The King's Reckoning
IC time is: evening
IC date is: late February
IC year is: 3188 S.A.
LOCATION:
The Nurn Commons
The plains give way to the largest of the scattered settlements of Nurn. A well maintained dirt road leads you northeasterly into this modest village. Though most of the buildings here are small and simple, the are well made and fairly pleasing to the eye. As you enter the center of Nurn, you are surrounded by the various small shops of the Nurnians, as well as a larger and more ornate temple of worship.
Obvious exits:
* Stables leads to The Nurn Stables.
* Temple of Nurn leads to Temple of Nurn.
* Northeast leads to The Village Square.
* The Iron Forge leads to The Iron Forge.
* Nurn Plains leads to Nurn Plains.
Dusk was falling in Nurn, the sun's blood-red orb sinking to its rest amongst the shreds of tattered cloud that clothed the peaks of the Ephel Duath. The western horizon was wreathed in fire; and around the buildings that ringed the Commons, shadows were gathering. A knife-like wind blew sharp and keen from the north-east, bringing with it dust and gritty ashes, and the smell of suphur. The Mount of Fire was active again, travellers said.
By the doorway of the stables, a single figure. A man, dark-haired and swarthy-skinned, his clothes little more than rags. As he raised his face to the setting sun, its crimson rays illuminated twisted features, a cleft lip above which two amber eyes stared blindly, windows to a soul filled with bitterness. A figure recognizable to many in this place as the tanner's slave Barzag.
A shout from nearby. "Hoi, you! Finished mucking out the stables?"
Barzag turned towards the source of the sound, the tannery worker Gerhan. "I nearly finish," came his response, in heavily accented Easterling speech. "I am thirsty - need water. Then I finish."
Gerhan snorted, then - but his attention was only half on the slave, for there by the Temple stood a figure far more worthy of his notice, the Temple servant woman Irlana. It was no secret that Gerhan had a fancy for her, nor that she returned it. And so his response was a prosaic, "Water? Here you are then. Just be sure you're quick about it!" And with that he tossed a half-empty waterskin towards Barzag.
Barzag caught the skin deftly, lifting it to his mouth as he entered the stables. But once inside, the empty skin was carefully folded, and after a furtive glance to make sure the place was empty, a wooden panel backing one of the stalls prised loose. The waterskin was laid carefully in the hollow space revealed therein, where several other items already lay, and the panel carefully replaced. Then, only then, did the tired slave snatch a few moments of rest, sitting down upon a bale of straw and burying his face in his hands. There was none to see, he was alone now.
Alone - always alone. There had been other people once, and as he sat there a jumble of faces whirled in his memory: a bright-eyed woman of his own people, brown curls bobbing round her face as she spoke; a sailor of the Dunedain, tall and dark-haired as were most of his kind, whose quick wit could bring forth smile or frown; an auburn-haired healeress and her young apprentice, a earnest girl whose raven locks contrasted with pale skin and green eyes - ah, those eyes!; a forbearing scribe and her companion, the grey-eyed diplomat whose neutrality had turned to scorn, the same scorn most of his kind felt for Barzag and his ilk; a tall man of pale hair and pale skin, one of the few in Nurn who could speak Adunaic; and most recently a petite Nurnian woman whose chestnut locks shone like silk, one who had shown him unexpected kindness. Where was she now? Barzag wondered dully. Perhaps she had fled this cursed place - who would not do so? Against that balanced the others: the Haradrim slaver who had captured him and auctioned him to the highest bidder; the tanner who treated him as a half-wit; the fellow slave who had broken his nose for no more than a spilt bucket. Barzag had made no friends among the slaves here - when he had arrived he could speak no word of Easterling, and by the time he had learned enough to communicate, he had learned also that there was not one he could trust. Born and brought up here, most of them, their highest priority that of self-preservation. They would betray him in an instant if it suited their need.
Yet all through the year he had spent in slavery here, Barzag had never ceased to hope - to watch, wait, scheme for the moment when he could flee Nurn and all that it stood for. He would regain his freedom, or die in the attempt. Alone - for what other choice was there?
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