The Conclave of Lords was called by the Steward, Denethor after the politcal upheavel in the southlands of Belfalas that resulted in the murder of the Lord Sema Sirion and the attempt to claim Lordship of the fief of Calembel by another with rumored outside aid of a Haradrim backer who paid well in gold coin. But the plot of disloyalty was found out and the murderer put to death. The Steward in Minas Tirith felt the after shocks and called a Conclave of the Lords to come unto him for a Hearing on the matter. After long hours of being secluded with his Lords, Denethor came out and called forth the Lords and high Officers to attend to him... to reafirm their oaths of fealty. This is the log that follows, recorded on June 2nd, 1997.
Tower of Ecthelion: Great Hall(#12048Rn)
Before you stretches a deep hall, lit by recessed windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of tall pillars which uphold the roof. Monoliths of black marble, they rise to great capitals carved in many strange figures of beasts and leaves; and far above in shadow the wide vaulting gleams with dull gold, inset with flowing traceries of many colors. No hangings nor storied webs, nor any things of woven stuff or wood, are to be seen in this long solemn hall; but between the pillars there stands a silent company of tall images graven in cold stone: an avenue of kings long dead.
At the far end upon a dais of many steps is set a high throne under a canopy of marble shaped as a crowned helm; behind it is carved upon the wall and set with gems an image of a tree in flower. At the foot of the dais, upon the lowest step which is broad and deep, there sits a stone chair, black and unadorned: the seat of the Steward. Also in the shadows unseen, yet felt in presence of will and resolve, are lined the many Citadel Guards who keep watch upon this most sacred of chambers.
The sun's golden light filters in from the windows above, lighting the hall with a warm glow.
Contents:
Imrahil
Denethor
Obvious exits:
Out
Elbarad arrives from the huge carven doors, which the guards swing open silently.
Elbarad has arrived.
Elbarad is an IC Male Human Gondorian
[Imrahil(#10108)] The doors swing open and with slow solemn steps the Prince of Dol Amroth enters, and behind him stride thirty retainers with glittering swords of steel and tall helms. They chant solemnly in Ancient Sindarin as they enter. With a formal bow before the throne they straighten themselves into orderly geometric shapes. Imrahil bows his head and is silent.
Ravenwyr slips into the Hall quietly, cane in one hand but not used. He first makes a line over towards the general direction of his Lord Denethor, offering a slight bow though the man is occupied with other things. Wyr snags the arm of another man on watch in the Hall, one of Denethor's own, gaining a report of somekind. Any Lords who try to gain his attention durring his duties he bows slightly to but keeps his own attention on his work. He asks the other man several questions, then nods, satisefied. He takes up a more casual position out of the way but near at hand if Denethor should wish to speak to him, but also where he can see the entire Hall clearly. He nods to Elbarad as he comes in.
[Imrahil(#10108)] A figure in a green cape enters. Landromir passes through the doors and immediately stands by one of the columns in the shadows. He intently watches the proceedings.
Denethor stays back in his chair, the shadows cloaking his body within the massive chair that surrounds him. The light falls down upon his chest as the only part that is illuminated. His head nods to each as they enter and they are then escorted by one of his many guards that line the hall to a position that is waiting for them.
The Hall is alive with echoing foot steps, raised voices in gay chatter and laughing even on this solem occation. Men gather to stand in the front of the Hall to pay greetings to one another before descending the Great Hall to pay more formal respects to first the Steward, then to Prince Imrahil. Slowly, little by little some begin to take to their seats but many have yet to arrive.
l denethor
An old man with silver hair and ivory skin. He looks out at you from dark deep eyes over a long curved nose. His face is carven with a proud Numenorian bone structure. His regal clothing hangs from his shoulders in the form of a well adorned, yet simple robe of state that flows down to his his ankles, drawn at the waist by a wide leather belt, studded with silver. The golden buckle of the belt holds firm before the end of the belt loops up and then back down through itself. In either of his hands he is normally found carrying a rod.
Standing no more than five, or ten feet away four men stand with cloaks drawn close to them as well, large long bulges hanging from thier sides.
Denethor looks up and down the hall and the people that line the room. He straightens himself and shifts so that he is illuminated as if to draw attention to himself. One of his guards takes a standard and pounds the floor beneath him three times, the sound echoing throughout the chamber.
Danwithe arrives from the huge carven doors, which the guards swing open silently.
Danwithe has arrived.
Danwithe is an IC Male Human Gondorian
Elbarad stands near the entrance way to the hall, with his back to the wall. His armor and helm are polished to perfection. The only thing that mars his image is that his left arm is bandages and held in a light sling.
Ravenwyr turns his head slightly at Denethor's summons to order... but not to look towards his Lord. Instead he watches those gathered through out the Hall in a tormoil of colors and dying voices. The noise level drops down to a barely heard whisper as everyone goes to their places and look to the Steward. These people take more of Wyr's interest to watch than the actual proceedings about to begin. He slips his helm on for the more formal occation but otherwise remains still at his post, watching.
[Imrahil(#10108)] The lords file in: Hurin, Forlong, Derufin, Duinel, Girithlin, Hirluin. They all stand at attention and bow before their liege.
[Denethor(#12717)] As the noise in the hall diminishes Denethor awaits several breaths to make sure all attention is drawn to him. "Imrahil. Attend me and stand before me while I speak."
Danwithe strides into the hall slowly, his cloak sifting softly behind him. As he enters he bows low before the assembly of lords, and then rises again. His boots echo softly on the floor and he his eyes looks over the hall with cool calm eyes. His entrance is behind the lords of the realms, and his presence is a silent one.
Imrahil dips his head and at once comes before Denethor his sea grey eyes looking at his brother-in-law and liege.
Denethor's hands rise off the arms of the chair and come to rest upon his stomach, the finger interlocking as he looks down upon Imrahil, "Art thou a loyal servant of the King of whom I represent?"
Relkin arrives from the huge carven doors, which the guards swing open silently.
Relkin has arrived.
Relkin is an IC Male Human Gondorian
Imrahil looks truly to Denethor and says, "Verily Lord since I was but in the greenly days of youth I have sworn love and fealty to the Great Throne that rests here and its sacred protector. To that end. I reaffirm our vows of fealty to you for now until the ending of time. When the call comes, the sons of Belfalas will answer it, and be not dismayed!"
Relkin enters the hall slowly, closing the polished door behind him. His eyes look over the assembled lords and ladies with a carefully neutral expression.
Denethor slowly tilts his head to the side and leans in a bit toward Imrahil, "I remember not asking for thee to swear fealty to anyone, or anything. Is there perhaps a reason that you believe you should do such a thing?"
Shifting where he stands to better watch the Prince Imrahil bowed before his Lord, Ravenwyr stands at attention and silent as many other do... men in crisp black and silver of the famed Citadel Guard lineing the Great Hall in honor for their Lord. He listens gravely to the questions asked, wondering what Denethor is up to.
Imrahil arches a brow for a moment, "Lord, those oaths are ours and already sworn. By thus asking of our loyalty then to question the power of the oath of which I reaffirm is natural."
Denethor shakes his head slowly, "Jumping to swear oathes with such vigor and flourish when I have but asked you whom your loyalties to is often a sign that there is something wrong." He waves his hand dismissivly and subtly shakes his head. "Tis perceptive of you that you should jump to such a statement however for it is my belief that that is just the case. There has been a lack of fealty amongst the Lords of the realm of your Principality. Why is that such a case? I had thought the lessons of the kin strife had taught all our people the lesson of unity."
Boromir has connected.
Imrahil says softly, "But surely Lord you know well that the dispute occurred in Lamedon, far away from my lands. Yet I may make a dark surmise if you would afford me."
Relkin moves to the side of the hall slowly, his eyes now on Denethor and the prince of Dol Amroth.
Denethor seperates his right hand from the other and moves it out before him, palm up, "Please proceed."
Ravenwyr raises a brow in surprise at the words he hears.
l imrahil
Tall and full of magesty, this figure calls attention to himself. Not so much by his height, but by his regal demeanor and his sea grey eyes which are deep and pool-like. In fact, there is something strange about this man, something fair and ancient. An imperceptible blood that flows as if the sea.
His black hair edges out of a mighty helm formed in the shape of a pair of silver swan wings. His face is not notable for peculiar features, but the countenance therein is one of unyielding nobility.
His garments are immaculate consisting of a sea-blue tunic and a flowing silvery cape that rests over a heavy set of chainmail armor wrought with a dizzying display of detail. This is furthered by a pair of large jet black boots to which pointed spurs are attached so that he may coax his horse to war. Upon his breast, lay the symbol of his house set in an array of jewels in a detailed medallion: The Ship and the Swan. At his side sits, a jewelled scabbard and hilt, sparkling with many sapphires and rubies stands guard fiercely at his side.
Imrahil bows his head, "My thanks lord."
Boromir stands to the right of Denethor's seat with arms folded across his chest, and his eyes shine with passing disinterest.
Imrahil turns now and looks at those lords gathered and then with swifting arching eyes settles his gaze upon the Steward, "As we know well we are but a remnant of mighty Numenor. A past that seems to us in this modern era but a dream."
Imrahil continues, "And though the ages pass with seeming swiftness for us, the high blood falters and no longer are we the men we were once of old."
Imrahil continues, "Thus, it is with such consternation that we forget our past, and our history. That we are the Saved exiles from Numenor and we should be proud."
Imrahil continues as he almost paces, "But now in this other world on a pale shore the men of Gondor wane as the evils of Sauron work its leechcraft upon us. And thus men will falter where once they were strong."
Boromir speaks up from where he once was silent. "The past is not forgotten in Minas Tirith, depository of lore unrivaled in the land."
Imrahil looks to Boromir, "Yes Lord Boromir, but how many men have gone into that repository, to learn the lore of our fathers?"
Boromir stiffens, "I know not, for study and lore is not to my liking, but I have learned to olden tales, and I know them well, as do many who reamin hither."
Imrahil says, "How much wisdom now lay idle and forgotten I wonder? How well do wane when once in merry streets children played - now vacant and listless. Ah Lord Boromir, the sickness is upon us truly and even now we recall tales of old, as if they were playthings or something to fancy after a meal. Alas for Gondor. Tis no wonder why proud men fall!"
Ravenwyr looks from the Prince Imrahil and to his Captain General as Boromir speaks for the first time. Wyr stands slim and straight watching and listening still. Others in the Hall, Lords and Ladies occationally whisper among themselves but the Great Hall echos with Imrahil's words over the heads of the brightly garbed assembly. Sunlight, fair and golden streams in like bolts of finest silk to cascade and spill over the marble flooring, fine clothing and bright steel of the grim men here.
Boromir laughs now, throwing back his head. "Alas indeed for Gondor! Proud men fall indeed, but for naught? Nay, for a greater purpose guides us all, which all your lore shall not aid us in. Our need lies in strength of men and arms, not in the scholars tales."
Imrahil sighs, "But indeed, it is in lore that we may find victory, for who knows what many things we may find? Who may say what we may conjure that is beyond our hands today? To rouse people? To find a thing of war that may aid us in our need? Mayhap Boromir, yet even today our masons cannot contrive the work of our fathers nor rival the craft of hand and mind in war, or peace as we were of old."
Garrick has arrived.
Boromir frowns and rubs a hand along his chin, "Our works of this day may not rival the works of Numenor, nay, nor shall that great place be ever recalled again upon this earth. But it has passed, and he who awaits the return of that which has gone has left the path of wisdom."
Garrick enters the Great Hall, looking from side to side to see who is in attendance.
Imrahil nods, "But even so, there are many thinks which lay idle in knowledge in this city that may aid us in our need. Would it not be fair to say that perhaps we may search yon archives and mayhap there can be something thence found that could aid us so that no more we may see the bloody field of Osgiliath stained with the blood of our folk and carrion o'erhead cackling?"
Ravenwyr can't help but blink at what his Lord Boromir says... perhaps taking it in a way differing than how his Captain General ment it but he is surprised at the man's words. Wyr licks his lips, eyes now skimming the Hall for other's reactions to the almost sacraligious comment.
Relkin stands to the side of the door, his eyes still watching the main conversation between Imrahil and Boromir.
A faint and almost inaudible riple of whispers spread over the Great Hall.
Denethor moves his hand over to his rod of office wrapping his fingers around it, raising it into the air and bringing it down on the arm of his chair with a loud noise, "This has not to do with what I brought everyone here to be addressed."
Boromir laughs now again, "And where in all your lore shall be found a means of aiding men at war. 'Tis the blade of strong steel, and the armour wrought of woven rings that may aid a man. Though mayhap your scolls may light the fires of their camp, and warm the cold of winter from their limbs. But I shall grant you this concession. That the scholars of this city should indeed search, as ever they have done, and may they find aught of which you speak. Would that I am proven wrong in this."
Elbarad's face is slowly turning red, his lips pressed closly together as the lords spar with words.
Denethor says, "Enough."
Boromir stands back at Denethor's words, inclining his head to him and silencing his speech.
Imrahil bows his head and is silent, he stands aside.
l boromir
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Before you stands a mighty figure of a man, proud and noble of face and stature, and very tall and broad-limbed. He is stern of glance, with sea-grey eyes that penetrate deeply into the faces of all who come before him, and his raven black hair is shorn about his broad shoulders. Fearless does he seem indeed, as though naught that walks upon land may harm him, and one would not be suprised to see him laugh in the face of death, or attack single-handedly the rising tide.
His clothes are rich and fair, but not frivolous, for they are warlike in nature. A black surcoat is draped over a suit of finely wrought mail, and it is boldy emblazoned in silver thread with the White Tree of Gondor, and a helm there is upon his proud head. A silver collar is fastened about his neck, in which a single white gem is set; shining brightly, and from a baldric he wears a great horn tipped with silver. At his waist there hangs a mighty sword of steel. ==============================================================
Denethor shifts his focus and gaze toward Imrahil, "I believe you were trying to explain why men of Gondor no longer seem to want to heed thier loyalties for the good of all?"
Denethor shakes his head slowly at Imrahil's words and casts his eyes toward his feet in thought for a moment as his chest rises and falls with one large breath. He looks up at Imrahil again, "A thining blood line is no excuse for such actions as were taken in Lamedon. I believe now all must learn that thier loyalties are not to any Lord or cause but that of Gondor and the struggle for what is right and true. Too many have been attracted toward greed and selfishness, even if it only be one man. I have called everyone here to solve this problem. All Lords, be they great or small, shall come before the throne and swear thier lives to Gondor. Any who refuse or are false to thier oaths shall forfeit all, mayhap even thier lives."
Imrahil nods, "Of course lord. I offer neither excuse nor apology. You merely ask the reasons why our country has suffered so much, I provide what answer my own ken may perceive."
Boromir nods to Denethor with approval, and come forward, "Then shall I now swear oath to thee, my father, and to Gondor that I love? Though ever my loyalties have remained at your side, I shall do as you bid, and restate my vows."
[Imrahil(#10108)] Landromir comes forward with quick strides and kneels before the steward planting his head on the ground. Drawing his sword he lays it at his feet, "My life is Gondor! My vows I renew! May we be proud of our high blood!"
Ravenwyr takes a moment to allow his eyes to roam over the Great marble Hall as Denethor speaks. Many faces are among those gathered that he reccognises... but they are intent on the Lords before the Steward. Wyr looks at the graven stautes of the Kings of Gondor that line the Hall in between the tall pillars of stone that uphold the roof far above them all. Some of the Kingly images he knows and others he is less certain of but with a slight startlement Wyr notices that the King's likeness he stands beneath is Castamir. He continues to look up at the statue a moment, then quicky back to the proceedings as he hears steel drawn.
Denethor smiles at first Imrahil then at his own son, his smile growing broader as he sees himself in that man that is flesh of his flesh, "It would be right for me to first swear that allegance before any other." He stands from his chair and looks out over the crowd ignoring Landromir, "All here in this room today, be they Lord or no, shall come before the throne and give thier oathes. Then when you return to your lands you shall require that all men whom you see do the same."
Elbarad watches the proceedings with a stoic silence, as some hurry to proclaim their loyalties he considers the old saying that often those who proclaim their innocence the loudest are guilty in fact.
Boromir bows to Denethor, "Then swear first, my father, though none here shall doubt thy loyalty. And I shall go after thee, as is proper; from father to son, for so will pass the stewardship of Gondor to me when you have gone."
With an attempt at casualness, Ravenwyr slips away from the King's watch to move a short distance up the Hall and a bit closer to where his Lords Boromir, Denethor and the Prince are. He takes up a new position beside a marble pillow to resume his own watch. Hearing Denethor order that all presant shall give oaths, Lord or no... Wyr's attention is fully regained to the proceedings.
Denethor moves forward from his chair, claps his hands and two guards scurry forth with a pillow between them. They place it at the foot of the dais and then step into line with the others. Denethor moves around to the other side of the pillow, turns around and lowers himself to the floor. He bows his head in silence for a moment then looks up toward the throne that has been vacant for such ages, "I, Denethor, Lord Steward of Gondor and ever loyal servant pledge myself to the loyalty that is required of me. I always have and always shall honor above all the goals of our land and shall be willing to cast away mine own life if and when needed. I am my Kings servant as my King is the servant of the people." He rises slowly and looks out upon the crowd.
Boromir goes afterwards upon the dais, after his father, and he bows too his head and speaks the same words as before, and the binding oath is said. And then he too stands to his feet and regards those about him, and he steps down and again places himself beside his father.
Imrahil bows and says looking at the Steward eye to eye, "Now hear my oath as I renew our bonds of friendship, kinship and fealty. Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me or the world end. So say I, Imrahil son of Adrahil of the line of Princes of Dol Amroth."
Denethor looks around the room and rests his gaze upon Garrick, "Come forth and be the next to prove his loyalty and valor to your kinsman." He motions to two guardsmen who immediatly go forth and flank the man.
[Boromir(#15204)] The eyes of many look now to Garrick, awaiting his response.
Ravenwyr turns his head to look out over those who prepare to swear their oaths again, here today. His gazes comes to rest on the proud young man who still kneels down on one knee, waiting to be acknowledged... the young Lord Landromir.
Garrick looks at the guardsmen without concern and moves toward Denethor. Bowing, he says, "I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me or the world end. So say I, Garrick son of Garrin and of the House Rovacil.
l garrick
Standing 5'10" tall, Garrick is a stocky, powerfully-built man . His tanned skin speaks of y hours spent out doors. Garrick is young, appearing to be no more than twenty years old, and no battle-scars mar his appearence. Garrick's eyes are pale-gray in color, and his dark hair is of medium length.
Garrick wears the simple clothing of a White Squire.
[<#15204>] Boromir's eyes now fall upon Landromir, who has passed unnoticed as yet, and he leans to his father and speaks softly in his ear. "... ... ... ... ... oath ... ... ... ... ... He ... a ... ... and worthy ... ... ... his sword ... ever ... ... ..."
[Imrahil(#10108)] Landromir looks up with a frantic eye.
Denethor smiles upon Garrick, a look of pleasure upon his face. The guards immediatly flow back to where they were before. He looks over at Boromir then toward Landromir..... "Come forth and speak thy oath."
Garrick, having given his oath, takes his place in the back of the room.
Landromir picks up his sword and lays it before the Stewards feet, "Gondor is my life. I shall live and die for it so that no enemies may assail her. I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me or the world end. So say I, Landromir Deluvian of Anfalas."
Denethor gives Landromir a nod then beckons him to rise with his hand, "Return to where thy stood." He then gazes out upon the crowd and centers upon Ravenwyr, "Come forth and take thy oath."
Boromir's eyes narrow as he looks to Ravenwyr, and a quick glance is flashed towards Landromir, though no words are said. And his face darkens and growns grim, and his jaw becomes set hard as though his teeth are clenched well together.
[Imrahil(#10108)] Landromir rises and looks at Ravenwyr, there is little emotion that can be seen on his face. He merely watches.
Ravenwyr takes a breath, setting his cane carefully to rest against the marble pillar behind him before walking out onto the cleared floor. He stops before his Steward, with a glance at the tall empty throne rising behind that noble man. Raven removes his winged mithril helm to kneel down upon one knee and inclines his head, "M'Lord, Here do I swear and reafirm my service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm in the name of our King who shall return... to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty. In time of peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me or the world end." Wyr pauses to look back up at his Lord Steward, "So swear I, Ravenwyr," His voice drops slightly in volume, "Son of Darbian, of the line of Ithilien." Wyr remains kneeling a moment.
Boromir blinks as the man completes his oath, and a deep frown creases his lips, though still he does not speak.
Denethor smiles down upon Ravenwyr and holds out his hand in an offer of assistance for the man to rise.
Ravenwyr stands carefully, his balance without his cane fairly good but he was on one knee. He smiles ever so slightly at Denethor for his kindness, scooping his helm from the floor to tuck in his arm, mumbling, "Thank you, M'Lord." He begins to withdraw for the next man.
[<#15204>] Boromir slips quietly beside Landromir who stands nearby, and he whispers into the man's ear. "... ... ... ... ... ... mispoke ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... skin as brown ... ... ..."
[Imrahil(#10108)] Landromir nods, "Aye, verily lord I shall do all you order."
Relkin waits his turn, his eyes looking over each person as they speak their oath.
[Imrahil(#10108)] Landromir stands aside in the shadows, watching carefully. Imrahil has disconnected.
Denethor looks around the room, slowly turning from man to man, eye to eye, "Who shall come forth and offer themselves next?"
Relkin steps ahead, raising a hand and speaking clearly, "I will speak, Lord Steward."
Walking back to his place where he left his cane, Ravenwyr resumes his place after reluctantly doning his high winged helm. He picks up his cane and stands quietly at attention for the continuing of the oaths... the hours passing in evidence with the slipping sunlight across the marble floor. He glances down the long ling of carved Kings and pillars until his gaze falls to Elbarad. Wyr smiles alittle, feeling a flavor of emotions he has not felt since he was little more than a kid, taking his oath for the first time seemingly so many years ago.
Boromir returns to stands beside his father, having conferred briefly with Landromir, and again his eyes focus upon the proceedings. But a troubled frown crosses his face, and he seems to consider well some thoughts known only to him.
Ravenwyr shifts his weight where he stands through the long, long proceedings. He watches as the next man is motioned forward to swear his fealty... but not knowing that man he instead looks back to his Lords. Wyr's attention lingers on his Captain General who seems to be disturbed about something though quiet.
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