadiness of the light blue glance of the dunadan. He usually doesnt wear any beard and keep it shaven but at times, in fact often, a black veil covers his chin and cheek. His fair skin is lightly tan at least his face and hands which arent fragile at the first look. Flat cheek bones and a somewhat straight and thin nose marks his face. Despite his height and build, he carries himself with a certain nimbleness and a sure foot.

He is bearing a pair of black pants tucked in rather low sea boot of supple leather surely drawn of some marine beast since it has blue reflection on and salty water doesnt seem to wear it. A light deep purple long sleeved shirt linen with black design hangs to his mid thigh and is tied at the wraist by a belt of black leather. Often he wears a finely wocen cloak of deep indigo wool around his shoulder, covering his chest and hanging behind him to his back knee while letting his neck free.

GIMILPHEL

Before you is a young woman of Numenorean race. Green eyes sparkle in a heart-shaped face, framed by dark hair that is normally tied back in a long braid. Her skin is pale, save for the faint rosy flush of her cheeks, which deepens when she is embarrassed - a state of affairs wont to happen far more often than she would like. She wears a dress of deep blue material, whose soft folds hang loosely about her slender form. The design is plain save for delicate embroidery at neckline and hemline in threads of silvery white, shaped to represent stars. Her earnest expression and wide eyes lend her an air of youthful innocence.

NILUINZIL

Bright eyes, grey like the hardest iron, shine forth from sockets of orb shape. Hair the color of the raven's feathers falls from atop the pale brow before it ends roughly at the nape of the neck. The face, colored pale and aquiline in outline, has a blithe cast to it; yet the gleam of the eyes belies that soft feature. A hawkish nose juts out from the face, and completes the shape of the face.

He wears a finely woven shirt of crimson linen which is clasped at the hollow of his throat; the sleeves billow around the pale forearms. A pair of black trousers, which also billow after the shirt ends at the black leather belt, hang also from his rangy form. To complete the ensemble, a pair of well-tooled boots cover his feet; they are in superb condition and are of the finest craftsmanship.

ROZILIEL

Tall and fair of features and complexion, the maiden before you possesses a look of inquisitiveness not easily concealed in her grey-blue eyes, which sparkle as fields of ice touched by rays of the winter sun. Her long hair, lustrous and sable-dark, falls in thick, natural waves to the small of her back, and is most often left unbound.

She wears a fitted silk gown of dusty blue--of a fine fabric that rustles softly with each step and shimmers faintly in the light. The curved neckline is embroidered in a pattern of intertwining silver and golden leaves, pale and perfect in their ornamentation, so that the only jewelry worn in addition is a small teardrop pearl necklace held by a delicate silver chain. When needed, a dark grey cloak is worn, Long and lined with silver satin, it is held in place with an elegant sapphire and silver swan clasp.