Gimilbatan: At the Fountain

The way is paved with bright, white quarried stone - about fourty feet wide. A few buildings rise on the southern side of the street, while the northern side is occupied by a park adjacent to the very centre of the city. Amidst the greenery there, a fountain shoots forth a clear stream of water to an impressive height... the great basin beneath it stores the water, and upon seeing an orderly line of people filling their buckets with it you perceive the fountain is not for entertainment only. The water is clear and bright, coming from a great depth beneath the earth.

To the northwest, a tall obelisk attracts your attention; to the east along Star Street, silver bridges as if of mist dominate the landscape. That way lies Eastgate, the destination of much traffic from here.

Obvious exits:

* South leads to Azralen Street.

* Northwest leads to Obelisk Square.

* East leads to Gimilbatan: The Star Arches.

[Marazon:] A rather odd package is laden on Marazon's shoulder, a chair. And the man moves with his peculiar luggage in the cold, scarfed and cloaked from the chill winter by blue and thick wool. Halting by the fountain, he breathes a bit, a plumet of smoke escaping his thin lips, but he doesnt plunge his ands int eh water, betting it would be colder than the air itself.

[Barzag:] A watery sun shines down on the square, illuminating the man and his odd burden. A westerly breeze gusts every now and then, whipping up trails of spray and creating rainbow colours. However, for the majority of folk, both encumbered sailor and rippling rainbows go unnoticed, as they go about their daily business. The water may be cold, but the labourer Barzag doesn't seem to care, as he steps up to the basin to take a drink in his cupped hands. For some reason he is not working on the castle walls this morning.

[Galenrien:] Walking from the opposite direction of the chair carrying man, comes the healess Galenrien - a basket covered with linens in one hand. She obviosuly comes from or goes to some errand. Her step is brisk. That step slows however as she sees before her the form of the Hillamn Barzag. Her smooth brow creases slightly and she pauses in her step. She watches for a moment adn then stpes up to him and clears her throat softly.

[Marazon:] Marazon looks like the worker, with such thing to carry. Peering at the water clear of the fountain mirroring the form of the rhevain. "Isnt it cold ?" he asks out of the blue, his own silhouette looming near the edge of the fountain in front of Barzag like he could have at the bow of a ship a night of storm. And as he utters his question, he turns slowly his head to acknowledge a lady walking not his but Barzag's way.

[Barzag:] Barzag lowers his head to drink, then wipes away a few drops of water from his beard. He starts as Marazon addresses him, then answers absently, "It is cold. But not so cold that thirst is lost." His attention seems to be elsewhere - his brows are drawn together in a frown, as if he were contemplating some problem. Hearing the throat-clearing, he turns his head to see who it is, then the frown clears away and the right side of his mouth curves up in a smile. "Lady Galen-ren," he addresses the healer. "I am glad to see you. I did hear some talk that may be ..." he trails off, perhaps unsure of the word. "Odd things," he ends, with a shrug.

[Galenrien:] Galenrien smiles at Marazon - reassurance in her eyes - maybe or she seeks patence. Still her gaze leaves his quickly, and not even a glnace to the chair, does she give. Plainly her thoughts are occupied elsewhere. To Barzag, goes the grey eyes and they are curious. " Good day Barzag. Odd things? Barzag. What do you mean?"

[Marazon:] "Ah good" and even as Marazon drops his own hand to the water, he halts it, his knuckles skimming idly the surface. He stares at the lady healer so far from the New Town. Catching her glance, he nods silently with a flutter of eyes, and returns his gaze that hindered and embarrassed Barzag so much to him, yet nothing seems threathening in the sailor behavior.

[Inzilgadin:] Cloaked against the cold, a tall Man wanders into the square, clearly at odd ends, not really looking one way or the other, a troubled look on his face. Several passersby brush him, but he simply gives way for them, not even looking to find out who pushed him from his way. Seeing the Fountain, he seems to shrug and starts wandering toward it, weaving a slow way through the traffic.

[Barzag:] To Galenrien: Barzag hesitates, then lowers his voice to a mere nasal murmur. "Gimilvel did tell me that the lady Rozil-el is ..lost. I ask some people at the docks if - if they see such a one. And they have not. But in the - the place in the city where I live, your folk have their own name for it," for a moment his voice is tinged with bitterness, "a rich woman was seen some days ago, in a wineshop of a sort. There was a fight, they say, but no-one saw here leave. I do not know - I myself did see a rich woman in the quarter a few days ago, and she was not Rozil-el. Her I should recognize now." He hardly seems to notice Marazon's gaze at all.

[Galenrien:] Galen worries her upper lip with her teeth as she listens to Barzag. She nods slowly and then sighs. 'Thank you for asking about, Barzag." She mumurs, but audibly. "It is good of you to help as you can." She glances again to Marazon, as if to see what reaction he has - if any to the hillman's words - if he even heard.

If one were looking at her hand on the basket handle, one would notice that her knuckles are white as if she were gripping it far more tightly than needed to hold onto it. She says finally to the seaman. "Any word at all, Marazon?"

[Marazon:] Marazon keeps his glance on Barzag and his hand resumes its motion and wets his lips from the little water picked in the fountain. His other hand rests ont he chair back and he frowns, straining his ear to listen but to no avail most of the words escaping him.

"I didnt hear what you said, but I caught the name of my sister. I have no news of her" he states, his glance suddenly making the fountain water boiling so much it is cold and dead.

[Inzilgadin:] "Sister? You still do not know what has happened to your sister?" A voice at Marazon's elbow says bitterly. Perhaps were you easier to find, I might have been able to tell you what has happened to your sister. You do still want to know, yes?"

[Galenrien:] Galenrien watches Marazon reply, with sad eyes. She shakes her head and looks about to speak, for she takes a breath and opnes her motuh - but before she can, a new voice breaks into their conversation. She turns swiftly to see who speaks, for she doe not recognize the voice...

Her eye widen at the stranger and she stares at him - her look incredulous.

[Barzag:] Seeming to consider his duty done once he has spoken to Galenrien, the Hillman steps back a pace to allow the two Dunedain to continue their conversation uninterrupted. He turns his gaze on Marazon once more as the sailor speaks, this time paying the man more attention - and suddenly his eyes widen. "I-" he begins, then stops, shrugging his shoulders as he murmurs to the world in general, "It is nothing." But perhaps a hint of puzzlement is revealed by the tiny crease appearing between his brows. With the arrival of Inzilgadin, that expression changes however, from puzzlement to something more akin to resentment.

[Marazon:] Marazon nods to Galenrien silent reply and turns to the voice echoin near him. And the chill of his eyes touch his voice when he replies to the rude words, the limit between ice and fire ever thin in this man. His knuckles turns white on the chair back, and if his stance has something comic being so out of place in midstreet, his tone is less. "So you know ? Tell me then" he hisses and sighs and he looks annoyed, "Lady, please restrain me before.. before.." he repeats, boiling.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin shrugs at his reception, his face a bitter mask of fear and resentment to match theirs. "I have been looking for you both for days now, trying to tell you what I learned. I would have just passed you by just now, had I not heard Barzag mention going down to the Quarter. He's learned much.." and here, the attache nods to the Hillman, "but not nearly enough. She's been taken and I am now trying to figure out who. The shopkeeper remembers her very well, and a for a few pennies, even described the lout who followed her out the door. But, he had never seen the ruffian before so had no clue where I should go next."

[Galenrien:] Galenrien frowns, her gaze still on the newly arrived man. "But who are you?" She shakes her head, sending her hair flying out around her face. "I must go. I have a sickchild to see. Barzag? Marazon, you will tell me if there is news?" With a last harried glance to the stranger, she walks hurriedly away.

[Barzag:] Barzag listens silently to Inzilgadin's statement, though at the insinuation that any favours he has called in for the sake of Roziliel - or should that be for the sake of two of Umbar's healers? - are useless, he scowls. He does not bother to answer the man, merely regards him and the sailor Marazon steadily, with a hint of suspicion, though he nods gratefully to Galenrien as she leaves.

[Marazon:] "I heard you Inzilgadin" Marazon simply replies, taking in each the word of the man. She has been abducted again then and she would be in the poor quarter most surely." he says summing up and suddenly, perhaps to Inzilgadin fear, he shoulders his chair. "I will go down there Inzilgadin, thanks you for your... swiftness to warn me." he says trying to keep a mask of politeness. "Thanks you too Barzag" he says and adds, his glance first on the Rhevain and his tone is surely more sincere ere his glance wanders ont h leaving figure of Galenrien with a small approving nod.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin watches as the woman departs, frowning at something, then turning as Marazon responds. "The intent actually was to have at least you and I,.." here he turns to include the Hillman, "and Barzag, if he will, go down there. Three can search more effectively than any one and I have already eliminated some parts of the quarter in my own searches." He studies the mariner. "Our mutual disregard might well be itself desregarded, in the event, of course."

[Barzag:] Barzag stares at Inzilgadin, twisted lips pressed together in a thin line, as the man presumes to include him in the conversation. "I help those I trust, not those who lie," he says to the diplomat, the insinuation plain. "And you would not be welcome there. I am not welcome there. He," he breaks off to nod at Marazon, "might be able to pass ..."

[Marazon:] "We'll see Inzilgadin, we'll see" Marazon says, to win some time to think. "Rhevain" the voice of the sailor rises again, gaining in strenght perhaps and assurance "I remember you from this day you saved a lady of us, not so far from here. My sister is in danger, help me find her and you will be rewarded, do not stand among my foes." he says, veiling the threat barely.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin turns fully to face the Hillman. "If you think I have lied to you, Hillman, then speak your mind as to how. When--" he pauses as Marazon temporizes him and then continues with his offer. He subsides altogether, stepping back a pace and folding his arms, glancing back toward the southeast, a foot beginning to tap.

[Barzag:] As Marazon refers to an incident long past, Barzag frowns in thought, then gives an "ah" of sudden recognition. Obviously he had not remembered Marazon, then. "I do not wish to be your foe," the Hillman tells the mariner in reply, this time addressing him directly.

Then he looks once more to Inzilgadin, "Perhaps lie is not the word - I am clumsy with this tongue - but only a few days past, you said you did not know where Rozil-el was, did not even seem to care where Rozil-el was, you did care only for some 'errand'. If others do not trust me, then I do not trust them also." He shrugs, adding perhaps unwisely, "you are like most of your kind." He lowers his head for a moment.

[Marazon:] Standing still with his chair shouldered, Marazon nods with a smile at Barzag reply "Be it so then, if you hear of rfind something tell me or the lady Galenrien, it's the same." the sailor says and words about Inzilgadin covers the fury Barzag's last should have sparkled. "I would tend to believe him Inzilgadin, you will explain me this in detail, to which point your errand and my sister are interwined. Later" Marazon says and steps away, swaying slightly under his burden.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin snorts at Marazon's abrupt departure and the extent to which he totally ignores him. Shaking his head in both disgust and resentment, he says in a sharp and defiant tone. "Well, you have much of the farm yet in you, Hillman. It is not our way to be open with others, particularly when the subject is delicate. I sorrow that you cannot be sensitive to this, but I am sure you can learn this, if long you live among us. I must go. It will never do to have that..mariner...find his sister ere I do." He takes a step and turns again, his eyes sharp as razors. "I will trust you with this, that perhaps you may cease your judgments: I am very concerned with the lady Roziliel. I bear blame right now for her predicament. Twas on my errand that she was taken and it will be by my hand that she is freed. And mayhap, that hand will someday be placed in mine. I know not how that shall be and surely she shall have the final word, but I owe amends and I will make them. Good day." And turns, stomping off down the hills towards the Refuse Quarter.

[Barzag:] Barzag watches Marazon's departure, thoughtfully raising a hand to his lip as if he ponders something. But then he must once more look at Inzilgadin as the diplomat speaks. "I hear your words," he says, though he does not comment further. Twisted lips twitch - in anger? in indifference? It is hard to tell. "And yes, I hear that you know more than you say openly. If you have the means to free the lady Rozil-el, then that you should do - now. Why should you need help?" And with that he moves back to the fountain to take another drink, as if to wash away the bitterness from his voice.

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.

A shiny shirt of black silk, ample sleeved and broided with red and purple, tin thred of gold, silver and green are embroidered on his chest in branch of Oiolare, the evergreen tree of Numenor only Uinendili sport. Gold buckled leather tighten around his wraist. The shirt hangs very low on his knees and fashion leather boots mounts to mid calf. What is seen of his legs is covered by some tight material of sable. Clasped asymetrically on his right shoulder, a long cape of light red nearly pink, cutting and contrasting with the dark gear he wears underneath.

BARZAG

For many, their first impression of Barzag is of a person of little importance in the world. His swarthy skin proclaims him a foreigner to Umbar, one of the race of Men known as Hillmen. At about six feet in height, he is taller than most of his kind, and this is complemented by a strong build; his well-muscled frame and calloused hands show that he is no stranger to hard work. Indeed, his shoulders are slightly stooped as if from carrying heavy loads. A mass of dark hair hangs to just above shoulder level, shadowing his face, and he wears a short beard, usually kept neatly trimmed. It cannot, however, hide this man's main distinguishing feature - a malformed lip, cloven and twisted so that his mouth appears to be set in a perpetual sneer. Above this, his features are evenly balanced - a long, straight nose, and a pair of amber eyes set beneath dark brows, bitterness all too often visible within their depths. Currently, the flesh round his right eye is discoloured and swollen, and a dark swathe of bruising runs in a semicircle round the left side of his jaw.

His clothes are scruffy, nondescript: trousers of some dark material, fading in many places, and a tunic of brown cloth that was obviously of good quality when new but is now worn and threadbare. The sharp-eyed might notice some sort of mark on his upper right arm, half-hidden by the short sleeve of his tunic. On his feet are a pair of scuffed leather moccasins. And he has one more item of clothing - clearly a valued possession. A grey woolen cloak, old but still serviceable, protects his form in inclement weather, and is carried rolled up and slung across the back at other times.

GALENRIEN

A young woman of Numenor stands before you. She walks with the proud steps of her heritage. Although her form is lithe, and her movements graceful, she is not exceedingly tall. Her auburn hair is held back from her face by two braids woven to the nape of her neck. Woven here and there in the braids are silver threads, which seem to catch the light when she moves. Curls are always escaping, often causing her to brush them back from her face with deft fingers. If one looked closely, one would notice her large and expressive gray eyes have fine lines in the corners, which seem to suggest smiles and laughter, even if her expression is serious. Her lips are full and generous.

She wears a simple form-fitting dress of a silvery-blue silk, and on close inspection, one can see that the embroidery visible at her left shoulder and around her hem line is of blue flowers entwined with leaves on a vine. Pinned at her right shoulder, the emblem of the Healer's Guild can be seen. Around her neck is her only piece of jewelry, a gemstone of sea-blue, hanging on a silver chain that rests in the hollow of her throat. A small green satchel made of leather is hung from a strap, which is usually slung over her shoulder to hang down her back, or if her hands are busy, she ties it at her waist to keep it from getting in her way.

INZILGADIN

A tall human, of highly noble birth but on first view of uncertain age. His light blue eyes are clear and a silver overtone makes them bright at all times, even when drawn close in anger. Dark hair frames an unlined face, drawn back into a silver thong thrust through a black leather catch to hang down between his shoulderblades in a single pony-tail. The face is well-marked, with a prominent, though somewhat sharp nose, echoed in a sharp chin. Upon a slim frame, his garb is tan, set off by a black leather belt and finished in black boots, well-shod.