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Weather:            Clear
Time:                Before Dawn <about 4 AM >
Season:              Autumn
Date:               Sunday - September 9, 3014

Real Time:          Mon Jun 15 13:26:14 1998
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Imrahil:
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Very tall and lordly, this figure is one of stern command. His lucid eyes, keen and grey gaze out sharply perceiving and analyzing the world about with a quick and intelligent wit. His hair, darkling in color flows forth in a short crop upon which is set a circlet of silver in which a diamond is set bright and star-like.

His clothing is rich. Crimson and azure details are embroidered upon it in cunning detail. This lay atop a shirt of finely wrought mail upon which at the center, is set the image of the silver ship and swan. This mail leads out to mirror like vambraces, set upon him in war-like array. Upon his shoulders rests a long cape, white with a thick border of sea blue bordering its edge. His belt is golden and fair, set into it are rich jewels, starlike: emerald, ruby, amethyst, saaphire and diamond all have their place here, and they seemingly by some natural craft of skill they run directly to a hilt that rests upon his right hip. Again, this hilt is rich and fair and the sword it holds looks fell indeed.

There is an air upon this Man. An air of nobility and a doom which has yet to surface. Fate lays upon him, wisdom is in his brow and humility in his heart. Here is a masterly figure, one of command and nobility. Meet Imrahil the Fair, Prince of Dol Amroth.
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Beladan:
        The azure Tabard of the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth sits over the large chest and shoulders of a man who appears rather ordinary. Closely cropped brown hair hardens an otherwise friendly face. Upon closer inspection, you notice that his grey eyes are lit with a tinge of worldly wisdom. This incongruity only serves to highlight his look of youthful exuberance.
        Long boots, polished to a mirror-like reflection, cover the bottoms of clean and serviceable trousers. A small knife handle is clearly visible from the belt pouch worn on the left hip of the man's waistbelt. On the right hip is a neck Chain looped through the belt and secured firmly with a leather thong. It bears a small medallion shaped in the likeness of two crossed spears. It is well polished and catches the reflection of the nearby light, winking brilliantly as the man walks. Next to it is fastened a small leather pouch. His tabard is clean and well ordered and covers a suit of fine chain and the Tabard emblazened with a large six-pointed bronze star, set in a field of blue. A small medallion shaped in the crest of Barad Tarnost sits on the left breast of his tabard, midway between his heart and his shoulder.
        A sword lays between his shoulders with its pommel rising above Beladan's left shoulder. It is a fearsome greatsword and is obviously a weapon well loved, for it is kept in immaculate condition, its jet black scabbard embossed with the star of Girithlin.
 

Dol Amroth: Ost-in-Ernil - Hall of Armour
This room serves as the central hall for the Citadel. Wide and long, as well as sixty feet from floor to arched ceiling it is indeed vast. The polished marble of the floor looks slick, almost like ice, so well is it maintained. Lining the walls, on all sides, are alcoves cut into the wall, where rest many suits of armour--of knights long dead but honoured. The space between these empty husks is draped in richly coloured tapestries bearing the devices of noble families and kingdoms. Some are ancient, and nearly unrecognizable in their origin. They stop as the ceiling begins to vault, and there a mosaic, intricately worked, takes over. Yet even so, at the center of the hall stands a large statue.
Rushlights flicker, lamps above glimmer, and torches cast their wavering shadows about the vast hall from sconces between the dark alcoves where the armours lie. The accoutrements seem almost alive in the eerie glow.

Horns sound! A gathering is called in the Hall of Armour!

The Prince, in full array of war marches down through the Grand Corridor and arrives in the Hall surrounded by his Men. He at length stops before the statue of Adrahil and waits.

Beladan enters the Hall of Armor, his tread measured and his gaze solemn. He stops quietly before the Prince, bowing and awaiting the address to follow.

Arnafel enters the Hall with a hurried gait, his eyes still blurry with sleep, and stops before the Prince, bowing and awaiting his speech.

In the shadows cast by the lamps and suits of armor, by the walls where few wander at the moment, a small sound can be heard, imperceptible in the noise made by the men entering the hall, and a little shadow mingles in with the others in that area, unseen by any man.

Imrahil looks out upon those gathered and at last speaks, "Whither is Beladan, my Banner-Bearer?"

Beladan pushes through the small crowd assembled before the statue and comes to stand before the Prince. He drops quickly to one knee and bows his head. "Before thee in thrall, my Prince. How mayest I serve thee, my Lord?"

Imrahil looks upon Beladan and nods, "It has come to me that the Lord of Linhir, Ithilir has now a daughter born to him of Rhyssia to whom he has cloven."

You paged Maarazluk with 'Not really... getting better, I guess, as I'm getting used to 'em.'.

Imrahil continues, "And though Ithilir had been my Marshall, his duties now seem to flit elsewhere - and therfore with no shame or stain upon the House of the Isilrim, I have therefore removed him from that office."

Beladan looks somewhat mystified. "This is news to me, my Prince, yet I warrant that his wife and child must be a great joy unto his heart." Beladan's gaze begins to waver upon the Prince and he looks decided uncomfortable!

Imrahil now looks upon Beladan, "And you Beladan. Thou hast been wayward, and have done things that have ill suited many of the swan-knights of these halls. Yet in doing so thou hast become even closer to me - for your loyalty hath shone through. For is there now any question as to who thou'st serve Beladan of Tarnost?"

Beladan looks to the Prince, a mixture of emotion in his eyes. "Thou knowest that in all my folly, noble Lord, that ever thou dost bide above myself in my thinking, though I dost seem to eschew that truth."

Imrahil smiles and now motions to two formally dressed squires who bear a box. They open it and Imrahil reaches within and takes out a chain wrought of something silver-like, yet lighter and more fair - some perhaps, who have seen the livery of the Citadel know it for what it is - mithril, or true-silver. This the Prince takes and says, "Thus in truth even the witless learn wisdom through folly - and their minds become deeper and clearer, as thine own hath become Beladan. Already thou'st look with the keen eye that was once belonged to the Men of Numenor and no longer dwelleth save in few Men east of the Sea. Therefore, I hold in my hand this chain. This symbol of office - perhaps thou'st knows of it - perhaps not - for this is the chain of the Knight-Marshall. The Man who is my right-hand. The Man who commands the armies and knights of Belfalas under myself alone and shall be verily as if a son to me - yet perhaps more dear - for in this capacity thou shalt be my first Man. Indeed, the Rock of the West. Many
Men have worn this chain from the days of our Longfathers in the days since Imrazor the Numenorean set upon this rock. Many have been worthy. Others not so of the burden. Yet I ask of thee, Beladan of the House Girithlin Lord of Tarnost. Will you accept this chain and bear it? Will you become my right hand?"

Beladan drops now onto both knees and bows in silence before the Prince for a long moment. When he finally speaks his voice is cracked with tears and barely audible, though it grows imperceptably by degrees as he speaks. "In what seems ages past, noble Prince, I stood within thy Citadel and swore an oath unto thee sundered only by the breaking of the world, my death or thy release. I wouldst now before thee and all here present reaffirm my fealty to thee, reacclaim that thou art my Lord and I thy man." Beladan pauses for breath, his head still bowed. "I will accept thy chain, though of all men within thy kingdom, of all men open to thee to command from lord to knave, I am mayhaps the most unworthy. I wilt strive to faileth thee not."

Imrahil nods and then says softly, "It is for that, that makes you the worthiest Man in all of Gondor to take upon that office." And with that Imrahil takes the chain and places it around the neck of Beladan.

"Arise Beladan," says Imrahil now turning to those gathered, "Behold! The Knight-Marshall!"

The Knights as one draw their pale swords and cry, "Hail Beladan, Knight-Marshall!"

Arnafel's eyes shine with pleasure for this man he has served and fought beside and come to respect. He draws his sword with the Knights, and raising it high, shouts in a strident tone which echoes around the hall, "Hail Beladan, Knight-Marshall"

Beladan stands slowly and turns to take the accolades of his peers and compatriots, his face a mask of unreadable emotion, one hand stuffing a piece of paper into his shirt as he turns to accept the hand of a large knight come to greet him.

Imrahil nods and holds up his hand, "Knight-Marshall. After you are done receiving your charge, I must have words with thee, concerning some matters in the north. Yet for now, greet your compatriots and be glad."

The sudden cheering over Beladan's new position masks a soft shout of excitement, or startlement, from the shadows, but after a few moments, a quiet cheer comes from the corner of the hall where no men stand.

Beladan half turns at the words of the Prince. "I stand ever ready to serve thee, my Lord, if thou art of a mind to take deliberation now."

The sun flashes brightly on the horizon. Night gives way to morning.

Imrahil replies, "Beladan, your first duty is to lead the folk of Dol Amroth with Boromir, the Captain of the White Tower, and retrieve for me the Dragon-Helm of Dor-Lomin!"

Arnafel turns sharply in mid-conversation with a Knight as he hears mention of the famed Dragon-Helm, and makes his way through the throng to a position behind Beladan, eager to hear more of this matter.

Beladan bows low. "May the glory of all Gondor match the splendour of Dol Amroth and her Prince Lord." Beladan turns to the assemblage and points to Arnafel. "Arnafel, thou wilt attend me ere this day ends for thy fate is now to follow me into danger and death with noble Boromir for the glory of Amroth. Say nothing beyond this hall, yet make ready to leave immediately." Something catches his eye in a quiet recess of the room and his gaze darts to the dark outline there.

Hjordis has arrived.

The daylight streaks in the shines brightly off the armour of the hall, "Go with glory and good guidance, and bring good name to the folk of Gondor!"
<OOC> Imrahil says, "that was me"

The horns of the heralds lift up in proud blast, proclaiming the new Marshall:

HOOOOHOOOM HOOOM!

HOOOOHOOOM HOOOM!

The daylight shining brilliantly off the armor causes an almost invisible figure to sink back against the wall, almost to hide inside it, to avoid the light that comes so close to hitting it. Yet a small, still shadow is cast on the floor by the light.

Arnafel bows, his hand upon heart and says, "As thee says, even so it shall be, Lord." He turns to the Prince, and says with a hint of eagerness in his voice, "My Lord, I ask thy leave to depart and begin preparations for the journey which lies ahead."

Announcement: Fiordor(#20113) has changed the poll to: But our Adidas commercials are cool :)

A nod of the head grants leave to Arnafel to begin his preparations. And, as the Hall begins to empty, Beladan lingers, working his way further and further towards a conrer of the room illuminated by a shaft of light.

Imrahil nods to Arnafel, "Yes, go you all to your destinies! May the Valar bless you!"

As the crowd begins to thin out, the hall emptying and people filtering through the doors, one lone shadow begins to move, slowly, in the opposite direction - towards the place where stood the Prince and Beladan a short time ago. It works its way around the suits of armor, somehow keeping itself in the shadows, but ignoring its own shadow.

Beladan lays a hand on an older knight and leans close before whispering in his ear. Both look to the shadow sliding around the walls before Beladan steps quickly to the north, leaving the elder knight to bide and watch the furtive movements of the shadow wreathed figure.