======================= The King's Reckoning ========================
IC time is: < About 08:26 PM >
IC day is: Earenya
IC date is: 12 Urime
Moon phase: First Quarter
IC year is: 3184 S.A.
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RL time: Sun Jun 10 20:06:37 2001
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LOCATION: Romenahl Square
Paved with cobblestone, the square lies wide and content-looking
before you. All the traffic that enters or leaves Umbar through its
busiest Eastern Gate must go through here, and thus the Romenahl is
rarely empty. Before dawn, scores of wagons from the countryside
line up the square on their way south to the market; messengers and
adventurers form a small trickle that goes the opposite way, and
occasionally an army marches East, overruling all other traffic.
Two pillars on the eastern end of the square support the Eastern
Gate fortifications; the road out passes between them. Streets run
in all directions from the Romenahl, making you wonder which way to
turn next, for Umbar is the city of much business and many
pleasures. All the area surrounding the square is known in Umbar as
Eastgate.
Contents:
Finannriel
Marazon
Obvious exits:
Northwest leads to Ar-Batan: Magistrate.
West leads to Gimilbatan: The Star Arches.
Southwest leads to Harbatan: At the Leather Shops.
To The Gates leads to In the Shadow of Eastern Gate.
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[Finannriel:] A salt breeze wafts through the cobblestone square,
brought of seaward winds that also billow the graying clouds
overhead. Though it does not look as if it will rain, the air is
damp and encouraging of warmer dress in the early evening. Maybe
that is why the lady Finannriel is shivering, gowned in emerald
silk and cloakless as she is. The long reddish hair is ruffled with
the breeze as well, and she raises a hand to keep it from her face
as she speaks with a cart-vendor who is selling trinkets of glass
and of silver. The perfect lips are lifted in a smile as the young
woman reaches for her moneypurse and takes out several coin to pay
the vendor.
[Marazon:] Marazon moves through the square, the seawind ruffling
his hair, makes a pretty dark mess of them. Yet he seems a bit
hurried, walking fast and holding with one hand his cloak least the
winf would engulfs in. Marazon halts by the row of vendor, his
glance scanning their shelves as he walks before till he halts by
Finannriel, not without giving the woman an appreciative glance,
yet is eems he is more interested by the ware to be sold there. He
grins as his eyes ends on a trinket the like she chose. "It's very
nice.... Nice opals and silver..."
[Barzag:] At this hour the square is still busy with traffic,
mostly incoming: workers returning from the fields and gardens just
outside the city wall; labourers returning from a long day's toil
repairing the walls themselves. The steady stream of passers by
parts into two as it flows round the square's central area. One
group of labourers in particular stands out; these men are shorter
of height than most, swarthy of skin; their clothing is ragged and
unkempt, as if they have little care for their appearance. They are
sweat-streaked and dusty, and most of the citizens give them a wide
berth. One of the labourers halts as he enters the square, raising
his head to face into the cooling breeze, looking across to the row
of vendors as he does so.
[Finannriel:] The smile broadens, the mist-gray eyes sparkle as
Finannriel turns to the man who has made the comment. "You like
it?" she says in soft voice, accepting the tiny silver dish
encrusted with opals from the vendor. "I do as well. It will be a
nice addition upon the mantle." She holds the trinket forward for
the other to look at, and perhaps take for closer inspection.
Though at the moment it seems the young woman is all but inspecting
the young man with the sea-breeze ruffled hair. "I am Finannriel,"
she says in a seamless flow of words, regarding him a moment. "Have
we met before...?" The group of laborers is noticed by the woman,
the one laborer that stops as well... but given no more than a
cursory glance for the moment, as Finannriel's attention is more
drawn in interest to Marazon and his answer.
[Marazon:] Marazon turns and let hs finer play with the small
object of silver. He chuckles breifly and nods, "Aye I like it" he
grins and takes another look up at her, at the place she would wear
it on her mantle. "Well met lady Finannriel, I think we have, now I
hear your voice, I am sure..." Marazon smiles effortlessly. 'You
were offering your help to the healers last time... A noble gest,
many people need help" he sighs yet and catch the group of worker
moving toward them. "I will take this one, sir merchant" he adds,
hurried to finish. He holds out apouch and counts two coins of
gold.
[Barzag:] Another of the group of labourers glances back towards
the man who had stopped, and shouts something in their guttural
tongue. The fellow who had halted, easily marked out from his
fellows by his height and the fact that he has a malformed lip,
starts and gives a single-word reply. He begins to move forward
towards his kinsmen. However, he is forced to halt his progress to
give way for a covered wagon. The wagon is heading towards the city
gates, against the flow of traffic, and its driver seems to have
little heed for pedestrians.
[Finannriel:] Recognition alights in Finannriel's eyes as Marazon
mentions the healers guild. "Yes. Of course," she says as her hands
clasp about the purchased trinket. That is why I found your face so
familiar, then." The gray gaze settles upon his. "Not a face easily
forgotten, I might add," is offered in a whisper as the smile
broadens with the faint flush of her cheeks. The disturbance of the
shouts behind her draws the young woman's glance away, and she
takes a step back from the vendor's cart. With that step, a
loitering figure makes its move in the dimming evening light,
jostling Finannriel with a heavy 'bump' and causing her to drop the
trinket in her hands. As the silver dish falls to the ground, the
figure scoops it up quickly, weaving to the center of the street in
the direction of the gates.
"Wait!" Finannriel calls, the incident happening in a blink.
Defiance flashes in her gaze, and set upon pursuing the young
thief, she rushes several steps forward, heedless of the covered
wagon that looms ahead.
[Marazon:] Marazon smiles politely and replaces the pouch inside
his belt. His eys plays on her face a few seconds as she examines
him and he disturns his glance at her first blush. And all this eye
play is enough for the thief to do its mischief "Hey you" Marazon
calls, as surprised by the sudden move of the man than Finannriel.
"Stop' he callas once and then lepa in Finannriel steps, bumping
into another man... Focusing on the back of the thief, he runs
toward the gates
[Barzag:] The Hillman moves out of the way instinctively as a small
shape hurtles towards him, yet a shove from an offended Umbarian
sends him staggering back into the figure's path. The Hillman
labourer is sturdily built, and manages to remain standing, but the
young thief goes flying, prized trinket slipping out of one
outstretched hand, and rolling back towards the covering wagon. The
Hillman glances towards the small shining object - and halts, only
now noticing the young woman who seems determined to place herself
in the cart's path.
[Finannriel:] Where blush had faintly touched the woman's cheeks
before, defiance has flushed them to a reddened color, and the
properly polite maiden is shown for her stoic determination, if not
reckless pursuit as she continues after the thief. "Stop! Rogue!"
She raises her voice after him, grey eyes wide. Her left hand grabs
at the folds of her silken skirts to raise them back from her feet,
and as the young thief is sent sprawling and the flash of silver
seen to fly as well, Finannriel shifts her steps towards the
trinket, only now seeing that she has put herself in the very path
of a recklessly driven wagon--
[Marazon:] Indeed the unfotrunate thief is snet flying high by the
crash on the stout hillman. The rogue, an hillman himself, tough
less heavily build than Barzag falls on his feet with an instinct
born either of the cat either of long year spent practicing such
sport in the street. Wincing as he looses his prize, he scampers
off, ere one of the threes catch him.
Just behind Finannriel, Marazon watch the thief takes his best
choice and curses... Yet time isnt to long words for the cart
closes dangerously. The amazed drivers pulls on the reins,
shouting, but the horses seems maddened. Catching one of the arm of
the lady, Marazon halts her willy nilly and pulls her back to him.
[Barzag:] The passers by finally begin to react to the drama
unfolding before their eyes. One man turns to the driver, shouting,
"What do you think you are doing there, man? You nearly ran the
lady down!"
Others are murmuring about the thief in their midst. Whispers of
"Thief!" "Miscreant!" "Stop him!" run through the crowd, though
none seems sure of exactly what the thief looked like - a dark
fellow, some begin to mutter.
The Hillman labourer stands still through all this, either not
understanding or not heeding the murmurs around him. His eyes
remain fixed on the young woman who has so fortunately escaped
injury, their gaze one of aloof curiosity.
[Finannriel:] With the maiden half-halted in her steps, the
sailor's grasp upon her arm is enough to yank Finannriel out of
harm's way, though the abrupt attempt sends her stumbling back upon
her feet to fall heavily against Marazon. Her heart racing with the
chase and the near-miss of the cart, it is all the young woman can
do to regain her former composure and calm her gasping breaths.
"Thank you," she utters to the sailor, her face mere inches from
his. Standing back from Marazon and smoothing her unruly hair with
a trembling hand, she looks across the way to the Hillman who had
caught the young thief, though it seems she still looks to see if
the pilfered item still lies upon the street or has been taken yet
by another. "My thanks to you, sir," she calls across the way to
him, her voice still affected and shaken.
[Barzag:] The Hillman's eyes widen briefly at the woman's comment.
He looks down to where the trinket lies upon the dusty earth, for
it has miraculously escaped being crushed under the wheels of the
wagon. Walking forward, he lifts the article of silver and gems,
which somehow seems shrunken in in his broad hand, holding it out
to the woman at arm's length. " You look this?" he asks
in broken Adunaic.
A man in the crowd suddenly states loudly, " A dark
fellow, you said? Here he stands right before us!"
[Marazon:] Marazon heaves as he manages to pull her back, holding
her upright till she regain her balance. Smiling, he nods, watching
the fiery lock of her hair curls in her neck. "Dont mention it" he
mutters back and releases her arm. "Aye, thanks sir... The thief is
gone but where is the silver... Ah here" he says just as Barzag
retrieves it. "Thanks doubly... and " he grins recognizing him,
"You use of good adunaic, my congratulations"
[Finannriel:] Taking the offered gem-encrusted dish from the
Hillman, Finannriel utters another 'thanks' to both men, taking a
long-drawn breath before to steady her words. That the thief seems
to have escaped does not seem to matter as much as getting her
property back, and with still-trembling hands Finannriel delves
into her moneypurse, taking out a sum twice the value paid for the
silver item and holding it forward to the Hillman. "Such action on
your part deserves well this sum," she says. "Please accept it as
my thanks," she asks.
[Barzag:] At the words of Marazon, the Hillman, Barzag lifts his
head to look at the taller Dunadan, his lips twitching in an
approximation to a smile. " I try learn Adunic," he
responds, obviously pleased.
But when the woman holds out some coins to him, the Hillman stares
at her in consternation. " What for I use metal?" he
asks. " No need - I work, receive food in return. No
wish ..." he trails off, obviously lacking the Adunaic words to
express himself clearly.
Meanwhile, the man who had made the remark about the 'dark fellow'
is shaking his head in disgust. "So this is how they reward
thieves," he remarks to a companion. "Perhaps I should take up
thievery myself." He winks.
[Finannriel:] But Finannriel is clearly confused by Barzag's
refusal of the offering. "But this shall buy you food," she says,
lifting her chin a little with the utterance. "It will buy you much
food." Looking to Marazon, the grey gaze imploring, she asks. "Can
you not explain it to him? That this is food if it is exchanged?"
Still her palm lies open with the coins gleaming upon it. And to
those around who whisper in doubt and jests, Finannriel darts a
cautioning, if aristocratic, glare.
[Marazon:] "With this you can have lot of food, you give this to a
merchant and he will give you food... You can trade it for
elsething too... Clothes... Silver trinklet... or to have a
dunedain teqch you better adunaic" the seaman explains quietly,
frowning once at the joke heard in his back. "Take it" he says and
picking up the coins places them in his palm. "Take it... With this
gold, you'll live better... I hope so at least."
[Barzag:] Barzag still appears rather uncertain, though at the
mention of clothes he looks down at his worn and filthy leather
tunic, and a strange expression flits across his face - surely not
shame?
" You wish me take this?" he asks Marazon, a look of
concentration on his face as he sounds the foreign words as
clearly as possible. " Then I take." He closes his palm
around the coins.
Looking at the auburn-haired woman, he says earnestly, "
I thank. I much thank," and once again the corners of his mouth
curl up in what must be a smile.
[Finannriel:] Grateful that the man has taken the coins, though
still well-ruffled of the ordeal, Finannriel smiles faintly to
Marazon, clutching the opal and silver dish in her hands. "I should
like to find a place to sit," she says, something of her
aristocratic air returning in the request, her chin lifting to its
previous 'refined' demeanor. The maiden seems still shaken, for
while her voice has calmed considerably and the color of her face
returned to a normal hue, she still trembles slightly.
[Marazon:] Marazon thinks a second and nods to Finannriel. "And be
careful, this is a lot of money, dont let merchants trick you,
other coins exists, less valuable then these ones... Made of copper
and silver" Marazon precises, lacking time to enter details. " I am
sure one of your comapanion knows about" he smiles and watches the
man. "Continue to work you adunaic" he finishes and then turns to
Finannriel. Offering her a loop of his arm, Marazon nods, "Do you
allow me ?" he asks "There is a tavern not far from here... If you
wish to have something to drink to forget amd rest..."
[Finannriel:] As Marazon continues to speak to the Hillman,
Finannriel watches both closely, nodding in response to the
sailor's words. "Do find out his name?" she breathes in a whisper
to the Dunadan, slipping her arm into his and leaning slightly
against him as she does so. "And a tavern would be fine," she says
softly. "As long as it is fairly quiet?" Her words drift as lightly
as the salted breezes.
[Barzag:] Barzag's expression changes to a frown as the
implications of what the seaman has said sink in. Thinking out
loud, he wonders, "You Dunadan. You teach me Adunic?," hastily
adding, "I sorry, No mean speak too much," to the two citizens of
Umbar who are now very obivously engaged in a private conversation
of their own.
[Marazon:] "I fear I am not a good professor, my friend... I'll ask
somebody in the library, dont go there yourslefm they would brand
you thief.... What is your name ?" Marzon says, swinging around
Finannriel arm to face Barzag.
[Barzag:] " I Barzag," the Hillman responds quickly. He
hesitates, and adds, " Barzag uHalmar," chin lifting as
he pronounces the second word. " What your? ,,, no, what
is your name?" He looks questioningly at Marazon, and the young
auburn-haired woman.
[Finannriel:] "Yet there would be others to teach you," Finannriel
says to the Hillman as Marazon finishes. The question posed by
Barzag in turn seems to catch the woman off-guard, though the
hesitance is slight, and with a nod of her head, she answers, " I
am Finannriel. I oversee my father's business here in Umbar."
[Marazon:] "I am Marazon son of Halrador" the seaman introduces
himself. Feeling the lad leans on his arm. He tilts his head at
her. "Milady ?" he says interrogatively. "Barzag" he continuesm
giving the nae a more adunaic sound. "I know where I can find you,
if we happen to meet on the wall again... Or come to the healing
houses to se your friend"
[Finannriel:] "There are many teachers and scribes in Umbar who may
help you," Finannriel adds, though seems to look longingly past the
square, taking note of the waning light as dusk takes over. "Use
those coins to secure a teacher." Her tone is encouraging, though
bears also the merest hint of impatience.
[Barzag:] The Hillman shakes his head slightly at the torrent of
words that pours forth from Finannriel's lips. He has been
repeating the two names soundlessly to himself, twisted lips
shaping each word carefully. It seems that the name 'Finannriel' in
particular caused him some difficulty, for he repeated it several
times.
" I glad meet you," he eventually says aloud, to both
Umbarians. " I much thank... no, I thank much."
He directs his next words to Marazon. " I work on wall,
yes. And sometimes go healing houses - not allowed go often,
overseer no like." He draws breath, and finishes, " I
need go now."
[Marazon:] "With a bit of money to the overseer, you can go easily
I am sure" Marazon says, not so loud and smiles. "You can buy lot
of things with this, make good use of it Barzag" he smiles and
turns toward the lady. "Would it be a hint of ... fatigue I felt
milady ?" he says with good humor. "I will be over there tomorrow I
think" he last says and starts to moves away.
[Barzag:] Turning from the pair of Umbarians, Barzag begins to plod
across the twilit square, in the direction in which his fellows
have long since vanished. The man who had made the sneering remarks
earlier gives Barzag an ugly look, and whispers something to his
friend in a jeering tone, something that fortunately the Hillman
can neither hear nor understand. Head down, Barzag pushes his way
through the crowd, which mysteriously seems to part in front of him
- perhaps the sweat and grime of an honest day's toil disgust the
refined Umbarians? Whatever the case, they clear a path for him to
leave the square as quickly as possible.
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Participants:
FINANNRIEL
Soft grey eyes like morning mist gaze out from the flawless
features of a face well defined with high cheekbones, a narrow,
delicate nose and full, rose-colored lips. Her long hair is a crown
of glory, tumbling in rich cascades of darkest auburn which, when
blessed by the sun's light, shimmer a fiery sheen of red. It flows
free to her waist, and is never restricted from breath of wind or
seaward breeze, except for two emerald and gold hairpins set
carefully in place.
Aristocratic is her style, or at least could be presumed from what
she wears. Nothing less than silk for this lady, and in colors that
rival the richness of gems. A gown of deepest emerald is worn this
day. Fitted tightly of its bodice, the rounded neck cut low is
edged with delicate tucks of lace the color and irridescence of
seashells. More lace is gathered in a narrow edging upon the
wrists. The full skirt barely skims the ground as she walks, with a
whisper of silk and the perfume of flowers left in her wake.
MARAZON
Fair skinned, tow headed and blue eyed, this dunedain stands a
little inches above the commone height of a Numeneroan. He is
strongly built, moving with ease, be him armored or not. His nose
is strong and long, his chin, free of any beard, volunteer and a
hint of sadness bless the arching of his blonde eyebrow.
Small plates of steel closely sewn on flexible leather cover his
chest and limbs. Each is a little mirror in itself and reflect the
light, living kaleidoscope on the body of the seaman. A jeweled
belt, wearing the insignias of the Sea Kings, supports along with a
broad baldric of dark leather, the heavy scabbard of a not less
heavy broadsword. High boots designed not for riding but for long
walk on the slippy deck of ships reach as far as his knees, where
the steel armor halts. 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 and often,
a cold and threathening bow wrought in black steel is in his hand.
BARZAG
At first glance this man appears a normal specimen of the
Hill-Folk. He is tall for his kind, perhaps about six feet in
height, and his shoulders are slightly hunched in the manner of one
who spends much of the time looking downward. His skin is swarthy,
weather-beaten from long days spent outdoors, his build rugged.
From the man's slightly stooped posture, you deduce that he is used
to carrying heavy loads. His feet are encased in crude leather
moccasins, worn and scuffed. He wears trousers of some coarse
greyish material, although it is hard to tell whether this is the
cloth's original colour or the result of fading. There is a tear
across one knee that has been inexpertly mended. A mass of unruly
dark hair hangs loose about his shoulders, brushing the top of his
tunic, which is of a soft, supple leather; it has been subject to
prolonged wear, judging by the shiny patches and ingrained creases,
and surely cannot last for much longer.
Your gaze wanders upwards, towards this man's face - and halts, for
therein lies the reason for the distrust and fear he inspires in
many. His chin is hidden by a short, dark beard, carefully trimmed.
But his upper lip, upon which only a few sparse bristles grow, is
cloven in the manner of a beast, and twisted slightly so that his
mouth appears to be set in a perpetual sneer. Above this, his nose
is long and straight; amber eyes generally regard the observer
coolly from beneath lowering black brows. Were it not for the
wrongness of his mouth, he might even be considered handsome, but
his disfigurement prevents this.
(
geocities.com/halwynofdale)