The King's Reckoning

IC time is: midday
IC date is: early September?
IC year is: 3185 S.A.

RL time: Wed Sep 19 20:04:01 2001

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

* Marazon

Obvious exits:

Overboard

It is just after noon, and the sun beats down on the deck of the Adunabar, still high in the sky at this latitude despite the fact that midsummer is long past. The decks are alive with people at this hour; passengers taking a daily walk or engaged in conversation, sailors going about their tasks. Despite the activity, there is an air of tension aboard - many are longing for the sight of Umbar's white cliffs and secure docks. The long journey from Lindon is almost over now, and for most it will be none too soon.

By the rail stands a lone figure, apparently gazing out to sea. His right side is towards the centre of the deck, so that the noon sun outlines his face in profile - long nose, high cheekbones, thin lips that are set firmly in a straight line. One hand holds the rail; the other reaches up to rub his throat for a moment, then drops back. He darts a quick furtive glance round the deck. It would seem he is expecting someone, for behind him two canvas chairs have been set out, and a tray has been set on the deck nearby.

And on the upper desc watching the crowd who gathered to enjoy another day of sea by playing quiet games or discussing about wether the third handmaid of the princess is finally bethrothed or not, is Marazon. The Uinendili seems perfectly awake and rested from his night duty and his hair are cast off his brow by the wind of the race of the ship on the waves create. His cloak billows and sticks between his legs, outlining something unusual on his figure, a sword at his side.

Wearing the light shawl of the early morning, Roziliel makes her way up from belowdecks. She seems given to thought, her brow furrowed in a manner that makes the line of her mouth look solemn, though as she mounts the stairs to the topdeck, the expression is soothed to a neutral mien. Casting her gaze out towards the sea for a moment, she draws in a deep breath of the salt air, then scans the deck to find where Minarak awaits her for tea. Starting towards him, she does not see her brother just yet..

Minarak catches sight of Roziliel during another of those furtive glances. He slowly raises an arm to signal to her, his lips curving as if reluctantly into the semblance of a smile. He gazes slightly nervously at the approaching woman out of the corner of his right eye, though he calls out, hoarsely and a little indistinctly, "Good day, my lady Roziliel."

Marazon doesnt miss the apparition of Roziliel on the deck and his face takes some hawkish cast as he watches her keenly for some expression on that could betray her thought or feelings. He sees the merchant and his fists clenches with some reflex but he doesnt move, attentive as he is to pierce Roziliel plan.

"Good day, Minarak," Roziliel greets the merchant as her steps bring her at last to where he stands. A smile is mirrored in upon the scribe's lips, though she seems to catch the other's vaguely-betrayed nervousness, and responds with her own, slight, hesitation. "Are you not well?" she wonders, tilting her head slightly and still quite unaware of Marazon's hawkish observance some paces away. "Is something amiss?"

"I - ah, that is - " the merchant temporizes, his voice still slightly husky. He begins to shake his head, then stops, wincing and raising his hand to support it. Under Roziliel's intense scrutiny, he merely mumbles, "Come, sit. Have some tea - if that is what you wish?" His grey eyes watch the maiden carefully, as if he is unsure just how she respond. "Tell me, have you seen your brother this morning?" he queries her softly, and at these words his eyes turn flint-hard. As yet, he makes no move towards a seat himself.

Marazon turns slightly his head a few seconds, motioning for a boy, an apprentice sailor to come near. "Go and fetch a long rope lad please" he asks him and adds with a grim chuckle "Someone will take a bath soon I expect". And his attention goes back to Roziliel, noticing with glee most of the sails are furled as at meal hour the ship slows to allow passengers and the princess a less rough instant.

"I have not spoken to either of you since taking my leave early this morning--" she begins, then seems to hesitate as the course of her thoughts are betrayed with the raise of her brow. "Do not tell me that I brother has been about some mischief.." she ventures, turning her own hardened gaze back to the seas for a moment. "Minarak," she then says, the softness of her voice edged with determination. "Enlighten me upon what passed between you and Marazon after I left this morning? I had heard idle talk of a scuffle earlier. Is this the case?"

At Roziliel's words Minarak turns, obviously startled. Careful attempts to arrange his black curls to cover the left side of his face cannot hide the fact that the flesh there is puffed and swollen, forcing one eye half-shut; a line of dried blood marks a torn lip. "Your brother," he says coldly, "seems unwilling to share your company with any. He thinks you should be kept locked away from the world - clearly he doubts you are capable of making your own decisions." His attempt to look haughty is marred by the fact that the words are half-mumbled and his expression is more grimace than frown.

Marazon bids his time, hearing not the word the two exchange but guessing at the twist on Minarak features that they're talking of him, selfish intuition. Checking the lad is near with the rope, he offers him a warm smile to thanks and soon return his pale eyes to them.

The bright, midday light illuminates the changed features of the merchant as he turns to acknowledge Roziliel, and the maiden's mouth presses to a hard line with a steeling of her grey eyes. "He does, does he?" she murmurs, closing her eyes as she yields a heavy sigh. It is a moment, only, however, and with a return of Roziliel's gaze to Minarak, she then asks, "Who turned the first blow?" Though asked in a quiet tone, there is a pointed and objective manner to her asking.

Minarak gives a short laugh that turns into a cough. "Believe me, I did not force any fight," he replies insistently. "But your brother had different thoughts. The fellow slammed me right into a bulkhead. In a case like that, is it any wonder I reacted in self-defence?" There is a pause, as Minarak once more gingerly touches his throat. Then his eyes soften, though the grimace of pain on his face does not, as he adds, "Were it anyone else I would have him charged with assault - but I know you hold your brother dear, my lady, and would fain not grieve you."

The lady's gaze upon the other is cool. Not unconcerned, but perhaps tempered with reason in her rising suspicions. She gives a curt nod, regarding Minarak with a softening of that objective stare. "I know my brother may sometimes act without reason when it comes to me. But it is no excuse. I also know that it takes little for men to engage in such...behaviours." She brings her arms to clasp tightly before her, looking to the hatch which leads to the lower decks. "I think I shall have a word with my brother. Now," she adds, and then turns to face towards the steps. It is only then that she catches a glimpse of the sailor she seeks, standing some paces away, And with a voice that cuts as clearly as a sleek ship through the waters, she calls, "Marazon! A word..."

Minarak looks momentarily dismayed, though whether this is due to Roziliel's curt tone or her call to Marazon, who knows. As the maiden turns, so does he, one hand - his left - still holding the rail, though the other is clenched into a fist. "I will not be dictated to," he mutters under his breath.

Marazon leans on the bulwark and watches Roziliel steps apart of the merchant. "I am above Rozi" he smiles and waves a hand to the stairs "Please come up, I wont go down save for what I promised" he grins and is interrupted by the boy holding the rope, ashamed "Not.. Not her sir ?" he stammers and induces some laughter in the elder sailor "No not her of course.. Him" he finishes sombrely.

Roziliel is not one to 'march,' perhaps, but her metered and purposeful steps might be thought of as nothing less, and only seem spurred by the sailor's 'devil-may-care' attitude as she ascends to where Marazon stands. For a moment the scribe simply stares at her brother, grey eyes narrowing. Then, in an instant of disgust, she raises her right hand in attempt to slap the mariner upon his left cheek. "How dare you, Marazon!" she utters in accompaniment to the motion.

Minarak watches forlornly as Roziliel climbs the steps towards where Marazon stands. The wind is picking up now, causing little wavelets to dance sparkling, in the noonday sun, and the merchant briefly raises his right hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. The tray of cooling tea lies forgotten by the two chairs, and Minarak gives a sigh as his glance passes over it. His right eye narrows to match the left as he tries to discern just what is going on; gazing into the sun he can barely see the outlines of several figures upon the highest part of the deck, and has no chance of making out their actions.

Blue eyes darkens and narrows in a way twin to Roziliel, these two arent brothers and sister for naught. And his hand, the right, the fastest like some unfortunate merchant learnt earlier goes to grip the maiden hand as he read in her eyes the omen of some sonorous punishment on his cheek. "How dare he ?" Marazon retorts, returning her her own words. "It's quite clear Rozi, I wont let any hurt you again.. and be sure" he says swaying his head as if amused by what he says next "And be sure I wont let any put me on my back without retribution. How did you ? Disguised assassins werent enough ? Now it's smugglers !"

Indignance flushes the face of the maiden, who jerks her hand away from the hold of her brother's. "Yes. How dare you," she repeats. "I am not some token of yours to be kept in your pocket. I have not made you my guard, and I do not appreciate your bullying others around in attempt to isolate me!" For a moment, the scribe holds her brother's gaze, the icy fire of her glare quelled only a little. "You had no right, Marazon. And you are despicable for judging me now, bringing up Japheth." And her lip curls with distaste, her next words lowered. "If Minarak is a smuggler, he will be found out. Tis I who have stayed his affections. I am insulted that you seem to think I cannot bear myself with any dignity, that you must...pelt and pummel...." She now motions to the rope with a huff. "And ...whatever else you have planned. You disgrace me, Marazon."

Left all alone, Minarak can only speculate at what is going on high above. He takes a few steps away from the rail, head cocked - and then stops in his tracks, obviously giving up any attempt to overhear. With a sigh, he bends down stiffly to examine the unused tea tray, resting one hand against the pot to confirm that it is indeed cold. Giving another sigh, this one deeper, he picks up the unwanted tray and very slowly, even a little unsteadily, makes his way towards the hatch - perhaps to brew more tea, perhaps merely to rest his pounding head. He tries to turn his head to catch one final glimpse of Roziliel, but stops with a curse. Looking straight ahead now, he continues on, disappearing from sight of the upper deck.

"Hold on Roziliel" Marazon frowns under the storm of her voice, many people turns but nor him nor her who just shouted seems to care. "To isolate you ? It's the best this one.. You spent months in Lindon without seeing me a sole minute, I didnt ask you anything about what you did, I trusted you and the first time I meet you on this ship in company of someone, it's to see this man holding you close, do you think I am blind or a fool ?" And his furor seems to drops a tad on his last question "And know Roziliel that if this snake hadnt try to make me fall and trip over, I wouldnt have touch him, you should know I bark a lot but bite little."

Participants:

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.

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.