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

The ship continues its course back towards Umbar--a steady, gliding voyage currently unhampered by any sort of unpleasant weather. The salt air is kindled to breezes, and in the eastern skies a narrow line of gold glows thinly upon the horizon as if in thought of bringing the dawn. Even at this pre-dawn hour, gulls cry as they follow the ship--hinting that land must be nearer than far, and that some of the sailors on board might be feeding them.

Perhaps roused from her sleep by this noise--though doubtful even these birds might cause such a clamour--Roziliel steps up from the lower decks to savor the early morning air and perhaps catch the first glimpse of dawn as she turns eastward to gaze at the distant sky.

She is soon followed by another; a dark-haired figure wrapped in a cloak to keep out the dawn chill. The figure halts, looks around, then strides swiftly to where Roziliel stands, lips beginning to curve in a faint smile.

"Ah, good morning to you, my dear," Minarak exclaims cheerily as he covers the last few yards towards the maiden. "I see you are an early riser, as ever. And what brings you on deck this morning? Hoping to catch a glimpse of land, perhaps?"

He smiles encouragingly, one hand reaching towards her slightly, though he makes no move to touch her as yet.

Not knowing the merchant has followed behind her, Roziliel turns in faint surprise to see the other upon his cheery exclamation. Her smile broadens slightly, and she draws the light-woven, almost lacy, shawl closer about her shoulders over the gleam of blue silk underneath. "Good morn," the scribe now greets, eyeing the other curiously. "Do you follow wherever I go, and wake at the same hour I do?" She chuckles lightly, the sound almost lost in the upraised cry of the gulls. "I retired early last night. And so I am up early, yes." She raises a brow with the next words, uttered softly. "And what is your excuse?"

Minarak manages an answering laugh. "Ah, would that I could indeed follow as you say, to gaze endlessly on your beautiful form. Alas, even on board ship there are tasks to carry out - accounts to go through, papers to set in order before our arrival, even sometimes trade deals to be closed. But it is my delight to have the pleasure of your company on this fine morn." His eyes remain fixed on Roziliel, until with a slight start he remembers her other question. "As for why I rise early, do I need an excuse?" His tone is light, faintly amused. "I do not need many hours of sleep, and the dawn wind is refreshing." He leaves unsaid the fact that he is aware that Roziliel is also an early riser.

"The dawn wind is refreshing, indeed," Roziliel answers, lowering her head slightly as a hint of color touches her cheeks. A pause, and then, "You are persisitent in your praise of me," the lady then says, her tone soft and in concert with the whispering rush of water against the ship's sides as it cuts through the water. "Such persistence surprises me," she admits, raising that grey gaze once more to look upon the other. "Your papers are all in order for our return to Umbar, I trust?" she then says in a short turn of the subject. "A profitable trip for you?"

The stars begin to fade as the eastern horizon glows with the approaching dawn.

The sun peeks over the horizon and the night is banished.

At Roziliel's first words, Minarak reaches forward to touch the maiden's cheek softly, saying earnestly, "And why should that surprise you? Roziliel, you are a very attractive woman - to me at least. I find it odd that you are unused to such attention." He leans closer - and then drops his hand with a sigh, as if fearing that he will frighten Roziliel away.

To her last query, he replies, "Yes, all my papers should be in order now. I have even managed to do a little trading." A jaunty smile curves his lips. "One of the other merchants had been brought back a cargo of fine pottery from the Elven lands; unfortunately his wares were damaged during the last heavy storm. Naturally I offered to sell the poor fellow some furs as a replacement - at a suitable price, of course." This last is said in an undertone. "And what of you, my lady?" Minarak continues more briskly. "Has the Princess been keeping you busy? What sort of letters does she have you scribe?" In his eyes a faint, detached curiosity can be seen.

As Minarak reaches forward to brush against the maiden's cheek, the scribe makes no show of drawing back, though the grey gaze drops to the motion. A new smile is coaxed--as soft as the gaze in her eyes. "Not unused to such attentions," she says. "But I have rather...avoided such for a time." She clears her voice softly as Minarak starts to lean forward but then draws back in seeming reluctance.

Listening on as the other speaks of damaged wears in the hold, Roziliel's smile fades a moment, but wanly. A salt-kissed breeze stirs, and the ship is hastened in its wake, the slight tugging causing the scribe to take a step back and brace herself with a hand upon the railing. "I am glad to see that trading has gone well. As for myself..." She gives a small shrug, looking out briefly to the sea. The Princess has left me to my own pursuits, largely. And that, I have not minded in the least. THough I do long for land beneath my feet."

Minarak appears slightly surprised at the maiden's words. "But I thought you enjoyed sea travel? Did you not tell me that all your family are seafarers?" The ship lurches again, almost imperceptibly and certainly causing no problems for one familiar with the motion, but Minarak steps forward again and reaches out a solicitous arm towards Roziliel. "Here, let me steady you," he insists, curling his hand round between the maiden's shoulder and waist. "Hmm, that breeze is picking up ... Not long till landfall now, I hope." His arm tightens slowly as he moves even closer.

As Minarak moves to support Roziliel at the ship's slight lurch, the scribe returns her gaze once more to the man and allows his motion, though even so there is a faint flicker of something....reaction?....to this approach. Her words are yet steady, however, her smile steady as she replies. "Aye, I do enjoy the sea. But the nearer one draws to land....at least for me...I yearn to see the cobblestone streets, the gardens...my shop..." and here she chuckles softly, seeming to relax a little now, lowering her gaze once more. "Restlessness, I suppose." It is but a whisper in her voice.

The merchant nods, seemingly satisfied with Roziliel's reply. "Aye, restlessness is something I can understand. It is the mark of a true traveller. See, we are alike, you and I, unable to settle in one place for long." He is close enough now that his breath is warm on the maiden's cheek. "I am always looking forward to the next trip - if only I had someone of like mind to share it with ..." Perhaps seeing encouragement in the maiden's reaction to him, or perhaps emboldened by the thought that this woman is not the recipient of others advances also, his fixed smile fades to be replaced by a more intense look as he plants a kiss on Roziliel's lips, his grey eyes continuing to scrutinize hers.

Her gaze lowered, Roziliel senses the merchant's nearness to her as his soft voice and the hint of his warm breath are felt even before the press of his lips are met to hers. A quick uplifting of those soft grey eyes, and then they close as the scribe seems to explore the offered kiss and returns it gently, even as the faint call of gulls resumes and the sky seems to warm with new splinters of gold from the east. Perhaps she is surprised at herself and her reaction--or perhaps the kiss has lingered long enough--but as her eyelids flutter open once more, Roziliel draws away with a silent inquiry held in the gaze as her right hand reaches up to draw the dark length of her hair away from her face. "You are a puzzle to me, Minarak," she says softly. "We are hardly met and yet share so close a trade of affection..."

A faint smile remains on Minarak's lips even as Roziliel draws back. Reaching up his own hand, he gently strokes a few errant strands of hair away from the other side of the maiden's face. "Perhaps it is time that you explored that puzzle, my lady," he murmurs softly, grey eyes glittering in the dawn light in unspoken invitation. "You know I desire you, and I dare hope that my feelings are not wholly unreturned. Yet ever you seem uncertain ... What do you fear? The wrath of your brother? You should not let others determine your actions." This last statement is said firmly, but he seems to give the lie to the sentiment himself as once more he closes the small distance between them.

Timidity having played a part before, perhaps, it holds no sway now as Roziliel meets the other's gaze, still inquiring, as the other draws nearer yet. "If I seem uncertain, Minarak, it is only because I wish to slow the pace, not because I fear any reprisal from my brother, certainly." Even with the words steadily given, the scribe offers a smile to the merchant, and she again reaches with a hand to draw the shawl upwards that has slipped from her shoulders. "I cannot say what I feel for you now, Minarak," she then admits. "I have endured...unhappiness....before. I would ask you bear patience with me." She reaches forward to take the other's hand with her right. "I think that I shall return to my cabin for awhile yet."

Minarak encloses Roziliel's hand in his own, and nods sincerely, though in his eyes a hint of disappointment can still be seen. "I will be patient, my lady," he assures her, raising her hand to his lips in a courtly gesture that is only a shadow in comparizon with his former eagerness. "I would not wish to make you unhappy." He cannot help letting out a small sigh, which is quickly masked as he turns solicitously to the maiden. "You wish to return to your cabin now? Here, let me escort you." Once more he winds an arm around Roziliel's waist.

The cabin Marazon uses, happens to be by the greatest of fate on the same deck as Roziliel's, since it's the only deck having cabins, the crew and the rest of the passengers save a few living under deck in a large common room. The sea is quiet and the night shift has been long for Marazon and it's stooped he wanders back to earn a few hours of rest, unaware and doubting not of the infamy happening right now.

Roziliel smiles faintly as Minarak raises her hands to her lips, but her gaze is soon turned towards the steps across the way that lead to the lower decks. "I think I should like to return now, yes," the lady replies softly. "Perhaps we may have tea together this afternoon, later?" she offers, though it seems more politely offered than boldly eager. Even so, the maiden again allows the other to accompany her--his arm about her waist--as they cross the decks and reach the stairway down.

"Ah, yes," Minarak agrees eagerly, "that would be truly splendid. "Will you come to my cabin? You know where it is, and besides," - he pauses a moment in thought - "yes, I shall have something to show you. I have not forgotten my promise to you, and to it I add the one that this time I shall endeavour to be less clumsy." He glances towards the front of Roziliel's dress, lightly brushing the material with his free hand.

Light footfalls leads Marazon down the deck by the other stair and he leaps off the last dozen steps with a nimble leap, helping himself with his hands onto the ramps. Tired but jolly and the sight of a man huddled fondly with the maiden of his heart stirs delightful souvenirs and he smiles in the gloom of the lower deck. A smile that turns a death white as he closes by and lays his hand on the door knob of his cabin. The hand flies to darts an accusatory finger at not Roziliel but the man "You !" he shouts, a cry able to wake up the whole ship if doubled "Let her !" and the stout Uinendili, eyes about to close of tiredness and sleep now wide open of anger, rushes to the couple.

But Roziliel's stern, yet quieting tone is quick to intercept her brother as the maiden draws a pace away from Minarak and holds up a hand in reproof. "Marazon," she says, careful to keep her voice lowered yet. "The man was merely accompanying me back to my cabin." Now the lady smiles, chuckling softly as her gaze travels first to the impetuous sailor...then to the impetuous merchant. She sighs quietly, but in good-natured resignation. "It seems you both share that same bewildering quality of boldness." And now she grins. "In apt reconciliation, I shall leave you to eachother's company. Minarak, I shall meet you for tea upon the upper decks. A quarter past twelve?" So said, Roziliel gives yet another smile and then continues down the dim corridor towards her room.

Marazon pokes the man in the chest out of Roziliel reach "We'll discuss of this later Rozi". He says and watchfully keeps the merchant at bay, "I wont loose my time with you, if you take tea with her at quarter past twelve, I assure you that you will swim to Umbar at half past twelve" he threathens.

At Roziliel's words, Minarak nods in sudden understanding, though the protective stance he had adopted does not relax one bit. "Of course, whatever you wish," he calls forlornly after the departing maiden. "I shall await you on the upper deck."

Turning back to Marazon, he says coldly, "I take your words and action in the spirit they were intended. Since the hour is late, I will overlook your insolence this once. But I warn you, I do not take kindly to those who threaten violence. I suggest you think long and hard before repeating the threat, for I assure you it is /you/ who will regret it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to." His sneer suggests that perhaps the sailor is incapable of understanding such matters.

Marazon goes to grab the shoulders of the man and pushes him forcefully against the wooden bulkhead. "Shut up ! Threats as hollow as your head" he grunts before the face of the merchant, lips curved into the most displeasant snarl. "Do you understand ? Or do I need to put more reality in my words ?" his fist clenching near gives little doubt about what he would intend.

With such actions, there can be little doubt as to Marazon's intent. "I think it is you who needs a dose of reality," Minarak retorts, pale face suffusing with the flush of pure anger. He responds to the attack in kind; rather than trying to use his weight against the stronger, burlier sailor, who has him pinned by the shoulders, he curls his booted right foot round the other man's left leg, pulling it back in a kick to the knee intended to topple Marazon to the ground.

Marazon retreats as he feels the leg of the other man coils around his like a snake. And he trips and slumps againt the opposite bulkhead, keeping his balance like he can. The agression is now plain and he smiles with satisfaction and barely on his leg, he swings a round fist at Minarak face, his right hand, the fastest of the two.

The blow connects with the left side of Minarak's face, and he staggers back, dazed, unable to take advantage of Marazon's momentary retreat. When at last he raises his head, still shaking, there is blood dripping from a split lip and cold fury in his eyes. His own right hand even goes so far as to reach towards the hilt of his sword, though it drops back. A little unsteadily now, the merchant lurches towards Marazon again, this time aiming with his right shoulder squarely towards the other man's chest, probably hoping to wind him.

Marazon gets up back on his feet and watches with delight his fist cleaving the man lip, the hand to the sword hilts he follows too and doesnt wait to strike again and as Minaraka chrages him, his left arm drops and he doesnt extend his forearm much, just enough to deal Minarak a low blow in the belly, hoping to catch him before his shoulder hits.

Marazon's fist does connect with something - but it is Minarak's broad belt that bears the force of the blow. The merchant is unharmed, but it deflects him enough that when he does cannon into Marazon it has little impact.

Marazon removes his left hand from the low position it was and lifts it to turn slightly Minarak shoulder as if to orient his stance a bit differently for a better jab of his fast right. Their closeness doesnt allow Marazon's arm much ever or strenght, but the clenched knuckles of the sailor flies toward the merchant chin in one vengeful fist.

Once again, Marazon manages to strike Minarak, as his fist clips the corner of Minarak's chin, and the merchant lets out a groan of pain as his head rocks with the force of the blow. Although Minarak is clearly at a disadvantage in this battle of fists, he appears unwilling to admit defeat, and as he strives to keep his balance he clutches with both hands towards Marazon's arm, seeking not to strike but merely to hold - if the merchant falls to the ground he intends the sailor to fall with him.

Marazon doesnt stumble forward nor trip with Minarak and holds the merchant aloft, slowly yileding his arm down as the man weight a good deal yet. "Give way and let het" he hisses and he moves to push him again against the opposing bulkhead and ease the strain on his arm. Locking their stance more, his left hand leaves the man shoulder and goes to cluth around his throat.

Even if the merchant wishes to reply, it is unlikely he is able to, dazed as he is from the two blows to the head and with a hand at his throat. Minarak's eyes, however, are still open and glare at Marazon. The merchant's right hand releases its futile hold on Marazon's arm (though his left still clutches the sailor) and pulls feebly at the hand at his throat. Minarak starts to slide down the bulkhead - and, as Marazon looms over him, the wily merchant brings his right knee up towards Marazon's groin.

A trick that doesnt play for the sailor reach his long and the sly move of the merchant hit but air upward and now Marazon rests all his weight on the bulkhead, compressing the other man throat under his hand.

Choking now, and with his own dead weight adding to the sailor's grip, the merchant can do little other than make gagging sounds as his body struggles futilely to breathe. Already his eyes are glazing as he lolls limply against the bulkhead.

Marazon isnt an assassin nor is known working for the Black Hand. Watching keenly the man face, he repeats his advice or order once, "Leave her alone, or the sea will choke you more surely than I" he says and with a jerk releases him and thows him sliding on the side of the bulkhead.

His words fall on deaf ears, for the merchant is barely conscious, and sprawls silent and unmoving now at the foot of the bulkhead.

But living as Marazon felt through his fingers as he let the man go. "Good night sir Minarak.. Yes I know your name too, bastard" he nearlys spits and swings on his heels, going to his own cabin, not without checking Roziliel door is properly locked first.

Participants:

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.

MINARAK

Here is one who is doing well in the world, and knows it - at least that is what the faint sardonic smile often on his lips seems to convey. His grey eyes always appear distant, no matter whether glinting in laughter, cold with scorn or bitter with anger. High cheekbones and a long nose contribute to the air of slight haughtiness. His head is topped by black curls, which cascade down the sides of his face to just past shoulder level. He is clean-shaven, and his skin is pale though not without a hint of colour.

He is dressed in a shirt of white silk, and breeches of some velvety material, a midnight blue in colour. His boots are of polished black leather, as is his wide belt. Any impressions of austerity, however, are dispelled by one glance at his decorated waistcoat. The sky-blue silk is richly embroidered in gold and silver threads, arranged in complex geometric patterns, and edged by gold brocade. The buttons are gem-encrusted, as are the cufflinks that fasten his fine silken shirt at the wrists. Perhaps surprisingly, Minarak wears no rings. A short sword hangs by his side, its scabbard also decorated with jewels, these ones of deep blue and fiery red. If the weather is cool, Minarak wears a fur-edged cloak of deepest sable to keep out the chill.

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.

He is bearing a pair of black pants tucked in rather low sea boot of supple leather surely drawn of some marine beast since it has blue reflection on and salty water doesnt seem to wear it. A light deep purple long sleeved shirt linen with black design hangs to his mid thigh and is tied at the wraist by a belt of black leather. Often he wears a finely wocen cloak of deep indigo wool around his shoulder, covering his chest and hanging behind him to his back knee while letting his neck free.