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Weather:            Clear
Time:                Late Morning <about 10 AM >
Season:              Winter
Date:               Mersday - February 23, 3014

Real Time:          Thu Apr 09 19:28:31 1998
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Osgiliath: Gondorian Fortification - Main Bunker
        A large and rather stark outpost building build for defense. There are stores of food and arrangements to accomodate large quantities of men for long periods of time, and arrow slits line walls for defense against attack. The stone roof overhead is strong and heavily supported by long wooden beams. Plainly this fort was built for strong defense purposes and little, if any comfort, in an area where attack is immenint. On one wall a small metal ball protrudes. (+inspect ball)
        Presently a great work is underway to rebuild the ruined aspects of the fort, for still in some areas there is evidence of fire and destruction; sentiment to a war in which the fort fell to enemy hands. The many men gathered hither spend their time either resting or aiding in the process of restoration and strengthening of the structure.
 

Serin - Serin is a stout, tall man; probably in his twenties. He wears a suit of marine blue from waste down, and two steel-shod boots upon his feet. His hair is a plume of brown; highlighted by deep red as ever the sun shines upon it. His head is thin and masculine, and besets you with two cold, grey eyes around a subtle nose.
The human creature before you is wounded, and his face reveals the torment of pain and suffering -- not only afflicted in body, but also in mind; for he is a man who loathes to remain idle. Around his torso is a white bandage, which is smeared and oddly flecked with random stains of blood from excessive bleeding. You can tell that even as he would move to stand, he fights every searing and burning of mortal flesh. Yet despite all these woes, a bright twinkling can be seen in his eyes, and you know it is not for you that he bears his grudge.

Nials - At a glance you see a tall young man who is easily six feet in height and looks to be in his mid twenties, but could pass for someone who is in their late teens. Looking closer you can see his eyes are the color of emeralds, and that is nose is a perfect slope covering a set of thin, pale lips set onto a cleanly shaven, narrow face with a serious look perpetually set into it. Looking into his eyes you can see instantly that there is a good measure of intellegence behind them, and you can note that he is always watching everything that is going on around him with a certain warriness in his eyes.
         His Guardsmen's uniform fits him well, but you can tell that there is a certain newness to the whole uniform. His traditional black leather armor covered by a matching black talbard with the White Tree and Seven Stars of Gondor emblazoned on it. Also his talbard is belted a the waist by a broad, black leather belt with a silver buckle on it, and from the belt also hangs his longsword and sheathe, and a small black leather pouch. His Talbard covers the top part of his black pants, but you can see that they are tucked into the tops of his polished black boots. In the top of his left boot is tucked a simple, well balanced dagger with a silver hilt, and around his his neck is a simple silver chain from which hangs a small medallion with the Tree and Stars of Gondor emblazoned on it.

Analdin - With his relatively short, boyishly cut blond hair, a twinkle in his eyes, and an entire six feet, this young man seems to almost blend into any group of boys that could be playing in the street. However, upon closer inspection, the glacier cool look behind those ocean-deep blue eyes and the straight posture show him to be no child, but a man of some responsibility. An air of strength, mental as well as physical, shines about him. His hands, when they can be seen, are rough and hard from work, and his muscles are far more than slight.
        The uniform of the Minas Tirith Guard seems to go quite well with his features, giving him a more mature look than most might see at first. The black tabard with the emblem of Minas Tirith upon it, the Stars and the Tree, the dark trousers tucked into black, polished-to-a-shine boots, all of it adds to the feeling of responsibility about him. Upon his shoulder can be seen company insignia, the Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith. Bars of rank also adorn his uniform, Lieutenant's bars, and company commander's. A well cared for longsword hangs from his side at most times, and a shining helm with raven's wings sweeping back oftimes covers his head.
        His posture is that of a trained soldier, though rather friendly for it. Even though black is the dominant color in his clothing, his light, almost Rohirric features give him no appearance of darkness. An air of purpose surrounds him like a light mist.
 
 

Ever since the battle on the bridge, Serin had been left moderately wounded and impaired. Though he had refuted living in the infirmary and he called it a place 'for dying men', he also found the idea of staying Osgiliath repugnant. This day Serin has felt better than he ever has. He can walk and move again without being sore or incumbered. And just as stretches his limbs and replaces his shirt, a messenger arrives.

Analdin steps into the fortress, glancing about and blinking a few times as the darkness of the building assults his eyes. Having just walked in from the bright morning, he pauses just inside before looking about, eyes falling silently on Serin. A light frown adorning his face, the young officer continues on his way over to the sailor, the sounds of his heavy boots on the floor making a rather loud, if purposeful, thumping sound.

The boots beat as though a great drum in Serin's ears. He had spent the day thus far in easy repose, and was considering just then how much he relished the silence, when Analdin stepped. Even as he looks to him, he betrays and returns Analdin's unmistakable frown. Then clearing his throat and buttong his shirt, he calls loudly, "Hail Analdin!"

Analdin's face lightens just a bit, though the stern expression remains. "Hail Serin," he returns the greeting, holding up a hand, "I hear you were injured recently. Tell me, how are you feeling?" He comes to a stop right before the sailor, and clasps his hands behind his back, looking intently at the other man.

Serin looks fully into the eyes of the newcomer, as if to coldly deduce their intent and purpose. Then relinquishing his contempt with a satisfied grin, he stretches out his arms perpendicular to his chest and tightens his grip and replies, "Better than ever, Analdin!"

Analdin remains calmly standing, face rather grim to counter the sailor's grin. "'Tis good to hear, that is for sure." he says quietly. Eyes shining brightly, twinkling almost as normal in the lesser light of the torches about the room, he looks Serin in the eye. "I have a message for you, friend Serin," he says, tone falling from the cheery greeting.

The sailor relaxes the muscles around his stout chest and forearms, and sighs loudly with slight exasperation. "And what is this message sir?" Serin's voice takes a formal tone as he realizes the seriousness of the message, and he narrows his gaze on Analdin as he continues. "Better to come out with it, I have no use for words subtle."

Analdin shakes his head slowly at the speech of subtle words, "Nor do I." replies the Lieutenant, eyes darkening a bit, "So I shall give it to you straightforward. There has been word of a corsair attack, and," he adds, dropping his voice a little, "it is said that the Prince Imrahil's youngest son has been taken captive." Straightening his posture, he watches the other's face for a reaction.

The stalwart and indifferent mariner suddenly drops his jaw as he hears of the corsairs and their fell deed. At first a chagrinned expression coupled with a deep sadness weeping his eyebrows downward appears, but this soon ebbs away and shatters into a seething and clenching of his jaw. A look of cold anger sweats from his now furrowed brow. His voice then rings out, stern and harsh even to the walls of the dark, unfeeling walls of the fort. "What!" he exclaims with fiery fury, "Those dastardly curs shall pay! Their pain shall be great, and their suffering long, and no mercy shall be asked, for none can be given. They shall fall in countless, and perish amid the thoughtless sea." Serin involuntarily pulls out his sword as he says this, sending a low ringing of steel off the stone

Analdin holds up a hand, eyes darkening even more at the sailor's rage, "Calm yourself, Serin!" he exclaims in a tone of a lieutenant, one used to giving commands, "As I said, calm, or you shall bring the whole roof down upon our heads like no army of the east ever could. Captain Rinkair of the Alcarondas has sent out orders for all seamen of the Navy to return to their ships, for they are to give chase." Placing a hand on Serin's shoulder, he adds in a softer tone, "And if you don't find a way to let your anger rest for the moment, I shall personally see you resting in the infirmary."

The mariner breathes heavily, looking into the darkness as if he were glaring to death an unseen foe. All he hears is getting back to the ship, and replies in surprising urgency. "I must return to my ship. Yea, even this very moment." Suddenly he seems to notice the lieutenant's placating tone and the hand now resting upon his shoulder. He quickly recoils and thunders, "My friend Analdin, I have not time for such vain formalities in a peril so dire. I must leave. The infirmary may await its proper customers, for I have no such dealing with it anymore. Now, I must go!" He ends these words in a voice less loud, though still intense, and his great sword is raised heavenword as he does.

Analdin removes his hand from the man's shoulder as he jerks back. However, in a quick move, suprisingly so for one of his stature, he grabs hold of the wrist of Serin's sword hand. There is strength of his hands in his grip, the strength of a blacksmith. "Knowing you, Serin, I had figured you would leave immediatly. But the healers say you are not ready to leave their care, not yet healed fully enough for travelling." As he says this, he looks the mariner hard in the eye, his face darkening, though not in anger.

The sailor seems indignant as his hand is siezed. A look of forshadowed death crosses over his smouldering eyes for a moment, then it procedes to a distrubing frown. "Release me, and know that I am indeed well. If you would doubt my word, even you my friend, I will be forced to let my steel speak more eloquently in ammending your qualms.

Analdin's eyes darken to their deepest, a blue only seen at the depths of the sea, or after a storm. A frown appears on his face, and, though his other hand strays near his sword hilt, he does not touch the weapon. "Your steel can speak no words that will make me allow you leave this post until you are healed. You are a man of the Alcarondas, are you not? I know Captain Rinkair, and his sergeant, Galain. If you wish, I can speak to them, and tell the reason you are not on board your vessel." Pursing his lips, he adds in a darker tone, "I am a fighting man, a lieutenant of the Guard. You would have no chance at a swords against me, of that I have little doubt, espicially considering your condition. But if you wish to fight..." his voice drops to near a whisper, "Then so be it."

The sailor bites his lips, and shoots a begrudging glare at Analdin. He slowly removes his arms from Analdin's grasp, takes a few steps backwards and replies. "Do not be so foolish Analdin. Who are you to claim to be my judge and my chain. Consider my urgency and let me leave. These matters cut deeply into my heart. But if you will not-" At that moment his sword is raised threateningly, "you will soon regret crossing me."

Analdin's expression hardens, matching the chisled features of his face, making his face seem made of stone. "You may be under another's command, my friend, but while here, I have authority. Espicially on matters concerning the infirmary and those who wish to leave prematurely." Resting his right hand on the hilt of his sword and the other by his side, he says slowly, "If you wish to do battle over the matter, let us remove to a safer place - one where no man may accidentally get in the way of our blades."

Seems calmed now, and his subtle features are yet filled with hope of escape at this word. He nods to Analdin ever so slowly, brandishing a cruel smile beneath his ever widening eyes. "If you will not concede, I have no other choice.", Serin stammers, and motions for him to lead the way with his arms. "But if I do indeed win, or prove I have vigor enough to make the journey, you shall let me go, Yea?"

Analdin nods slowly, eyes hard on the mariner, "I will allow you make the journey, supposing you win or prove you have the stamina to travel. I have my own conditions, however. If I best you, you will remain here, and I will send a message to your captain explaining your absense. And if your strength fails you, and I deem you not able to make the journy, then stay here you will. Agreed?" He looks expectantly at Serin, eyes gleaming, hand readily on his sword.

Serin gives an agreeing smile, "Agreed". He sheaths his sword and steps through the broad doorway and into the light of the cobblestone street.

Analdin follows Serin through the doorway, glancing behind him as he goes out, face set.

Serin heads out of the building and into the camp of the Gondorian Guard.
Serin has left.

Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Gondorian Garrison

        Amidst the ruins of the former splendour that was Gondor's capital of old is a fully-operational battle camp. At least a dozen tents are scattered around the ruins of the city here, each flying a small pennon of the White Tree on a black field that flaps in the daytime breeze. Guards in similar livery patrol the area here, dressed at all times in shining silver mail and with Halberds on their shoulders.
        The guards here seem very uneasy, though they try to hide it...their gazes cannot help but hover eastwards, to the black wall of the Ephel Duath and the dark land that those mountains enclose..
        Even on a cloudless, sun-filled day such as this, a dim haze seems to hover over the mountains to the east...a haze that darkens as you look further and further into the skies of the black land. Perhaps it is your imagination, but you fancy you see a dull red glimmer on the eastern horizon...
 

Serin appears from fortified dwellings. A pleased smile underscores a mood savage and deadly. "Here my friend." He lowers his sword amid a small clearing in the camp, and replies in the delight of the moment. "To sparr in honor, saving death for the enemy!", Serin shouts, raising his sword as if to say, 'un garde!'.

Analdin follows Serin out of the fortification, drawing his sword as he takes up a position across from the mariner. Eyes ablaze, he pulls his longsword from its sheath, and holds it up, as in a salute to his opponent, "Aye, sparr in honor. And for honor, my friend, and for health," he adds this last in a low tone, almost a whisper. He looks to the sailor, waiting for him to make a move.

Serin pulls a large silven blade from his sheath. The sword rings out in the stillness of the air as it sparkles in the light. Serin holds it high aloft with both hands and wields it in cold defiance.

With both hands gripping the long sparkling blade of Gurthang, Serin makes a final bow before tensing his muscle-bound figure and stepping a few paces away from his opponent. Without a word, he flicks his lowered blade upward in a steady unyielding grip. Then stepping forward, he touches Analdin's longsword, batting at its steel with a few prying strokes. Then in an upheaval of girth and sword, he leans forward with his right leg and slashes downward with in a low arc toward his opponent's hip.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and he misses!

Analdin returns Serin's bow with a shallow one of his own, meeting the other's testing thrusts and swings with his blade. The sounds of metal ringing on metal as the two make contact in air rings through the air. The lieutenant, with a quck hopping step, manages to move out of the way in time to dodge the swing at his hip. Attention focused on his opponent, the young officer casts Serin a studying glance before bringing his longsword about in a tight arc, aiming it for the other man's shoulder.

You attack Serin with your Longsword...
Your attack against Serin mildly wounds him!

Serin swings just short of Analdin's hip, and not realizing it, steps off balance in his subtle weakness. WIthout a moment to react, a blurr of steel swats his shoulder; forcing a slight wince of pain from its victim. Then retreating a few steps, and looking at Analdin as if to acknowledge his success, Serin recomposes his stance. With a grumble from deep within his chest, Serin advances toward his foe, falling upon him with as quick a movement as his sore body can muster in a sideways stroke toward the lieutenant's shoulder-- the greatsword flashing with dread in the sunlight.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

Analdin follows the movement of his own sword as it hits home, taking a step back in triumph of his first swing, though his face betrays nothing save flat out determination and concentration. Yet, even with that, as Serin's greatsword comes toward his shoulder and he moves to block it with an upward swing of his own longsword, his movements are just a bit too slow, and the other blade flashes above his own, cutting into the armor on his shoulder. Wincing more at the injury of the impact rather than any damage it may have done to his shoulder, h equickly cuts off his show of weakness and sets to swinging his blade with fierceness born of a wounded shoulder - and wounded pride. With that, he brings his sword down with the momentum it has already gained, and aims it for Serin's side.

You attack Serin with your Longsword...
Your attack against Serin mildly wounds him!

Even as Gurthang plummets upon Analdin, a feeling of something forgotten staggers him. Without realizing it, he had left his guard down, or rather too far up, and a low sweep to his hip suddenly registers. The pain is subtle, though biting, and it burns him more to fervor than despair. The mariner absorbs the hit, thrusts his sword downward in an attempt to prevent the longsword from intruding any further in any direction, and simulatenously, he lets out a quick side kick from his left leg, bearing his weight on the right as his boot rises toward Analdin's chiseled chin.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

Analdin continues in his swing even after it hits the mariner, bringing his sword all the way about. Dropping it a bit more afterwards, it cuts down near his own feet, between the two. With his sword down, and only one hand free, he sees the kick coming toward his jaw a little too late. Taking a step back, about the only defense he has against this kind of attack, he manages to get the blow only to scrape his chin - enough, though, with a boot, to cause some damage. Muttering something beneath his breath, something to the effect of "Scrappy indeed!", he brings his sword back up to use against Serin, thrusting it towards his midsection, but turning away after feinting, instead pulling it up and at the other's shoulder.

You attack Serin with your Longsword...
Serin dodges your attack.

With the momentum of his kick, Serin retreats backward a bit. The burst of sudden energy even for one so ardent as this incorrigible sailor proves to be wearying. But for one whose flesh still bears the hurts and woes of battle, all one can do is hold back for an idling moment. Even as he does, an otherwise well-placed strike toward his mid-section gouges the air. Then with a deep breath, Serin strides forward to take advantage of this miss, and reels his sword first toward Analdin's head, though suddenly deviating and swirling around in his iron grip toward his foe's leg; the flat turned and bearing the remnant of his power.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and he misses!

Analdin pulls his sword up to defend against the attack on his head, bringing it to the angle it would be most effective against blocking such a blow. However, as the blade instead goes for his legs, he jumps back a step, going over and just behind the blade. Landing hard, he regains his balance, swinging his sword around quickly after defending from the attack. His breath comes slowly, regularly, and training seems to be taking over as the soldier swings for Serin's head withthe flat of his blade. Though swinging with the flat slows it down thanks to air resistance, the blade is yet going fast enough for a good sparring hit on a helm, should it hit.

You attack Serin with your Longsword...
Your attack against Serin mildly wounds him!

The sailor grins in amazement as Analdin jumps over his blade. A stunned expression fills his face, and as a fire spent, he tarries a moment as a surge of lethargy spans throughout his body. His helmet now lies on the ground, his head swims with a dull pain and soreness. He regains his awareness, only to see the continued sweep of the sword returning to its master. Then like a fire rekindled, he mounts up on the girth of his stout legs, and leaps into the air, making a diagonal slash at Analdin's sword arm with the flat of his blade.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!

Analdin recovers from his attack quickly enough, eyes shining brightly as they tend to in battle, and training shows over instinct as he grips his sword loosly rather than hard as the adrenelin pupming through him would have him go by instinct. Dragging his blade, he brings it against the mariner's shoulder, aiming high for the shoulder bone. "You may surrender when you wish, Serin," he breathes evenly as he swings, "I will grant your quarter at your request."

You attack Serin with your Longsword...
Your attack against Serin mildly wounds him!

The sailor clashes Analdin's blade with a resounding sound of metal fury. But the weight of his sword is too much to move, and Analdin quickly swipes again at his already wounded shoulder. He absorbs this pain, and gives a chagrinned expression in its torment. Then with a laugh at his foe's suggestion, he moves the sum of Gurthang's weight against Analdin's longsword, while at the same time jutting out with his knee and arching it toward the lieutenant's gut.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

Analdin manages to catch the blade before it hits him with his own, wincing at the sound of metal screeching on metal as the sword clash once more. Though he is able to block that, his midsection is exposed, unprotected, and the perfect place for a gut-wrentching knee to hit. Which it does, causing the lieutenant to fall a step back, bringing his usual shield arm to his stomach, even the chain mail beneath his talbard does not fully shield him from that blow. A scowl comes to his face, and he says in a low tone, staring at his opponent, "If we're to fight, we shall fight clean, man." That said, he pulls his sword around for a swing at Serin's side, the blade turned to the side, revealing the flat flying toward the sailor.

You attack Serin with your Longsword...
Your attack against Serin mildly wounds him!

Serin stands for a while, uncertain whether or not Analdin has had enough. He makes a booming laugh at the following remark, and vainly moves his sword to protect his side, though failing, and receiving additional suffering from a blow. Then a bit stricken, and stumbling backward, the now indifferent mariner picks up his battered form, and circles Analdin; moving backward and forward, reeling his sword here and there. "This is how sailors fight clean." he cries, as at last he resolves to makes another thrust at Analdin's torso.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!

Analdin keeps his eyes solely on Serin, ignoring the small crowd of guardsmen and others who have gathered about, watching and cheering. "If you so wish..." he trails off, watching the sailor. Finally, when he makes his move, the lieutenant is ready, bringing his blade up to defend against the thrust. Again metal screeches on metal, but not for long, as Analdin quickly draws his blade out and uses it to take a swing at the sailor's legs. "Guards have no need to fight dirty, my friend," he breaths as he attacks, "Or so you shall soon learn."

You attack Serin with your Longsword...
Your attack against Serin moderately wounds him!

Crunching of metal is heard as the swords meet in the air. Then with a terrible cry of pain, another slash strikes true into Serin's flesh. He mutters, with bated breath, "We refuse to fight as ones impaired." Then with a great foundering of his step, he lashes out with a final sweeping at the legs of the lieutenant; the sword losing speed with every new stroke.

Night falls upon the dueling figures, though they reel backward and forward as strongly as ever. Under the fire's red glow, their tensed figures battle without regard to time or setting.

Serin attacks you with his Greatsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

Strolling out of the camp, heading toward his post as night gaurd, Nials sees the two dueling figures. Judging from the weariness apparrent in both figures, he assumes that the fight has been going on for quite sometime. Suddenly enraged he rushes to them, moves to stand between them, and then slowly looks back and forth from one to the other, "What in the name of the White Tree are you doing?" he demands angrily.

The mariner edges away as his greatsword smashes against Analdin's legs, fighting the searing of every bit of his flesh as he does. Then flicking the sword back upward, he begins to circle for another attack when he sees Nials and stops.

As the weakend attack on his legs comes, Analdin jumps back, trying again to get out of the blade's way before it injured his legs. But he doesn't make it, instead the point of the blade sweeps past his legs, leaving bleeding cuts through one of his calfs. Lowering his sword, though keeping it at the ready, the lieutenant shakes his head, "My friend, you are week... do you truely wish to continue with this?" bringing his blade up and around, he stops it before it quite makes it to the other's shoulder. His breathing comes regularly and, as a figure comes rushing up, he turns his head, glaring.

With anger in both his eyes and in his voice, the young private looks to the wounded mariner, with whom he remembers fighting his first battle, then to the lt. who just a little over two weeks ago inducted him into the guards. Seeing the glaring eyes of the Lieutenant, but still driven by his anger, "I thought that our battle was with the forces of Mordor," he says, "Had I known we were here to pose as gaurdsmen, but act as though we were common school boys, I would not even have joined in what I thought was an order of men dedicated to fighting for good and defending the innocent and weak," these words he almost spits from his lips, his green eyes as hard as emeralds.

Long and hard the fight had been for Serin, and his hurts had been steadily increased as the duel came to its end. Yet so resolute was he at returning to his ship and destroying the corsairs, that he ingored and spited every pain and wound on him. Given the chance, as Nials' interuption was met with Analdin's glare, he lets out a long trailing sigh. "Aure entuluva!", he said to them both, leering exhaustedly with a grizzly grin, "Aye, Nials, you are right" Then turning to Analdin, he looks at piercingly at him in the eyes, "It would be no dishonor for me to stop, even amid my cause. My woes are indeed great my friend, but I believe I may persevere against all who would make efforts to stop me. Know this, nothing shall hold, or stay, or keep me from returning to the ship of my destiny. Not you or my woes. If I must give that up, then I gladly fight on. If not, then I relinquish myself to fortune of your esteemed honor."

Analdin draws his blade up, placing the point on the ground before him, and leaning a hand on the hilt. Looking Nials well in the eye, the lieutenant says slowly, as though he were not standing smelling of sweat and dust, sword out, having just fought a sailor, "Private," he begins, eyes darkening, "Consider yourself on report for an infraction of ettiquite." Leaning forward a bit, he adds, "When you address a senior officer, I'd suggest you remember how to salute, soldier, and perhaps even show a bit of respect." That said, he leans back, allowing a bit of the strain on him to show, and even a bit of a smile - a small bit, that is. "The days of school boy fights are over, Nials. This one, this was over something more important." turning to Serin, he lets out a low sigh, "If nothing I can do, even holding you to a battle on the terms of honor, will keep you from leaving, then do so. But if, while marching to Minas Tirith or the docks near there, I find you dead on the road... you cannot blame me."

Seeing the need for his anger has passed, Nials looks once again to the lt., then as if reminded by his words, salutes him. "If I may sir," he says in hopes of a compromise, "as I understand it, Sir Serin would like to return to his ship, but due to the nature of his wounds you would like for him to stay here. Might I suggest as both a means of punishment for me and to grant Sir Serins request, you order me to escort him to where ever it is that he wishes to go." With this said he remains at attention, waiting for the lt. 's answer

Serin quickly sheaths his sword, and looks firmly into the eyes of NIals, as if questioning his boldness, then turning back to Analdin with a similar sentiment. The mariner gazes steadily up toward the west, and replies to Analdin in a genuine heartfeult tone, "If my legs were cut off, I would crawl along my belly. If my eyes were gouged out, I would grope with my fingers. Nothing shall keep me from the vengeance that I would wreak on the Haradrim." Then raising his eyebrow with an agreeable inflection on his voice, "And certainly, going with Nials as my courier would be no worse than woes such as these."

Analdin places his own sword into its sheath, a light sigh coming from him as he does so. Turning from Nials to Serin and back again, he shakes his head slowly, "What can I say? I know the tenacity of sailors, my friend," he says to Serin, "And if you would go, then do so. It is not my place to keep you here if vengance is what you seek, and it could be more dangerous for me than the ones you wish to kill were I to do so." A twinkle enters his eyes at these words, though he turns stern as he look back to Nials, "As for you, soldier..." Trailing off, giving him a hard look, the lieutenant says slowly, "You will accompany Serin to his ship, then return immediatly to camp. This shall, of course, be mentioned to your commander." That said, he shakes his head slowly once more, muttering about sailors.

A real smile, for the first time in a long while, apears on Serin's curled lips. He makes a deep bow to Analdin and utters, "It is good of you, and I shall see you again and we shall talk of their ruin and laugh on today." Then with a half-step forward, he points to the fortification and commands in a stern, though kind voice, "My things are on the corner wall just inside, in a large leather sack."

Analdin nods slowly, blinking a bit as he does so, "Be on your way, then, Serin. Good travelling to you, and I do hope you carve up the corsairs at least as well as you did me this eve." That said, he turns, and makes his way slowly into the fortress, dripping a bit of blood from his leg as he does so.

Nials nods in understanding, then moving to get Serins thing. Once inside he makes a quick trip into the infirmary and speaks to the healers, who in return give him a few herbs for Serin. After gathering everything he returns to Serin, "Ready when you are, Sir."

Serin looks sullenly in at the leather sack and ration. We shall leave at sunrise. In the meantime, let us get rest amid the starry night. I do not want to see the fort again, or not until I have laid to rest those curs. Come let us go." With that, Serin strode to a small tarp laying out next to a stone wall, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.