LOCATION:

Adunabar

Main Deck of the Adunabar

Measuring a full 80 feet by 20 wide is this strong and maneuverable war ship. Three slim masts rise to cradle the webbing for sable sails of the darkest hue. Above it all on the primary mast flies the crimson and black silk of a mythical dragon. Off of the stern flutters another kind of flag, one of amber gold with a small black ship overlaying a red hawk with wings just opening to take flight.

A pair of ready ballista sit upon the shrewdly crafted deck, cargo hatch just aft of center. In the other end there is a door leading down to the sleeping quarters and the dinning hall. Above in the rigging upon the forward and aft masts are archer's nests and look out points. A smaller deck rises at the stern with the door to the offices and Captain's quarters. The hull at deck level is plated with overlapping scales of steel, each one as wide as a man is tall and painted red. When she's under sail, sails like great black wings of a mythical dragon, she is fast and very maneuverable.

Contents:

* Roziliel

Obvious exits:

Overboard

It is late afternoon, and a gentle breeze blows from the west, rippling the water. The summer sky is blue and clear, and it is altogether pleasant aboard the Adunabar. Many of the passengers have come up to the deck to breathe in the sharp tang of the salt air, or doze in the sunshine. Even Gimilphel is on deck, and though she is white-faced and still swallows occasionally, she gazes around with interest at those around her. The two men nearest seem to be merchants, judging by their conversation.

"... bringing back a good shipment," one is saying. "Furs, metalwork ..."

"Metalwork? You mean jewelry?" his companion asks.

"That and more," the first man replies.

He looks round at Gimilphel and lowers his voice, and she hears no more. Taking the hint, she moves away sternward.

Roziliel, too, stands upon the deck, the salty, damp breezes tugging playfully at her wavy length of dark hair. She is quite unaware of the merchants' lowered conversation some paces away from her, taken with the view of endless ocean and catching a glimpse of a following sea creature that seems to play in the wake of the great ship's passing. Reaching up to tug at one of the thick ropes that cross overhead, the scribe does notice the pale visage of Gimilphel who moves sternward towards her. "Good afternoon," she calls in a tone blessed of cheer, though the smile that accompanies is perhaps somewhat tentative.

Gimilphel glances round briefly, as if she thinks Roziliel might be addressing someone else, but then responds with a firm "Good afternoon." She adds with a little smile, "I still have some of the tea you gave me - it helps the sea-sickness a little. A delicate flush comes briefly into her pale cheeks. She moves a few steps closer, and peers oceanward. "You were watching the sea - did you see something?" she queries.

"You still have the tea?" the scribe wonders, her smile broadening a little. "I am glad to hear that it has helped." She gives a light laugh as she turns her face to the seawinds. "I can never travel without tea, you understand. But I usually do not need it unless there is a squall." Lowering her hand from the rope, Roziliel walks to the ship's side, nodding to a blurred streak of fast-swimming blue that cavorts among the bubbling waters left in the ship's wake. "There...a creature. Can you see it? I think it is a porpoise."

The girl follows Roziliel to the rail, and clutches nervously at it as she peers over, though the sea's motion is barely perceptible at present. She blinks. No ... ah!" This exclamation comes as the creature breaks surface again, even nearer now, to turn in the air in a dizzying leap, before returning to the sea with a splash that makes Gimilphel jump. There is a smile on her face as she turns back to Roziliel to ask politely, "Did you have a good trip to Lindon? You are a merchant, maybe?" she guesses. "Or a scholar?"

Roziliel, too, watches the antics of the creature--who looks more grey than blue as it breaks the surface of the water--before turning a grin to the girl beside her. "Well, I came for two reasons, actually," she begins, casting the grey-eyed gaze once more to the sea. "For one, I am in attendace to the Princess Miriel, as I am her scribe. And so I brought my papers and inks and pens to write whatever was needed...letters and notes, though they were not many." A light chuckle follows these words, and the young woman grins sidelong to Gimilphel. "And the second reason is that I would not dare let my brother Marazon go on such a sea voyage and adventure without coming along as well." She draws in a sharp intake of surprise as her right hand lifts to point at the waters below. "Look, Gimilphel! Two others, there.."

Gimilphel gives Roziliel an odd look as she mentions Marazon, and it takes the scribe's exclamation to draw her attention back to the sea. Indeed there is a whole pod of the porpoises now. "They're so beautiful," the young girl murmurs, "so graceful ..." She watches the westering sun glint off the sleek bodies as they play amidst the foam. It is a long while later that her attention returns to Roziliel once more. "Marazon has been spending much time in the Houses of Healing recently," she says in a neutral tone, as if unsure whether Roziliel will approve of her brother's behaviour.

"Yes, they are beautiful," Roziliel says in a thoughtful muse--quite missing the other's odd look upon the mention of her brother. "I have often wondered why they follow the ships, so," she continues, leaning forward a little to get a glimpse of the--now many--creatures that speed along with the ship. "I used to have a continuing dream, as s child.." she says as another of the porpoises leaps into the air in a graceful arc. "I dreamed I was wearing a fine silk dress that swirled blue as the waters, and that I was swimming amongst them, and that they pulled me alongside them. It was magical and serene, that dream," she adds, returning her glance to Gimilphel. "And what of you? have you had such dreams of the sea?"

At such a question, Gimilphel cannot help but laugh, her own curiosity about the relationship between Marazon and his sister completely forgotten. "No, I am a very poor sea traveller," she says, with a rueful smile. "I only came because of Galenrien, and to learn from the Elven healers - though most people here seems to be buying or selling something, rather than seeking knowledge." She breaks off, and momentarily turns away from the leaping porpoises to look round towards the spot to where the two men were conversing. They are standing close to each other, one clearly murmuring something into the other's ear, but even as she watches they move apart again. One lifts his hand in a gesture of farewell and strides off towards the cabins. The other, deprived of company, surveys the deck. His eyes fall on the two women, and he begins to move slowly but purposefully towards them. With a faintly puzzled frown, Gimilphel returns to gazing at the sea.

"Healers...Ah. Of course!" Roziliel says with a nod of her head. "To learn from the elven healers t'would be a boon, indeed. I have ever admired those who learn the art of mending in that manner." Again a soft chuckle. "Though I do not think I have the gift for being as tenacious as it requires.." The men conversing at last do gain the scribe's attention, though speaking as she is with Gimilphel, Roziliel does little more than acknowledge the men with a brief glance. "So you are studying under Galenrien? She is one I greatly admire..."

"As do I," Gimilphel replies earnestly. "She is a great healer, and a gifted teacher, though she works herself far too hard." She sighs and shakes her head at this. "I think-"

But what she thinks will never be known, for at that moment the approaching merchant reaches them. "Good afternoon, fair ladies," says a voice from behind them, and Gimilphel turns to see a tall, well-dressed fellow, dark-haired and grey-eyed as are so many of Numenorean stock, with the faint plumpness of the well to do. His words are directed at both, but his eyes look only on Roziliel, and his lips are curved in a thin smile. "It is a fine day for watching the waves, is it not?" he continues, obviously seeking an opening for conversation.

The man earlier only vaguely acknowledged by the scribe does seem to find his way into the conversation at last, Turning from the railing, Roziliel leans slightly against it, her right arm rested upon the smooth wooden surface as she nods her head with a faint smile. "It is a fine day, indeed. One given to the best of travel upon the waters." The grey gaze is slightly studying of the man, unfamiliarity apparent as her gaze turns questioning. "Have you had a pleasant stay in Lindon, then? Though it seems many of us are eager to return home to Umbar. I know that I am."

"Ah - that is, yes," the merchant replies. "It was a productive trip. But indeed, it will be good to see Umbar's fair shores once more." Suddenly his oily smile fades, to be replaced by a look of dismay. "But I have not introduced myself - how remiss of me. I am Minarak, merchant of Umbar, and forever at your service." He says this with a sweeping bow towards Roziliel, though the effect is ruined by the fact that the ship lurches a little and he must wave his arms in the air to regain his balance.

Gimilphel, who has been watching forgotten, her green eyes wide, gives a little cry of alarm, her face turning grey, and she swallows convulsively, looking towards Roziliel. "Is there going to be a storm?" she whispers to the woman.

The scribe's smile is pleasant to the man who introduces himself, and with a nod of her own head in acknowledgement, Roziliel follows suit. "Well met, thenm Minarak. I am Roziliel, scribe to the Princess Miriel. A pleasure--" Her words are fairly clipped by the ship's sudden lurch. Though, as she is leaning against the ship's railing, she is well-braced against any jarring and instead offers an outstretched left hand in attempt to steady the gentleman. The gaze is also given to Gimilphel in the motion, and the woman's eyes are gentle. "There may be, but worry not," she says, gaze lifting only then to seek out the depth of the skies above.

The merchant accepts the proffered hand - indeed, he seems reluctant to let it go again. "No, the pleasure is all mine, dear lady," he replies, his lips once more parting in a smile. "You seem a seasoned traveller," is his next comment, as he observes Roziliel's words to Gimilphel and her glance towards the skies. "Tell me, do you journey the seas often,. my lady?"

Gimilphel, meanwhile, gazes at Roziliel with terror in her eyes, misery evident in her whole posture - slumping shoulders, nervous gulping...

Roziliel does look with a rather pointed glance to the merchant's lingering grasp upon her hand, and though the smile remains curved upon her lips, the gaze continues to be more searching than warm. "I have travelled the seas oft, indeed," she says, her smile increasing as she withdraws her hand now to give Gimilphel a comforting pat upon her shoulder. "Perhaps some more tea..." she says in quiet admonition to the younger one. "But my brother is a mariner," the scribe continues to Minarak, "and my father was once one as well, though he remains rather happily in Numenor these days. What trade bring you from Lindon? I trust that your business was good?"

Gimilphel looks up. "Yes, you are right," she says with a grateful nod.

"Ah, a veritable maid of the sea," the merchant muses. "I too, have travelled oft, to further my business in these lands. We should exchange tales sometime, over a glass of wine or two, perhaps?" He does not reply to the second part of Roziliel's question, merely smiling at her encouragingly until, noticing her pointed look, he drops her hand once more.

Gimilphel, seeing her two companions engaged in a conversation in which she has no part, turns back to Roziliel, saying, "I think I should go and take some of that tea now. Please excuse me - and you, sir." She gazes blankly at the merchant for a moment before stepping cautiously in the direction of the hatch.

Keeping the smile always, Roziliel turns her face to the growing winds as they build and coax the clouds to amass in the skies overhead. Her hair swirls as brisk as the sea, and raising her left hand to brush the dark tendrils away, she calls a farewell to Gimilphel. "I shall come shortly to look after you, Gimilphel!" and watches the half-tottering steps of the maiden as she makes her way upon the slowly-pitching deck towards the hatch. Looking back to the merchant, the scribe offers yet another smile, though her nod is more sharp than acquiescing. "Perhaps we may trade tales over a drink, for there are surely many to tell. But I must warn you that in such a case I will invite my brother, for he has many others that are much more impressive to share."

The merchant's smile slips at this statement - indeed he seems quite taken aback. His eyes drop, and he stares at the deck for a moment. However, making the best of it, he replies, "Ah- that would be quite charming. I have some stock of wine on board - shall we put the Elven vintage to the test? I myself believe that there is no wine to rival that of Numenor." The smile returns, though it seems more forced this time. "Shall we say tmorrow evening, then?"

"Tomorrow evening, or tonight?" Roziliel says, her grey eyes set to glittering. "I know not what watch Marazon shall be held to, but if he cannot come, tis no great matter. You will meet him eventually." The scribe laughs with this seeming constant, looking once more to the hatch quickly, though bringing the gaze back to the merchant. "Have you your own cabin then?" she wonders raising a brow in the asking.

"I am afraid it must be tomorrow," the merchant replies, his eyes brightening as Roziliel mentions her brother's erratic watches. "I have some business I must attend to this evening, an old friend whom I must entertain." He shifts position slightly, then continues. "And yes, I have paid for a private cabin. It is small, but it serves. It is the third on the left, aft of the hatch ... Just ask any of the sailors if you have problems finding it." He bows again to Roziliel, this time more gracefully, then says, "And now, alas, I must leave you. Tomorrow evening, one hour after sundown, shall we say?" He shifts position again, looking rather uncomfortable, and eager to leave.

"Very well then," Roziliel agrees in answer, offering another smile as the grey gaze once again is tided to the hatch. "I must check on Gimilphel. Poor child, she is studying to be a healer, though these voyages all but require her to be the healed." Lifting the left edge of her blue silk skirts from the salted decks, Roziliel takes a step forward. "Tomorrow evening, then. Good day, Minarak." And in graceful step, the scribe has soon found way as well, below decks.

The merchant Minarak does not follow the departing Roziliel, but instead walks hastily towards the rear of the Adunabar, where makeshift sanitary facilities have been set up for the fastidious.

Participants:

GIMILPHEL

Before you is a young woman of Numenorean race. Green eyes sparkle in a heart-shaped face, framed by dark hair that is normally tied back in a long braid. Her skin is pale, save for the faint rosy flush of her cheeks, which deepens when she is embarrassed - a state of affairs wont to happen far more often than she would like. She wears a dress of deep blue material, whose soft folds hang loosely about her slender form. The design is plain save for delicate embroidery at neckline and hemline in threads of silvery white, shaped to represent stars. Her earnest expression and wide eyes lend her an air of youthful innocence.

ROZILIEL Royal Scribe

Tall and fair of features and complexion, the maiden before you possesses a look of inquisitiveness not easily concealed in her grey-blue eyes, which sparkle as fields of ice touched by rays of the winter sun. Her long hair, lustrous and sable-dark, falls in thick, natural waves to the small of her back, and is most often left unbound.

She wears a fitted silk gown of dusty blue--of a fine fabric that rustles softly with each step and shimmers faintly in the light. The curved neckline is embroidered in a pattern of intertwining silver and golden leaves, pale and perfect in their ornamentation, so that the only jewelry worn in addition is a small teardrop pearl necklace held by a delicate silver chain. When needed, a dark grey cloak is worn, Long and lined with silver satin, it is held in place with an elegant sapphire and silver swan clasp.