LOCATION:

Castle Umbar, Courtyard of Marble

Unlike the dark stone outside of Castle Umbar, this courtyard has been made of a light colored marble. Even the stones pathing the floor of the courtyard are of beautifully polished, or rather worn, marble stones. The walls of the castle are also lined with marble stones and on the tops of the walls are gargoyles, great statues of both men and beasts which, in this case, act as decorative gutters, spouting water during rain.

In the center of the courtyard is a great statue of the current governor, seated astride a war horse as a monument of a small victory over the Haradrim. To the east, the steel portcullis leads out, into the tunnel approaching the gates of the castle. To the north and south the courtyard continues, however to the west are the great doors of the main building of the castle, where the court of the governor resides. The doors are overlaid with silver, and are made for beauty and extravagance.

Obvious exits:
* Silver Doors leads to Governor's Seat, Entrance Hallway - Foyer of Silver.
* North leads to Castle Umbar, Courtyard of Marble - North.
* South leads to Castle Umbar, Courtyard of Marble - South.
* Steel Portcullis leads to Castle Umbar, Between the Gates.

It is past noon now, and the high walls of the buildings shade the edges of the Castle's inner courtyard from the worst of the sun's glare. It is hot, nevertheless, a stifling day on which few would wish to exert themselves. Yet at one edge of the courtyard a couple of men, stripped to the waist in this heat, are working on a section of cracked paving. They are busy levering up the old stones; stacked against one wall is a neat pile of replacement slabs of palest marble.

Both workers are dark-haired - one shows the classic Dunadan pallor, but the other is swarthy-skinned, and a full head shorter. That is about all that is noticeable about the man at first glance, for his body is bent forward as he tries to lever one stone up.

[Pharazon:]

The silver doors at the end of the courtyard open wide and out steps Pharazon, clad in his armor glintering from the golden rays of the sun. Besides him two other men follow, richelly clad they are yet carry no steel and in their arms, they hold leather bound books.

"Find me Belzakhor and bring him to me! I have pressing manners to discuss!" The Prince says to one of them and with a deep bow, the man sets out towards the gates.

At the sound of the commanding voice, both labourers halt their efforts for the moment. The swarthy man raises his head to survey Pharazon with a curious stare, amber eyes regarding the Governor unblinkingly from a face whose features would be regular, even handsome, perhaps, were it not for the cloven lip that inevitably draws men's attention. There is awe there, yes, but something else also - resentment? Perhaps the fellow has been mixing mortar earlier in the day, for there is a smudge of dark volcanic ash across one cheek, and another, much larger swathe obscures his right arm just below the shoulder. His companion hisses something, and the swarthy-skinned man turns away to follow the other man's example and bow his head. "We must .... respect .. ... Governor! Wait until .. ... gone, ...," the paler man adds in a harsh whisper.

[Pharazon:]

"Who are they?" The voice of the Prince raises again the courtyard, as his sea-grey eyes fall upon the two men near the wall farther away. The other man looks towards their direction and remains silent for a moment before speaking, "Labourers my Lord," he says, "They are here to repair the walls." Pharazon nods and begins to walk towards them.

Pharazon's action clearly causes consternation, as the two labourers exchange a worried glance. To remain deferent, as they have no doubt been instructed, losing valuable work time, or to return to their task and possibly face the Governor's wrath? For the darker skinned of the two men, the decision is a simple one - he picks up the discarded crowbar, ready to start prising at the cracked marble once more, turning a sweat-streaked back towards Pharazon as he lifts the tool.

[Pharazon:]

"Hold!" A commanding voice echoes as Pharazon as he approches the two men. Before the shorter one moves, he continues to speak, "Who is the Master Mason you work for?" he asks.

<OOC> Pharazon says, "-as he"

At the question, both men must perforce look up, the swarthy-skinned one half-turning to regard Pharazon once more, the crowbar still in his hands. "It is Ur-ziran," he helpfully supplies, when it seems his companion has been struck dumb. His voice is accented yet understandable, deep but with a slight nasal quality to it.

"My Lord," the paler-skinned fellow adds quickly, galvanized into action by the swarthy man's lack of deference.

[Pharazon:]

"Princess Miriel mentioned some work that needs to be done at the King's Retreat. Mention this to Urziran and see to it that it is taken care off." Pharazon says simply to the two men and turning to his aid, he adds, "Send a messanger to the Manson with the information and notify the Retreat of their coming."

This instruction is met with a nod from both labourers. The swarthy-skinned man's lip twitches slightly as he listens, shifting his grasp on the crowbar so that it rests on the ground before him, but keeping his body slightly turned so that his left shoulder is foremost.

"What sort of work, my Lord?" the paler skinned labourer dares enquire, after a short, rather uncomfortable, pause.

[Pharazon:]

"You shall be told once you get there. Now carry on." Pharazon answers back and with that he turns around and begins to walk towards the barracks with the Attache following him. "Has anything else been..." his voice trails off as the two men walk away.

There is a visible lessening of tension as the Governor starts to walk away. The taller, paler labourer lets his shoulders sag, whilst the swarthy-skinned man's knuckles relax their grip on the crowbar a little. The dark-skinned labourer places the tool back in position and levers once more, muscles straining with the effort. This time the stone comes free, and his companion reaches forward to steady it. Rhe two men lift the slab and begin to move it out of the way without another look at the departing Governor.

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.

PHARAZON

Tall and fair is this man. An air of regal bearing has he, yet he is strong of limb. Stern is his piercing glance of the darkest grey. No thoughts can be gleened from their depths, so dark are they. Hair dark as a moonless night covers his head and falls just to his shoulders. On his brow is bound a mithril circlet, set with a single white gem. Hale he seems and noble as his forefathers yet a hint of rash pridefulness also is there in his features, so nobly lined.

Fine and lordly is his attire. A surcoat of rich white hue and plainly decorated, simple yet elegant, tops a suit of richly-wrought mail. Overall he wears a cloak, of a deep charcoal - so fine it must be made with the finest cloth, it falls so evenly down to his boots. At his belt a sword's hilt can be seen. It's hilt is intricately carved with many runes and in it in is set a sparkling clear gem, that when the light catches it, sends facets of many-colored points of light to reflect either outdoors or in.