LOCATION:

Umbar, the Garden Belt: Clearing

The gardens bloom to the south of the clearing, blocking the view after just a few paces. A gust of westerly wind surrounds you with their smells and sounds, delicate and pleasant, - and a subtle salt twang is mixed to them. The clearing lies at the bottom of a small vale, with ground rising steadily west and northeast of you; a small stream waddles through the grass importantly. Several trees surround the clearing, taller and older than most in the area, laying a spell of serenity over it.

No road crosses the clearing, but a trail runs to it from the south and one more deserving to be called a road - from the northeast. In that direction, outlines of structures and walls become apparent as the road climbs a gentle slope.

Obvious exits:
Northeast
South

[Barzag:] It is late afternoon, and the summer air is stifling. The July sun beats down upon Umbar and its environs, and even the hint of sea breeze cannot do much to dispel the heat. Yet here in this leafy glade outside the city walls there is some measure of shade - small wonder that some have chosen to seek respite from the heat within its shadow. The peace is broken by the faint rustling of the leaves as the wind stirs them, and the hum of insects. And by something else - from within the trees comes an odd sound, a staccato tapping, strangely rhythmic - stone against stone, perhaps?

[Marazon:] The sun let a bright layer of sweat on Marazon's brow. The man is armed.. Something rare for those who know him.. A long bow of mirroring dark steel with a small handle of leather and a quiver of long feathered arrows equips him.. Geared for war ? Surely not for nothing else hints at the soldier but rather a simple civilian taking pleasure in hunting or bow sport.

[Barzag:] The odd sound continues, its maker either unaware of the approaching Marazon or undisturbed by him. Tap-tap ... tap-tap ... There within the oaks to the west of the path something moves, lower than shoulder-height - a beast? But then what manner of beast would be clothed? A blue-clad shape shifts behind the bole of one broad tree. Perhaps some weary soul has sat down for a moment's rest?

[Marazon:] "Perhaps Marazon is deaf or perhaps he attributes the repetitive sound to some woodpecker but he doesnt seem to care. Trying his bow, the string sings in the morning and soon an arrow is notched on in one fluid motion and let loose at the tree, not so far from Barzag. Shtak ! and again, the sailor fires again...

[Barzag:] The shifting blue shape freezes as the bowstring twangs and a feathered shaft speeds towards the tree. The tapping stops, and the figure springs to a standing position, but by this point the Numenorean has already set the second arrow to bow. This time the loosing of the arrow is at least observed, although there is little time to react as the second shaft embeds itself in the tree bole not so far from the first. And the blue-clad shape resolves itself into a broad-shouldered man wearing a blue tunic, dark-haired and swarthy skinned - none other than the labourer Barzag, though what he is doing outside the city at this time of day is anyone's guess. He stares at the Dunadan, lips pulled back in a contorted grimace that could be either fear or anger; in his raised right hand he holds a rounded stone. As yet he says not a word.

[Marazon:] A third arrow is notched as the figure of the rhevain appears and about to loose again, Marazon halts and frows. Long muscles flexes along his forearms and he considers him and the lifted statue "Good day. You should move aside, an accident can happen so swiftly."

[Barzag:] For a long moment the Hillman does not move, staring at Marazon uncertainly, a sheen of sweat on his brow that could be caused by more than the heat. But when the Dunadan does not release his third arrow, he slowly lowers his arm. "You wish to cause accident?" he queries. "You should look before you let the- the arrow fly." There is a hint of anger in his tone, and he steps carefully back towards where he had been sitting. There on the ground, lying where he has dropped it, is a crudely-shaped piece of dark stone, and to one side of it an old scrap of cloth, on which the waste material has been painstakingly gathered. He steps protectively in front of these as he asks Marazon, "Why do you use the arrows in this place? You will find no beasts here." His twisted lip lifts slightly.

[Marazon:] 'Who said I was looking for beasts ?" Marazon wonders aloud and with a distracted glance at the hillman, bends his bow again. "Stand aside I tell you.. The forest is full of place to sculpt, but this tree is one I use often to practice", he says and squints.

[Barzag:] "And can you not use this tree?" - Barzag points to another tree almost identical to the layman's eye - "or this one? Must you disturb one who is already here? Will your arrows only hit on that one tree?" Yet even as he speaks, he bends to gather his belongings together - clearly he expects that the Dunadan will force him to leave one way or another.

[Marazon:] Marazon rolls his eyes. "I wont repeat it twice, grace me of your silence and I choose another tree.. Continue to disturb my morning and it's your bottom I'll use as target." Marazon half threathen, "I hope you have some steel trousers... Do we halt there ?"

[Barzag:] Judging by the state of Barzag's worn trousers, it would hardly take an arrow to make a hole in them. Indeed, a good kick might prove just as effective ... if less damaging long-term. Yet the Hillman does not turn, but mumbles, "I go, I will not disturb ... but I must get my things." The cloth containing the sharp chips is carefully folded; the rounded hammerstone dropped into one pocket of the tunic, a couple of implements of a whitish material that could be bone or antler into the other, the part-worked core tucked under one arm and a couple of thin blades balanced in his left hand. Only then does Barzag straighten to his full height and turn to face Marazon, to see whether he will meet with patience or an arrow in the nether regions.

[Marazon:] "What are you waiting for ? Do you need some sting ?" Marazon asks, chuckling, the bow resting in his hand, not quite armed. He eyes one of his arrows, "That would make certainly some hole..."

[Barzag:] Barzag notes the unbent bow, follows Marazon's glance to the arrow - then gives a shrug. "I thought you did not wish to hunt today?" he says, the right side of his mouth curling up as he does, a glint in his amber eyes. "Or is it that you seek not beasts but stoneworkers to shoot?" The curl of the lips fades and he says more earnestly, "Your arrows are sharper than mine, it is true. And the ..this.." he gestures towards the bow, "is not like any I have seen. I did not think metal would bend." He frowns thoughtfully, adding almost as an afterthought, "see, you have your special tree now - and I do not stand there to spoil the aim." He moves several more paces sideways away from the tree.

[Marazon:] "Bows of westerness" Marazon nods and silently, unlike a bow of wood, the steel bends sligthyl before releasing with tremendous power its shaft right between the two already embedded in the tree bark. "Have a nice day Barzag."

[Barzag:] "Bow." Barzag mouths the word to himself, although he stops to watch Marazon loose the next arrow, a slow smile curling across the right side of his face once more as he appreciates the weapon's power. "You use it well," he dares the comment, nodding towards the bow. "Good day." The Hillman stands hesitant for a moment, as if debating where to go, but then trudges off towards the southwest, further away from the city, shaking his head at the vagaries of Numenoreans.

Participants:

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.

He wears a tunic of dusty blue fabric, which appears to be in fairly good condition still. The sharp-eyed might notice some sort of mark on his upper right arm, although the short sleeve of his tunic has been pulled down as if to conceal this. His trousers are of a dark material, faded now in many places. 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.

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.