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Weather:            Stormy
Time:                Midday <about 12 Noon (lunch time) >
Season:              Autumn
Date:               Sterday - September 8, 3014

Real Time:          Mon Jun 15 00:03:21 1998
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Nials:
        Your eyes gaze upon the form of a tall, medium built man. His body is lean, though not overly muscular as is the norm for the men of Gondor. Atop his head is a flowing mane of wavy, chesnut colored hair, which frames the man's narrow face and hangs to a point just below his shoulders. A twin pair of sea blue colored orbs gaze out from the face of this man, but upon closer inspection under them appears to be scars of somesort. His nose is centered between the blue shaded eyes, run long and narrow with a slight aquiline quaility to it. Under his nose is the pair of lips that form the words of the blue eyed man; they are small, and then with a slight smile set upon the very edges of them. His head sits atop a body that stands roughly just over six feet in height and is covered with skin that is lightly tanned. His muscles are small compared to most but his form is fit and has the look of one who has fought before.
        His clothing is made of a solid black tabard, deviod of any marking or helraldy which is belted at the waist by a broad leather belt. Under his tabard is the man's coat of studded leather armor, black in color with steel studs set into the chest and arms of the protective coat. The top of his matching black leather pants are hidden by the bottom of his tabard. These protective leggings hang down util they reach the tops of his leather riding boots. Around his shoulders hangs a thick hooded cloak, dark as midnight and free flowing in form.
        Hidden beneath his cloak hangs the young mans means of defense, his sword, Silme-Raana. Simple in nature, the plain longsword rest in a simple leather scabard which hangs from the leather belt around his waist. Along with his sword hangs a simple pouch for the storage of small and simple objects.

Dric:
        A short young lad catches your eye as he darts about wherever he is. He wears a black homespun shirt half tucked into a pair of black trousers. Though his clothing seems to have been washed multiple times, it still has that little-boy dirtiness about it, the soiled look that comes from too much activity. Polished black riding boots, perhaps a bit scuffed, cover his feet. Blondish brown hair sweeps across his forhead, cut relatively short though it is scraggily and tends to fall down into his eyes. Those eyes being bright, shining, inquisitive-about-the-world blue.
        All of four feet in hight, with his boots on, this young lad makes up or it in inquisitiveness - and speed. He seems, from his build, to be no more than eleven or so, but his eyes place him in more of the thirteen-year range... though it may just be his overly-intelligent shine to his eyes and the lack of hight, which could throw off any judgement. A heavy, dark wood longsword hangs strapped to his back, the sword being almost as long as the boy is tall. It has a rough look to it, but even covered by a pack on his shoulder, the sword does appear well made. He appears rather bedraggled, a rough gash across his forehead, and his right arm is bound tightly in a bandage.

Dol Amroth: Marble Gate
You stand on a narrow bottleneck of land no more than two thousand paces wide, shooting westwards to connect to the rocky promontory on which the Castle of the Prince and the city of Dol Amroth stands. To the north and south are the waters of the sea--even from hear you can smell their salt tang and hear the cries of sea-birds.
To your west, a massive wall of flagstone stretches its way across the entire bottleneck of land, effectively sealing in the city from any attack on foot. The only way in is through the huge marble archway that lies directly west along the tree-lined path on which you stand, the famed Marble Gate of Dol Amroth. A company of guardsmen stand at attention on either side of the huge archway standing next to two large statues guarding the gate. The men-at-arms are dwarfed by the gate's bulk and they wear the blue and white of the Prince's servants. Sunlight glints off of their mail, their spears, and from the domes of the high conical helms graced with seabird wings that adorn their heads. Traffic is fairly heavy--wagons of farm goods passing in from the lands of Dor-en-Ernil, peasants and traders on foot, and a goodly number of mounted Lords in battle array or finery--the Knights of Dol Amroth about their business.

Amidst a company of guardsman standing at the Marble Gate, a small pattering of feet can be heard running down the ranks. A young, barefoot boy runs down the road towrads the city at top speed, a young, well dressed, squire looking man running and puffing after him. Something in the boy's grasp jingles as he hurries along, and the shouts of the man not too far behind him float after the young lad, whose speed is impaired by an arm that is bandaged tight to his side.

Watching the scene before him, a young man dressed in all black smiles from within the confines of his tightly wrapped woolen cloak. The morning sun is hidden behind the dark grey clouds of the storm that is raging down on the city by the bay as Nials makes his way down the street positioning himself in the path of the young thief.

While looking back at the man behind him and casting him a sneering glance, the young lad runs smack dab into a man dressed all in black. Emitting a loud gasp as his arm hits the man's body, the boy falls down, landing on the seat of his pants in the middle of the road, glaring up at the man in black before him and forgetting about the one behind him - until he catches up. "What have you done with my money, you little scamp?" the squire demands, while the lad, sitting there, just glares up at the both of them.

Throwing back the hood of his cloak so that the muted light of the sun illuminates his features, the young lord holds his hand to stop the raging squire, "Peace my friend," he says calmly, "I assure thee, there is but a simple misunderstanding here." His sea blue eyes bore into the young man sitting in the mud for a moment before offering a gloved hand to help the young one stand.

Pursing his lips, the young lad ignores the man's hand, still glaring at him, and hobbles up on his own, standing a few feet shorter than either of the men flanking him. "No misunderstandin', suh," the boy says, puffing his chest out and a proud smile coming to his face. "I know 'zactly wha' I'm doin'. I didn' take this 'ere man's money, no suh, 'e dropped it."

The squire, having calmed just a bit, looks over to the other man beside him, "He stole my bag of silver, and I wish it back. Perhaps you can reason with the little brute."

"Hold your harsh words my good squire," Nials says calmly all the while looking at the young lad. "You will give this man back his purse my young friend." the young noble states in a firm tone, "If he dropped it, then it is still his and should be returned," he continues, "Now."

Tilting his head back a bit, putting his chin up, the blond headed boy smirks, "I can', suh. I los' 't." Yet the statement is transparent, belied by a jingling in his sleeve as he holds his arms out in a shrug. As he hears it himself, he ducks between the two men, small figure being able to escape the pair... almost as if he has experience in it. Shoulders squared, he begins to run down the street, upon which the squire shouts and makes to chase after him.

Turning as the young thief hurls past him, Nials quickly begins chasing him; the longer strides of the mans legs quickly overtaking those of the young boys. Reaching out and grabbing the thiefs collar, the black clad stranger jerks them both to a stop lifting the boy from his feet. Holding the young lad a good foot off the ground, Nials waits as the other squire catches up with the two. "I tole you to give it back boy," he says angrily, "Now why did you go and have to do that?"

Dric struggles as he is cought, his boyish limbs wriggling as he attempts at escape. Choking, held off the ground the lad pulls at his collar, "'Ey, lemmee go! A boy's gotta eat, y' know!" Finally stopping in his struggles, he glares up at the taller man holding him, "An' I can' gi' 't back if I can' ge' 't ou' o' m'pocket! So lemmee down, an' maybe I will."

The squire only looks on with a frown, a sneer directed at the boy, eyes blazing.

"I tell you what," Nials says as he tries to bring his anger under controll, "You give the man back his purse," he says to the little thief, "and you good sir give him some of the money in reward for finding your 'lost purse'." he says to the angered squire.

The lad shakes his head, glaring up at the man still holding him up, "I don' wan' t' gi' 't back. I foun' 't. My right." Looking over towards the squire, he adds with what may be called a wicked grin, "Or I'll fight ye for 't. Or ye, suh," he adds, looking back to the man in black, and pulling on his collar once more, "I don' care, I can fight either of ye."

Uncaringly dropping the young boy in the mud at his feet, Nials steps back and whips out his sword, the cool steel of the blade ringing as it leaves the sheathe at his side. "Is this what you want young man," he say, glaring at the young boy, "You don't know what you ask for. I have fought before and it solves nothing. All it accomplishes is destruction and death," his words pouring from his mouth so softly that they can barely be heard over the pouring rain, "but if this is what you want, then come let us get on with it. Or you can do as I ask and give the man's purse back now."

The stormy weather blocks out the noonday sun, destroying any shadows before they have a chance to beging, and threatening to pour down rain at any time. Not much attention is payed to the little lad's argument with the man, and the busy lives of the people walking up and down past the Marble Gate continue on. Only the young squire is an onlooker to the happenings, and a not very happy one at that by the scowl imprinted on his face. Drawing the wooden sword, until now strapped tightly on, from his back, the boy holds it in his left hand, his right being injured. "I fought, jus' th' other day, on the corsair ship. Killed a man, too. 'E deserved it, dirty son of a dog tha' 'e was. Tha' all them corsairs are. I can fight you... I need the money, need some food, I'll fight for it." His determination is quite evident in the fighting stance he takes up, the kind tought in the Guard, and the tone of his voice.

"Then take it and go," Nials says, "I will not fight you for it," Turning his gaze upon the angry squire, Nials reaches under his cloak and draws forth his own pouch of money, "Good squire take this and be careful with this one." Looking once again on the young man with the wooden sword, Nials watches him for a moment then speaks again. "Go this time," he says quietly, "Go now, and if I should catch you again, I will not hesitate to fight."

"Y' sound like m'brother now," the boy exclaims angrily, kicking a stone on the road into a large mud puddle, causing a loud splash and a slurp as the rock is sucked under. "Don' want t' fight 'less y' have t'. Glad ye weren' on th' ship, or we would've lost for sure." He tilts his chin up a little, bright, sky blue eyes shining defiantly. "Who're you t' boss me 'round, anyway?"

"Some one who knows you young Dric," is all the black clad man says as he turns to walk away. Continueing on down the street, Nials moves as if nothing happened at all.

Slipping the sword into the sheath-like thing on his back, the lad, wiping a vagrant strand of hair from his eyes, trots to keep up with the man, "'Ey, 'ow d' y' know me? I don' know ye, an' I think ye jus' guessed at m'name. Who're ye, anyway? An' I still wanna know why ye wan'ed to boss me 'round!" The boy plants his feet solid in the ground just in front of Nials, glaring up at him, "An' if yer not goin' t' tell me, I'll tear 't out of ye."

"I know your brother," Nials says as he continues to walk, "and I know that stance you just took. It is the very one that he taught me on the training field so long ago. I know you because I have seen you before and I have heard about you from others." His steps continue to move forward as his words carry to the ears of the young man, though he never turns to look at Dric.

"Y'know m'brother? The L'ten'nt? Ye were one of 'is boys?" he throws out a stream of questions, agiley hopping and skipping beside, behind, in front of, and all around the walking man, "Ye've been to the City? Why'd ye leave? An' why won' ye fight me? An' wha's yer name? C'mon, mister, answer me, will ye! Or I'll 'ave ye demoted!" For this last sentence, he takes on a serious look, a frown, and a glare, all of which make him look older - and more like another man somewhere far off.

Finally stopping, Nials turns to look at the brother of Analdin, "You can't demote me," he says with a hint of humor in his voice, "I am no longer a guard." Smiling to himself, Nials shakes his head, "If you must know, I am called Nials, but I was not of your brothers company at the time. And I will not fight you because of him."

Having finally gotten Nials to stop, the young boy's eyes grow brighter, "'Course I c'n demote ye, suh, I c'n demote anyone I please." A hint of a smile breaks through the frown and seriousness to his face, more a mischevious grin than anything else. "An' I don' want t' fight ye over m'brother. Did that th' other day on th' ship. Say...." Trailing off, he looks across the square then back to the man in black, "D' ye think ye could 'elp me a bit, suh? I could pay for 't if ye wanted." He holds up the small purse of silver, grinning widely.

Nials rolls his eyes, "What is it you need Dric," he says barely able not to laugh at the boy.

Tucking the purse into his own black shirt, into a pocket somewhere, the lad looks up, chewing on his lower lip a few moments, "I'm lookin' for a man, y'see. Bu' I can' find 'im. Nowhere 'round 'ere." Lowering his eyes to his bare, bootless feet, the bedraggled boy adds, "'E savd m'life, bu I can' find 'im."

Nials looks intently at Dric, "And do you know this mans name by chance?"

Eyes still on the ground, the boy lets out a light sigh, "They say 'is name's Imrahil, bu' I don' believe 'em. 'Cause the Prince isn' so nice as t' save me. So it mus' be someone else. But...." he trails off once more, lifting his chin off his chest, "Bu' maybe 't is 'im. An' if 't is, I can' give up the chance tha' maybe m'brother was wrong 'bout 'im... jus' maybe." Eagerly looking the man full in the face, the lad adds, "D' ye think ye c'n 'elp me?"

Nials nods, "I think I can help you find this man then." Looking around, Nials holds up his hand and moves as if to show off the entire area. "Imrahil, the man you seek will be here in the section of the city in three days. I suggest you seek him here and then."

"Three days!" the boy drops his head back backward, looking up at the sky, as if being angry at it, "Tha's too long! I've got t' find 'im!" Shaking his head, the boy raises a hand, feet already twitching as if anxious to be going, "Then I'll go look s'more." He takes off at a dead run, holding something up in his hand behind him, "Oh, Nials, suh, if ye think ye've lost yer purse somewhere... don' worry, 't's in safe hands." Grinning, he disapears into the thick of the crowd, and out of sight.