Harad Road
The outlines of the cool and dry grassy savannah stretch off endlessly to the horizon. To the south it appears the grass thins, giving way to scrub brush and patches of bare earth.

The night sky is clear with only slight wisps of clouds overhead. The late night winter air is cool and dry around you. The moon is new.

Night grows late upon the south road, and the weary travellers now worn with the long dusty travails into the south progress slowly southward. Sirion, riding upon his steed trots next to Boromir holding in his gloved hands an outstretched map. He studies it carefully before saying, "Lord Boromir, the leagues have been long from Pelargir, but I think soon we come upon that which we seek. I suggest having the company look for any paths that may lie off of this road." Sirion's eyes gaze lazily at the Mumakil undaunted having seen them before.

Boromir's eyes drift back to the road from the huge gray beast that is in the field alongside the road, with a wave forward with his gauntleted hand he motions Carecyn forward, "Ride ahead Carecyn, see if you can find the paths that Lord Sirion is looking for. "

Suddenly, off to the west there is a flash of lightning and for a moment it sillouhettes a dark and evil looking tower.

Riding his black mare just behind the Lord Sirion, Nials casually looks about him at the blasted landscape. The beast near the road takes but a passing thought from him as his gaze begins to scan the horizon. The bolt of lighting catches him by surpise, as does the dark image of the tower, "My Lord," he says, "Look there."

Carecyn nods his head solemnly and urges his brown mare at a faster pace but not quite a gallop, the green clad ranger moves ahead of the rest nodding to Lord Boromir and Lord Sirion as he passes.

Sirion turns and looks to towards Nials and the tower and the abandoned pathway that goes thither. Suddenly, Sirion's face turns ashen pale and he mutters, "Barad Castamir."

Analdin rides quietly at the very rear of the company, his blade ever loosened in its sheath. Nearly black eyes search the dark road in silence, yet not as closely as he may like, for much of the young officer's attention is taken to keep his steed in line. The horse and its rider seem to disagree on some fine point, for a mumbled curse arises from the man as the beast sidesteps.

As darkness falls upon the land and the adventurers travel on, Arnafel rides his steed tiredly, letting his body sway to the the rythm of the horse's steps. With startling suddeness, lightning flashes, revealing a tower not too far in the distance. With a somewhat curious look at the strange beast, he turns his attention to the tower, as he hears Lord Sirion's words.

Boromir looks up with a start just as he was ordering Carecyn to look for the path at Sirion's muttered words. Chuckling to himself he says to the man, "It seems that last order will be unneeded after all......"

Sirion looks to Boromir, awaiting his orders.

Carecyn trots back toward the front of the Gondorian line his face hidden deep within his green hood. Green Gauntlets protrude from the cuff of his longshirt and lightly hold the reins of his horse. He nods to Lord Boromir and Lord Sirion then reports in a deep voice "My Lords, the path upon which we travel leads further toward the tower." He motions his head toward the direction in which the tower was illuminated.

The black horse's rider says nothing more as he looks in the direction of the man who so long ago brought about the seperation between Gondo and the Umbareans. The darkness surronding the tower looks to almost be palpable, but from this distance seems abandoned. Tossing his misty colored cloak over his shoulder to offer easy access to his sword, Nials grimly waits for the order.

Sirion now says, "Yes, it is that way. In the days of old, Castamir the Usurper had a stronghold there, but upon his exile it became abandoned, and the slaves that were held there in torment died, and now it is said, they haunt that place - as does the ghost of Castamir himself. A most unlikely spot for any hoard of the ancient realm."

Araloth, upon a sturdy Rohirrim horse, keeps only a bit behind the rest of the group, quickening her steed's pace every now and then as time urges them on. A quick flash of lightning can be seen, along with the rolling clash of thunder in the distance; her mount rears only slightly, though the young maiden keeps it under surprising control. Again she quickens her pace, this time pulling up along side the Lieutenant, and then slowing to match his beast's own speed.

Lightning flashes again but it long and a glow remains dangling over the tower and lo! It would seem as if your sight has been tricked for hanging high above the tower is the image of a great helm gilded with a mighty dragon!

Carecyn nods his head in response to Lord Sirion's words. He remains silent and turns most of his effort to controlling his prancing horse which spooked at the second flash of lightning. Carecyn runs his eye with his free hand and looks upon the tower, his gaze pointed toward the top. An uttered prayer can be heard from within the green hood.

Boromir swings down off his horse and taking the reins in hand says, "Ghosts or not Lord Sirion, nothing shall stand in the way of our recovering the helm this day. Let us lead our mounts up the path to the tower, if it is as deserted as you say we should encounter no difficulty."

Lightning flashes again but it long and a glow remains dangling over the tower and lo! It would seem as if your sight has been tricked for hanging high above the tower is the image of a great helm gilded with a mighty dragon!

Arnafel nods thoughtfully as he considers Sirion's words. His gaze remains upon the tower as they ride, and so it is that he sees the strange illusion which seems to appear over over the tower in the aftermath of the lightning bolt. He turns to Sirion with raised eyebrows. "What sayest thou now, Lord Sirion? For it doth seem to me that I didst see the image of the Dragon-Helm appear over the tower. A portent surely...", and with these words, he dismounts.

Even as Araloth comes to ride beside him, Analdin's eyes are not taken from the road. It winds its way up towards the tower, and his still eyes take in every step of it. Finally looking up as the lightning flashes once more, bringing a round of thunder after long moments, the young man seems almost mesmerized by the sight of the pillar of haunted-looking stone. He shakes his head and, seeing Boromir so far ahead dismounting, pulls his horse to a stop and nearly slides off the mount. As his feet touch the ground, he turns his head heavenward and a relieved look touches his sharp features.

Sirion dismounts and then says, "An omen Sir Arnafel, but be it for good or ill we shall see. There are many strange things in the world. Come. Let us dismount and follow the son of Denethor."

Sirion sighs and says, "Strange, exceedingly so."

Boromir, in his eagerness to lay his hands on the helm does not stop to discuss portents of the night strange or not, instead he makes his way almost eagerly toward the ruined keep.

Sirion heads down the path, following Boromir.

Quickly sliding off his horse and grabbing the reigns to keep the spooked beast from running off, Nials takes a moment to sooth his horse. Working his way around Ithildin, the squire finds himself beside his lord, "Is there anything you need done before we enter that cursed keep?" questions.

Carecyn dismounts his horse and runs a soothing hand down the mares neck. His own attention focused on the tower. Looking to Lord Sirion he nods and waits along the side of Lord Boromir "Yes, Milord strange indeed and an omen of ill it may be, but hopefully one that bears good for us."

Arnafel strides down the path, his eyes watchful as his cloak billows in the strong wind.

Analdin holds his silence as he leads his beast, bringing up the rear of the small band.

Before Barad Castamir
Here in the wide waste you stand before an abandoned fortification. The crumbling stone sits like a withered crown upon a smallish knoll, yet all that remains is a tall black tower. This tower looms large, and terrible before you. From it, a vaporous sense of fear emits, as almost the shades of Men lingering from forgotten wars of long ago.
The narrow slits and sable stone however are lined with the skill of old, and show little wear unlike the masonry about the site. Perhaps those of lore may know this place for what it is - Barad Castamir, the haunted tower of Castamir the Usurper.

Lightning flashes yet again, causing Araloth's steed (Synnbora) to stop dead in it's tracks. The horse whinnies, and begins pulling at it's reigns, nose pointed towards the tower. Raising an eyebrow, she looks upwards, and a strange sight causes this messenger to blink, yet she simply shrugs it off as a figment of her overactive imagination. Seeing the others dismounting, she rides up next to the Captain, and quickly dismounts. "Pardon my asking, my good Lord, bout would you wish me to stay behind in case anything should happen to the company?"

Thunder rolls...

Boromir pauses in his motion forward to answer the rider, looking over the tower he says, "No, I think that you should enter the keep with the rest of us, probably safer that way fro you."

Lightening flashes and the travellers come before the dark tower... and then... dreadful to the ear, a long wailing howl, greater than any wolf's voice, it goes in fear as if a ghost of the unquiet dead.

Sirion says, "Beware my lord! Before us lieth the very tower itself! See! It is jet and a stench rises from it like cold corpses upon a battlefield stricken of flesh by carrion!"

Hell Hound snarls from infront of the tower. Stepping from the deep shadows, he slowly draws back the loose flesh over his razor fangs. Shiny and yellow they are, evidently a victor in countless battles. The fangs flex in his powerful jaws. Above them, dark red ageless eyes peer from the dark grey coat of heavy matted fur. He turns slowly, ears lower and steps to block any path to the door past him."

Leading his frightened beast along with the others, Nials studies the tower and the ground surrounding it. The rumble of thunder and the occasional flashes of light offer light to take in the structure. The baying of the ghostly wolf reminds him of a friend, but also sends a shiver down his spine.

Araloth nods her head in a silent acknowledgement, pausing only briefly to heed the Lord's words, and leads her horse towards the back of the company, and keeps in step along side Analdin. A lone howl makes her turn to Analdin, though a low snarl quickly draws her attention towards the tower, and the fell beast before its door.

Hell Hound opens his dark and powerful jaws. In a dark and heavy growl, words begin to form as he speaks. "Who who comes to the Tower of Castamir, you must my riddle answer, or ...," His glare swipes across those gathered here. The second action is implied by his wicked and dark form. His jaws less fitted to speaking riddles than crushing bone."

Arnafel walks behind the Captain-General, one hand holding the reigns of his steed as he strides along. Of a sudden, a ghostly howl is heard, and scarcely a moment later, an evil creature, evil as only the minions of the Dark Lord can be, steps from the shadows of the doorway. Even as Arnafel soothes his steed, the evil beast speaks!

The hound's howl frightens Analdin's horse, and it shies away from him, causing the young man to turn the all of his attention to keeping the poor beast from bolting. Muttering curses beneath his breath he manages to calm it enough, shaking his head slowly as Araloth casts him a look.

Carecyn looks upon the tower fear in his eyes. The dreadful baying of the hound. As the hound speaks Carecyn looks upon it with a fearful awe. His attention is taken and held by the hound. The ranger looks at the two lords out of the corner of his eyes a questioning gleam in his eyes.

Boromir is suddenly aware of the beast as it's eerie voices echos from amoung the ruins. Setting his hand on the hilt of his blade he steps forward declaring, "And who seeks to stand between the son of Denethor as he comes seeking that which is rightfully his?"

Sirion mutters to Arnafel, "Does the Lord Boromir fear anything?"

Hell Hound opens his jaws again. He speaks agai, . "I am the guardian of Tower of Castamir." His dark red gaze meets the face of Boromir and he squares his shoulders. the voice erupting again, "Answer my riddle and you may pass.""

Arnafel shakes his head as he watches Lord Boromir confront the beast. "I think not, and ev'n if he does, it doth be most well hidden..."

Sirion lets a breath escape his mouth, "First, the beast speaks, like the one in the catacombs - tis strange, I have never seen such a thing - and now it wishes to ask of us a riddle?"

Standing near the Lord Sirion, Nials places one hand on the hilt of his sword while the other holds the reigns of his frightened horse. Watching the ghostly form of the Hell Hound before them, the squire patiently awaits the riddle the undead beast keeps speaking of.

As the fell beast speaks its piece, Analdin only looks the hound over calmly. His hand inches downward to rest on the hilt of the sword by his side, but the horses and men between him and the possible threat keep him from drawing it.

Boromir draws the ancient blade that rests on his hip from it's sheath, stepping forward he says, "Begone cur of the Evil One, the only riddle I shall answer this night is how well you fare with this blade between your ribs." He takes a step forward, "But speak your riddle....at the least it shall be worth retelling when the bards recount this day of glory for Gondor."

Hell Hound speaks in a heavy growling voice. His throat straining to make human sounds,
 "Inside a great blue castle
 lives a shy young maid.
 She blushes in the morning
 and comes not out at night,"
 His glare swipes across the gathered here, "Answer swiftly.""

Sirion shakes his head, "I was never one for riddles, the answer I know not - or fear drives it from me."

Carecyn stand silent contemplating the riddle he sighs softly and mumbles out from under his hood "Father was right when he said I failed him in my learning or lore."

Leading his horse quietly alongside Analdin, the acting Lieutenant Malahir listens to the riddle from the felled beast carefully. Squinting, he turns to Analdin, "You wouldn't have come across any clues in your studies in the library back in Minas Tirith now would you sir", he asks curiously.

Analdin's eyes widen suddenly as the hound growls its riddle, and, handing his reigns quickly over to the messanger beside him, he pushes his way between the horses to stand beside Boromir, "My lord.... I believe I may know of what he speaks." Stepping closer to the Captain-General, he speaks quietly into the man's ear, so as not to be overheard by the hound should his answer be wrong.

You +whisper to Boromir, "'Tis the sun, for she lives in the blue of the sky, and blushes with the dawn..."

Smiling at the simplicity of the riddle, Nials says not a thing so not to be proven wrong.

Boromir bends an ear to listen to the young Lt, after he has heard it he straightens saying, "A fine guess Analdin, one the bests my own which was that of an Iris. Hmmm....what do the rest of you say to his response, it is one that I judge worty. Analdin, speak now your answer that all might hear."

The riddle makes Araloth furrow her brow, and she leads her horse slowly up to the Lord Sirion's side. "..., ... this ... ... ... riddle. ... ... ... be ... ... ... ... ... ..., ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... shines down ... ... ... ...." Her voice is low, hardly audible at all, except for the the Lord Sirion and the squire Nials.

Sirion turns pale awaiting an onslaught by invisible demons, but he grasps his sword tightly awaiting to hear Analdin's speech.

Analdin speaks a bit louder to the assembled company, casting an almost frightful glance to the fell beast as he does so, "'Tis the sun... For she lives in the blue of the sky, and blushes with the dawn."

Hell Hound growls again. His tone dark and foreboding, "Enter you all." He steps back into the shadows of the tower. When another flash of night's fury lights the area, his dark form is not to be found there."

Sirion blinks, "So we pass. But do we really wish to enter?"

Sirion sighs and girds his belt, "Fate be ordained for the son of Tirion." He motions to Arnafel, "My cousin, let us put away fear and doubt and forth we shall go with the Lord Boromir and these valiant sword brothers."

Analdin nods quietly, no hint of pride lighting his face whatsoever as he manouvers his way back to the rear of the company. Casting Malahir a quick smile, he finally answers the question as he once more takes the reigns of his horse, "I fear I may have soaked something in those long hours, aye."

Nials nods to himself.

Boromir says loudly enough for all to hear, "Well done Analdin! The times you've spent reading in the Library was not in vain! Now, let us proceed into the keep, and hope no other beasts block our passage."

Malahir taps the young officer's, whose superior wit has bested the undead creature, smiling broadly, "I look forward to seeing you there when we get back", and he pulls on the reigns of his horse to follow his commanding officer closely.

Analdin's smile falls at his aide's words, and he shakes his head, "When we return to the city there will be far too much work to finish for spending time in study. Let us proceed... and keep your sword loose, for we cannot be sure what evils might take us from behind."

Arnafel murmurs softly, "It seems we must, to gain that which we seek...Come then, cousin, together shall we face that which doth attempt to prevent us in the completion of this quest!"

Araloth smiles slightly, and heads back to the rear of the group, and stands along side Analdin. Seeing her cousin Malahir, she frowns slightly, and sighs, though makes no motion as to why she does this. "Malahir.. I know you wish not for me to be here." With this, she simply shakes her head and looks towards the tower.

Boromir watches those with him as they stand about the entrance to the tower, he pushes past the led horses and stands before the ruined gates of the tower, 'Enough chatter now men, let us go inside and see what awaits us. The sooner we can

Hearing the banter of the other members of the quest, Nials says nothing as he looks at the tower. So far have they come, and so much have they fought to get to this point.

Sirion nods, "Aye Lord Boromir! Let us pass through these evil gates!"

Eyeing his cousin suspiciously he manuevers his horse so that he can walk beside her. However, as Lord Boromir silences the group, Malahir holds his tongue and just sighs, also staring up at tower, in awe over it.

The Entrance Chamber
Is it a nightmarish dream? Is it a shadow of perception on Man's deepest fears? Nay, for here you stand in a tower dark and dank. Water drips slowly and the work is abandoned and ruinous. Yet it is not that which holds you at bay, rather, this place is filled with fear, and at times, you may here a whispering, or see a light, and the murmer of the dead fill this place in madness.
Before you stands a set of stairs, which look structurally sound, which wind its way up into the dark chambers above.

A hiss of laughter, long and evil... and then a voice rings out cold from the corners, "Welcome travellers to the Tower of Castamir. Yet ere you may win these steps you must answer my question." Laughter again....

Sirion enters the tower and spins about, "The voice comes from everywhere!" The old knight draws his sword and it glints in the darkness, "What madness or devilry is in this place of dread?"

The scowl that had been on Boromir's face at the challange of the hound only deepens as a nameless voice utters it's own threat. "Who is it that now dares challange me and those that come after me? SPeak your question then leave us be, or face our wrath."

Stepping into the dark tower after everyone else, Analdin barely catches the voice as it speaks, eyes widedning. Muttering something to himself, he draws his blade, the echo ringing through the empty room.

Carecyn enters the tower his sword immediately being removed for it sheath and into the rangers hand. He looks about and says nothing instead peering into the dark corners in search of the voice.

The voice says slowly and clearly,

Glittering points
That downward thrust,
Sparkling spears
That never rust.

A hanging, expecting silence, as if waiting for an answer.

Araloth, having just entered and only now realizing that the voice is not that of the Lord Boromir, steps up along side Sirion and places her hand on the arm which carries his sword, "Surely, m'lord, there is no need for drawn weapons yet." Hearing the riddle, she furrows her brow yet again, and shakes her head. "Yet another obvious answer, as was the last."

The red hot desert sun rises over the horizon and heat waves dance before your eyes. The day begins.

Again a riddle is posed, and again the squire smiles at the simplicity of it. But as is his place, Nials says nothing until called upon by his lords.

Boromir lets out a sigh at the question then looks with curiousity to the young woman who speaks out first, "An easy answer you say? Then speak it and let us be done with this. If anyone else knows, they too shall not fear to speak it out quickly."

Sirion says to Araloth as he puts his sword away, "Maybe, or perhaps they wish to lure us deeper into the tower." The touch of Araloth seems to sooth him, "What do you think the answer is maid?"

His gaze once fixed upward, as Malahir enters the forboding tower and overhears the riddle, he looks for the speaker, muttering to himself, "more riddles? There is no way to fight what we can't see Lieutenant", his hand drifts toward his sword none-the-less.

Analdin keeps his blade ready in his hand, distrusting eyes going over the room. At Malahir's words, he shakes his head and speaks softly, "Enough of these word game.. Give us an enemy we can see."

Keleir takes the rearguard, following far behind the main group. Bladed weapon still sheathed at his hip, he pauses in time with the rest and holds a silent post. He hears the hissing laughter, bodiless in the chamber, hears the riddle and nods only to himself. "Iciciles", he calls out after a moment and shrugs.

Boromir snorts in surprise as the young scout speaks, "Icicles? A good answer in truth th my ears, what say you oh voice that mutters from the dark?"

With a loud rumble and a flash Laughter emerges and then a voice, "WRONG!" Keleir is gone!

The voice asks, "Try again."

Nials' awkward smile catches Araloth's eye, and she turns her gaze to him. "Indeed, I see I am not the only one who has found these riddles quite easy." With a sigh, she looks back to the Lord Boromir. "But I am not one to answer this riddle.." She looks to Nials, as if in anticipation of what he might be thinking, and then arches an eyebrow at Keleir's answer. "Indeed," she mutters, and gasps as Keleir disappears. Gulping, she looks back to Nials. "What do ye think?"

Glittering points
That downward thrust,
Sparkling spears
That never rust.

Watching in surprise as the scout dissappears, Nials fears to speak but does so anyway, "A bolt of lightning is a glittering that always downward thrust a sparkling spear that never rust." The voice of the squire echoes through the chamber and a look of hope mixed with fear fills his eyes.

"WRONG!" A flash and then Nials gets smitten by a falling rock!

Boromir steps back in alarm at the sudden disappearance of the scout, "Keleir!" he shouts, "Can you hear us?" Rounding in the direction of the voice he growls, "Return him to us, and forget this childrens game. " As he speaks another of the group disapears from view....his confidence wavering he says, "No one else answer the voice, if someone must answer it shall be I. Whisper the answer to me if you think you know it."

Alert and gittery, Malahir draws his blade as the mysterious riddler's booming voice rings. He crosses over to Araloth, "Do not speak cousin, I beg of you", and he lays his large hands over her shoulder.

The voice says, "If you guess aright, then he shall be forfeited to you."

Carecyn winces as the scout disappears, overcoming the overbearing fear that held him tight. A few select curses he mutters at the scouts demise and a few more at the squires.

Boromir gathers those men left around him, so that they might speak carefully without being heard, as the people gather round he whispers to them his own idea of the answer...

Araloth watches in horror as a falling rock lands upon the helpless squire, and she soon rushes to his side, shaking the hands of her cousin off her shoulder. Slowly, she watches in disgust as Nials' lids close, and his face grows pale. Muttering slightly, she looks towards the Lord Boromir, and stands, walking to his side. "Sir.. ... ... ... the ... ... ..... ..., ..... ... ... ...."

Analdin stands still, blade in one hand, eyes intent upon the unmoving form of Nials not too far before him. Holding his ground, since Kelier's disapearance, at the far rear of the group, he steps forward only as Boromir beckons the small company closer.

Boromir +whispers to you, "meteor?"

For a moment the form of the injured squire lays still, but then, slowly, his eyes open again. Looking upon the face of Araloth, Nials smiles, "I guess I didn't know it after all," he whispers weakly to her. "Help me stand," he mutters after his vision clears and the blurry look in his eyes fades.

Boromir shakes his head at Araloth's own answer, "I doubt it but perhaps you'd like to try it, the results don't seem to be fatal..."

Analdin shakes his head quietly at the Captain-General's answer, "It sounds possible to me, sir, but..." he trails off, tone one of obvious unsurity.

The voice thunders: "GUESS"

Araloth sighs at the Lord's response, and turns her face to the ceiling above. "It is teeth, surely. I can think of no other answer."

Laughter...

Suddenly light shines a set of stairs and the wounds of Nials suddenly heal even as Keleir reappears.

Sirion turns and says, "Lord Boromir! There! We have won the steps!"

Boromir shakes his head as the young girls guess is true, "Well done Araloth, I show no shame in owning you guessed right and I wrong. Let us now climb the stairs, and see what the voice was guarding.

Standing on his own now, Nials feels the pain of his wounds fade from existance. "I seem to have been wrong." he mutters to himself as he makes for the stairs.

Carecyn climbs the stairs, his footfalls making little sound as he follows Lord Boromir.

Analdin casts Araloth a glance and a nod, a smile almost touching his face at seening the Squire restored of his wounds. Bringing up the rear of the group, making sure to stay behind the popping in and out Kelier, he mounts the stairs.

Araloth closes her eyes for only a moment, standing still as weathered stone. A moment passes, and she climbs the stairs.

The Chamber of Iron
The walls of this chamber of the tower are lined with a black iron. Yet, from somewhere, an almost poisonous draft passes slowly through the chamber. You are chilled, for there seems to be something watching you, though what it is, you cannot say. In the center of the chamber lays a long set of winding stairs going up and down through this haunted tower.

Sirion looks at the winding stairs, "This chamber seems to be empty Lord, only these steps climb ever upward."

Boromir looks about the room, "Aye Siroin, it is empty, no riddles to be answered at least. Let us go upwards yet again, perhaps that portent Anafel was speaking of shall come true as we reach the top."

Sirion replies as he puts his feet upon the stairs, "Aye Lord, it was most strange. Did you see the image yourself." He waits, allowing Boromir to take the lead.

Malahir holds his breath as his cousin disobeys him, and speaks to the unknown riddler. To his surprise, she answers correctly, and the stairs are illuminated. Re-sheathing his sword, Malahir follows Analdin up the stairs muttering something under his breath about silly riddles.

Arnafel strides forward towards the stairs, his footsteps muffled by a thick layer of dust. "Since this chamber seemest to be empty, it is upwards we must go." He turns to Lord Boromir, "And let us hope, Lord, that the portent bodes ill for our enemies."

Boromir passes closely by the elder lord as he mounts the stairs, 'Nay, I did not see it, but I trust to Arnafel's word." He then makes his way up the stairs.

Carecyn shudders as both a very real and an imaginary chill shoots down the length of his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck point outward. He keeps his sword drawn knowing it will do little in this room to lessen the fear.

Though most others sheath their weapons, Analdin keeps his blade out and follows as everyone mounts the stairs once more.

Araloth, still slightly shaken up from the recent experience, continues onward up the stairs.

The Chamber of Sorcery
Your mind is in a daze here and a strange madness lay upon this room. It is perfectly round, broken only by the curling stairs up and down. There are various tables hither and thither, now rotting or crumbled. What their use was for you cannot say.
A fear fills this room like none other, and the shadows of the walls linger dark and deep in a thrilling chill. What haunts this tower?

Boromir steps onto the the floor of the room, making way for the rest to follow

Even as he steps into the chamber, Arnafel pauses and draws his sword, calling out softly, "Ware, Lord! There doth be danger here, though none seems to present itself."

Arnafel sweeps Lachelrist from it's scabbard and a gleam of light plays coldly along the blade's sharp edge as it's silver hilt settles into his hand with the familiarity of long use.

A shiver runs up the young maiden's spine as she climbs the stairs into this room, causing her to draw her cloak loosely about her. Looking back as Malahir lastly climbs the stairs, she mutters something under her breath about trust, and looks to Arnafel, nodding as he speaks.

Dust continues to swirl, further disturbed by all the footsteps. Motes of dust glow pale in the light. Though seemly mundane, it begins to coalesce beside one rotting table, where the faint outline of a barely shifting shadow begins to deepen.

Carecyn rubs his gauntlet across his cloak feeling out of place amoungst the nobles and knights and other men of Gondor. He moves back slightly and stands near Kelier the only other person he has known for a while. Wiping the sweat beads off of his forehead he squints about the round room.

Analdin casts a glance to the messanger lady who has tagged along with the questing group, then over his shoulder to Malahir, shaking his head slowly as he does so. His eyes are caught by a deepening of shadows and swirling of dusts, and his gaze is drawn to the table it takes place about. Taking a few steps in that direction, he keeps distrusting eyes on it.

Nials watches the shadow coelesce knowing it to be more than a trick of the ligh tin this haunted place. A look of fright still in his eyes from answering the last question wrong. "The shadow grows my Lord," he says in a quiet voice to no one despite the use of the title.

Keleir breeches the top of the stairs far to the rear of the rest, one hand still to the hilt of his iron sword and a cautious pace to his step. Moving inward, an uneasy sense blankets the room, causing him to frown with an narrow eye and searches the dark recesses of the round room. One glance back to Carecyn, and he edges around the circumference, hesitating as a figure of dust gathers together.

The shadow grows ever darker, though it seems as though other shadows, too, seem to absorb the light ever more. They seem to dance about the room, jerking and flitting back and forth in an almost dizzying pattern.

A chill breeze brushes past Analdin's face.

Catching his cousin's muttering, he gives her a long hard stare. Tagging behind the group, he coughs uncomfortably before whispering to Analdin, "The silence, something evil is afoot, my cousin mentioned something about demons when we were in Osgiliath. Could she be right on two counts in this quest".

Analdin keeps his eyes intently upon the table, only nodding in silence as Malahir as he is spoken to. In fact, he doesn't speak at all, regardless of his usually silent nature, only keeping intent gaze upon the swirling patterns.

Arnafel steps forward towards the coalescing shadow, his sword rising slightly as the room suddenly seems to come alive with dark, flittering shapes, their vaguely defined forms seeming threatening beyond any reasonable doubt.

A swirling of darkness in the hall causes Araloth to shift uneasily, wishing now that she had been trained in some sort of weapon. The words of her cousin make her approach the two guards, and she speaks quietly, "Perhaps, though I should hope not." As she pulls back her hood, one can see that her face appears pale, and an obvious sense of doubt is in her eyes.

Faintly, a rustling sound can be heard, almost as if two ancient parchments were being rubbed together. The sound grows slowly louder, and deeper, seeming to come from the very stone of the walls. No longer a whisper, the dry sound coalesces along with the dark shadow into a dark chuckle.

Silence grips the room for the span of a few heartbeats, then a fell voice intones, "Go ye no further, Living Ones."

Edging toward Araloth, the acting Lieutenant speaks to his cousin in hushed tones, all the while staring aghast at the dark form that mocks the living, "Cousin, how does one defeat a demon", speaking the unfamiliar word again not without a hint of panic in his voice. His hand grips his sheathed sword like it was a death grip.

Boromir again shoulders his way in front of the rest of the men, his left hand rising to his mouth to shield it from the dust that seems to prevade the room. Boldly he says, "Who is it that speaks? Already we have answered riddles to gain entrance this far, but do not be fooled....we shall brook no hinderance to our quest."

Arnafel nods grimly to Sirion as the fell voice speaks. "'Twas indeed something of this sort I didst fear, when first we entered this room. Beyond the ken of mortal men is the origin of this voice."

Sirion whispers, "The dead. The Dead Arnafel are here. This is no place for the living. Fear strikes my heart deep yet even so, there is now no going back."

Keleir crouches down as another of the wraiths forms and races past where he stands apart from the rest. One free hand goes up to vainly bar against it, but none touch his own being, merely swirling and chasing one another about the room. After the issued words of the voice, a muttered curse or prayer sounds from the scouts lips and he makes a motion with his hand in ward against the evil, though it is a superstitious in custom.

The shadow detaches from the wall and floats forward. Its shape seems vaguely humanoid, yet its edges are indistinct, fading into nothingness. Again, it chuckles, a chill sound. "It is not your choice whether you proceed, fool. It is mine. You must again prove your worth to proceed by answering my own riddle. To refuse, or two give false answers, is to seal your doom."

The sound of a rushing wind swells, and the voice bellows, "Listen well, mortals! Here is your riddle...."

Araloth arches a brow as Malahir speaks the dreadful words, and she replies with a simple shrug. "I do not know, Malahir. I, even, do not know how I knew of this." Cocking her head, she asks, almost as if to herself, "Precognition perhaps? Nay, 'tis impossible.. though the idea came to be as if I were in a dream."

Analdin stands nearly still, save for his hand tightening on his sword hilt. In silence he listens to the riddle being spoken, a nearly thoughtful look touching his face.

Boromir scowls, "Our doom you say? That perhaps will be seen. But speak your riddle, if it is no harder then those we have answered earlier then there shall be no issue between us."

Arnafel has disconnected.

Araloth gasps slightly at the Lord's words, and shakes her head. She begins muttering to herself, as she does often when fearful, "Yet he forgets that we faulted twice in the last riddle. Or does he? Does he simply refuse to remember, so that he may stifle his own fears?" A quick glance at the ghostly shadow takes away all ability to move or speak, as if she were in a trance.

Nials pales slightly at the mention of another riddle, but pales more at the terms set by the shadowy spirit. Calmly he waits, at least on outward appearance he does. His eyes dart about the room to all those around him, but he says nothing nor moves no where.

Malahir nods silently to Araloth, gulping down his fear as the shadow approaches the Lord Captain. Standing behind Boromir, and inbetween Araloth and Analdin, he turns back toward the stairwell leading down, assuring himself of the exit.

As if sensing the woman's fears, the shadow slides toward Araloth, a thin tendril of darkness sliding across her face as another dread chuckle issues forth.
The shadow intones:
"A harvest sown and reaped on the same day
In an unplowed field,
Which increases without growing,
Remains whole though it is eaten
Within and without,
Is useless and yet
The staple of nations."

Keleir groans inwardly at the thought of another riddle, and his shoulders sag a little to show it. Still a hand rests tense upon the sword hilt, though he wonders at how much protection it will offer him against the shadow that moves forward and challenges the group of living souls. Keeping low, he creeps around to the circle of the room, placing himself behind the wraith, trying to catch Carecyn's eye again.

Analdin finally sheaths his sword, as if realizing at last that steel will do him no good in this empty room. Lips press together at the new riddle, and he shakes his head slowly, casting Malahir a questioning glance.

Carecyn looks into and seemingly through the darkness his face and gaze hidden by the cloak and any other movement hidden by the heavy clothes and light armor he wears. His eyes meet Keliers and he grins slightly as the man has maneuvered behind the darkness but knowing that sword would more than likely not harm the darkness he shakes his head slightly while sliding his sword into its sheath and then thinking about the riddle.

Boromir's hand falls to his side, in confusion he looks to those behind him. His mouth opens as if to say something, but all that comes forth is a muttered, 'Eaten??"

The shadow floats slowly about the room, the trailing edges of its dark form stirring up small motes of dust as it waits for an answer to its riddle.

A shadow passes before Araloth's eyes, causing shapes and forms about her to be blurred and out of focus. The darkness itself does seem to lift a little (though not much), and her form becomes limp though it stands. Her face becomes pale, and her hands seem cold to the touch. It is safe to say that she'll not be helping any with this riddle.

Boromir motions to those in the room to gather round, his head shaking as he ponders the riddle, "Speak up, but quietly....if you have a guess to the answer I for one would be glad to hear it. Though it annoys me to no end to play these childish games....it seems that we had at least try to give this shade it's answer."

Malahir returns his officer's questioning stare with one of his own, "Sir, I am not a farmer. But as you know, I do enjoy the pleasures of food passing my lips. It seems to me that if it is eaten, but still remain whole, it would have to be eaten whole", shrugging while shaking his head futively.

Nials moves in closer, gathering with the others. "I fear to speak my Lord for I thought I knew the last one," says the squire with a quick look at the ceiling and a shiver, "but I know not what the shade speaks of."

Taking a few steps to the side to stand a bit closer to the rest, within hearing distance of a loud whisper at least, Analdin shakes his head quietly. He makes no move to speak, as if his voice were caught in his throat, and only seems to be thinking.

Boromir shrugs at the answers already suggested and offers his own, 'Save for the part about being eaten I would say that the shade speaks of 'honor'. IF any can think how honor can be eaten however....he posseses a sharper mind then I."

Senses befuddled by both sight and sound, Keleir remains wary at the back of the room and makes no motion to join the others about the Captain-General. Eyes locked on the shade, his mind works upon the riddle in vain, finding no answer to present it with.

Sliding across the floor toward Boromir he asks in a mock-respectful tone, "Is that your answer then, O Great Warrior?"

Carecyn moves near Lord Boromir and whispers quietly "Milord, a war occurs on the same day it starts and can end on the same day. It is fought on fields unplowed, they increase in will and anger but yet the numbers do not grow. The battle remains a battle, although its numbers may falter, it is both within a man in his mind and it effects him physically. It is a tool that is not needed, but yet is often used to bind and separate nations."

Malahir looks to Boromir, "One may eat one's on words, I know I have", he looks to his cousin and sees she is struck with fear, "Araloth, do not fear. You have an amazing wit, help us cousin, where swords cannot strike".

Carecyn shakes his head "Honor is a better answer though Milord." he speaks softly.

As the words of Denethor's son reaches his ears, Nials' look of fear passes, "What of the saying 'Swallow your Pride?'" the squire ask, "Pride is near the same thing as honor, for if you swallow your pride it still remains whole, and for all I have been told all rulers of the nation in this world posses it." Though he speaks his voice sounds uncertain, "A mans pride can plant seeds of emotion and reap those in the same day, but also can swell in size while leaving him the same."

Boromir replies to the shade without turn round to meet it's gaze, "Nay, not yet is that my answer, I meerly speak with my companions...' At Carecyn's suggestion he says, "But how is a war eaten I wonder...but Malahir..perhaps your suggestion has merit. Is not a man's word something that meets the requirements?"

Though the words of Araloth's cousin might have normally moved her, she does not appear to heed them -- or rather, she can't. Her body is motionless, and, as before, her hands hang limp and cold.

To Nials, Boromir says, "And aye, pride is not a poor answer either. But neither pride, nor honor, nor a man's word seems to fit all the parts of the riddle."

Analdin quietly flashes Malahir something of a smile, "Words do hold nations together," he says slowly, in a soft tone, "But how are they useless? I have always seen them as rather needed..."

Carecyn nods to Boromir the speaks softly "Milord war and battles eat at your insides, but leaves you whole on the outside if your lucky, if ye survive unscathed ye have still witnessed death." He trails off wishing his answer not to be the one.

The shadow moves about the room, sometimes rising off the floor, sometimes grazing the dust. Its presence continues to grow, to become more palpable.

Malahir turns back to the Steward's elder son, "A man's word? I will venture to guess, if you deem it worthy", turning then to Analdin, "words within themselves do not mean anything, they must strung together to form an idea", but still he shrugs, "But where does the unplowed field come in?".

Boromir curses under his breath, "I cannot see how that verse applies at all, and nay Malahir, were any to venture my guess it would be I. I will not have a man's death on my hands for my guess." Turning to the shade he says, "Your riddle is indeed much harder then those which were given earlier. Still....I shall hazard a guess. My guess is a man's words."

Silence descends upon the room like the arrival of night. The shadow intones, "You have made your answer." For a moment it is still, then it slides forward and, its tendrils flowing out behind it, circles Carecyn. The wind returns, building into that fell laugh once again. His voice booms out "But you should have listend to this one, Proud Fool!" Suddenly the shadow expands, growing darker as it does so.

Keleir shakes his head at each of the considered answers and frowns deeply to himself and the shadow that stirs more dust about the room. The Captain-General's bold but unsure answer brings him to his senses, thinking it wrong even before the shade answers it. Stirred to life, the scout rises, anxious in wait of what fate might be for the Steward's eldest son and grey eyes follow the wraith across the room.

Boromir stands his ground, not afraid, or not showing it at the least. "Who is the proud one? Under your own terms we had two guesses....and yet now after one guess you have given us the answer you seek."

Analdin lets out a loud curse and draws his blade, though what good it will do him...

Carecyn stands perfectly still, almost unwillingly as the dark tendrils of the shadow entwine about him.

Carecyn stands perfectly still, almost unwillingly as the dark tendrils of the shadow entwine about in front of him as the shadow circles.

It may only be the wind, but it would seem the faint sound of clanking chains drifts down on the air from the chamber above.

The faint clanking is followed by ghostly laughter.

Malahir steps forward bravely as Boromir hazzards his quess. Ready at a moments notice for the riddler to respond, he relaxes his grip on his sword, prepared to take the fall for his lord. As the room fills with the shadow's rage, Malahir begins to worry that his answer may have caused the groups death, however, he is calmed by Boromir's observation, "Just who is the proud fool? That's quite ironic M'Lord. You have bested the demon at his own game!", a slight grin appears.

Colours whirl and swirl in the darkness of the Tower, and the haunted wind blows fey and figmented shadows through the edges of vision. It is all so real...

Or is it in the mind's eye?

Boromir's head swings back and forth, trying to see what may befall him and those who have trusted him, in response to Malahir he says, "Or mayhap we are all fools, who is to say that this shade shall be bound by it's word?"

Sirion looks at the shadows, "We are fools for being here."

The maiden's lips move finally, and she utters a single word: "Indeed."

Hilt of his sword held tight in hand, Analdin looks almost fearfully around the room, eyes narrowing. "We are on a fool quest for an object that most likely doesn't exist, and are being led to our deaths," he interjects with a hint of bitterness to his tone.

Carecyn clears his throat softly and steps back away from the colors and shadow, his hand on his sword he looks to Keleir to see where the man is then his gaze goes to Boromir, his hood falling back revealing grey eyes and black hair, obvious fear is in his eyes.

The shadow halts its progress as Boromir speaks, its form shimmering, fading slightly. An almost tangible rage surges forth as the shade growls, "Knowing the answer will not aid you against my wrath, mortals!" With that it flies toward Boromir, dark protuberances which once may have been arms outstretched.

Shadow attacks Boromir!
Shadow's attack misses Boromir.

The hand that has held Angring since they entered the tower rises up to meet the spirt, though Boromir has no way of knowing whether he can strike the creature. As it's wispy tendrel passes by his head his own sword flashes toward the nebulous creature.

Boromir attacks Shadow with his Large Longsword and severely wounds him!

Carecyn goes into action skillfully as the shadow attacks Boromir, his leather helmet goes onto his head and shield comes around from his back and onto his arm in quick movements. Lastly the sound of metal is heard as his sword comes out of its sheath.

Keleir looks over at the voice of Sirion, nodding grimly but not daring to agree openly to it before the Captain-General, who is the very reason they stand in this room. Within the space of the few breaths he has lifted his eyes off the shadow, it has suddenly flown in attack at the Lord Boromir, and the scout rushes through the weave of tables to draw his own blade, however vainly, upon it.

The shadow shrieks, a shrill cry of angered pain as it sails straight through Boromir's sword. The shade parts nearly down the middle, flowing about the warrior and reforming slowly on his opposite side. Its darkness flickers, then strengthens, as it swipes at the tall man once more.

Malahir turns from Boromir to look over the group behind him, "If we lose hope now, we will never find out the true meaning of this quest. I for one..", however his chatter is interupted by the shadows deceptive attack, it's shadowy tendrils flying toward the Lord-Captain. Drawing his blade quickly, the tall guard joins Boromir in striking the shadow.

Shadow attacks Boromir!
Shadow's attack misses Boromir.

Malahir draws his family's sword, Rhuddwawr, it's quick removal from the scabbard yielding a menacing scrape of metal upon metal

Malahir attacks Shadow with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

Carecyn steps near Lord Boromir keeping clear of the sword that his lord wields however. As the shadow parts then forms and attacks again Carecyn thrusts his sword out at what seems to be the creatures center.

Grabbing the hilt of his blade and ripping it from it's scabbard, Nials circles near the shadow. The look of fear has faded from his sea blue eyes. Quickly the squire slashes at the undead beast.

Nials attacks Shadow with his Bare Hands and lightly wounds him!

Nials draws his blade, Silme-Raana from it's sheathe with a steely ring filling the air as the blade is wielded.

Shadow collapses to the ground, defeated by Carecyn!

Blade already in hand, Analdin only moves in a bit closer to the wraith. He makes no move to attack, however, as it is set upon by and busy with with most of the others in the group. Should the ghost move at all away from them, the young

Araloth drops to the floor, the death of the fell ghost startling her out of the deathly trance. As she looks about, she notices that all seem well and apparently not hurt. But her eyes grow wide with fear, and she backs up against a wall, and drops down to the floor, shaking her head slowly, whispering to herself.

The shadow makes another failed attack against Boromir before the other attacks fly at him, swords slicing through his translucent form. It cries out shrilly, angrily as parts of the shadow are sliced away, more attacks moving before it can reform. Soon it is nothing more than tendrils hanging in the air, which swirl about maddeningly, faster, faster, until with a final, howling moan they vanish, the cries echoing in the chamber.

Analdin blinks a number of times in the darkness as the shadow swirls itself into oblivion. Not yet making the move to sheath his sword, he glances at the faces of his companions and then casts his gaze to the foot of the up-leading stairwell.

Boromir brings his shield up, uselessly to meet the shadow's next attack. Luckily, the shadow misses it's aim again just as the rest of the men's blades pass through it, seemingly ending it's existance. Sheathing his sword he asks, "Are any injured?"

"Nay lord, I am well," Nials replies still holding his blade. His gaze however turns to Araloth huddled in the corner, looking at her with a curious gaze.

Carecyn holds his sword put and goes to wipe it clean on the body of which his sword plunged into. He chuckles nervously as he remembers what it was that had been killed and that it left no mark on his blade. He lets out a tense breath and shakes his head "Nay Milord I fare well, as for others I am not sure?"

Malahir's blade slices the shadow as the others join in, vanquishing the evil spirit. In awe over the spectacle of the dying shadow, he is late to respond to Boromir, "I am fine M'lor, thank you. I'm just taken aback at the shadows treachery sir. You were right to think he would not honor his word".

Sirion looks upon the stairs, "My lord, the shadow was guarding these stairs, shall we not alight them?"

Boromir glances about the room once more to make sure that none is hurt yet fears to speak. Seeing Araloth he says, "Malahir, see to the lady and aid her as we heed Lord Sirion's advice and climb the stairs."

Keleir draws to a halt several paces back from the shadow and the flurry of men that rush against it, bearing their iron blades to cut it down in defense of Boromir. His own weapon still clutched in hand, lowers slowly till the point of it rests on the wooden planks of the flooring, eyes trying to catch at the last wisps that swirl and fade out of existence. "Untouched.", is his quick, direct answer to the question before turning towards the stairs. Peering up them, he stays at the foot of them, waiting for the party to ascend ahead of him.

Malahir bows regally to Boromir, "Aye m'lord", and he quickly resheaths his sword and jogs over to the corner where Araloth huddles, "Dear cousin, we are safe now. Do you feel alright?", he consols her like a father would his own daughter.

Nials sheathes his blade, Silme-Raana once again at his side.

Carecyn slides his sword into his sheath and moves near Lord Boromir not saying anything but awaiting further motion or command.

Carecyn Quickly places Aegis-fang back in its sheath with one quick movement.

Analdin takes a few long strides to stand at the foot of the stairs, and peers up into the darkness of the stairwell, "Do we go on, m'Lord?" he directs his question to Boromir with an obvious hesitation.

Boromir sets foot on the first stair, turns to look once more over his shoulder at the brave men who follow him, follow him even against the shades and shadows that surely cause their hearts to tremble. Nodding his head in response to Analdin he says, his face breaking into a grim smile, "Aye, we've not traveled all this way to turn back now.' Then he makes his way up the stairs.

The Pinnacle Chamber of Barad Castamir
Here at the Pinnacle of the tower you see that most of the room is bare and abandoned. The black stone slips with slime, and it as stank. At the far end of the room, is a strange looking altar, and like the rest of the tower, evil permeates the air.

The Ghost of Castamir:
An insubstantial form, this apparition shifts subtly through the spectrum of light and shadow, drifting between substance and void. It's shape is vaguely that of a tall, proud man, hauntingly familiar somehow....

The Ghost of Castamir is a vague and insubstantial form, hovering upon the edge of vision. You cannot be certain that it is real--after all, this chamber is caught somewhere in the netherworld between light and shadow, time and stillness.

Boromir climbs the last of the stairs, onto the landing. His eyes used to seeking shadows after the last room of the tower spot the Ghost in the room, wordlessly he steps forward to allow the rest to follow, though he keeps an even distance between himself and the shade at the other end of the room.

But yet--it does materialise above the dark altar, and when its eyes pass over yours, only empty pools of blank darkness....

You stare into the Void, where Melkor dwells, in those eyes.

After alighting the stairs, Sirion looks blithely upon the chamber and then says softly, "Where in Middle Earth are we...?" But his voice is quelched by the fear that flows through him.

"Thou," speaks the Shade, and there can be no doubt that its words are for your ears and yours alone. It is not so much sound as an echo of thought within the mind... an almost palpable fear exudes from it. "Thou hast passed the riddles. Thou hast come even now unto the height...."

"Thou," It asks, to you and you alone, "Art thou Worthy?"

The Ghost of Castamir seems eager.. to be waiting.. hovering nearer...?

Nials spies the ghost of the long dead man but is too taken in by the spirit to say anything. His eyes look deeply into the pools of darkness, as if becoming lost in them. Hearing it speak, the squire's blue eyed gaze stayes locked with it's.

Carecyn looks upon the figure fear still in his eyes. He quickly pulls his hood back over his head covering his face once again in darkness. He waits to see what the others about him do before acting.

Mounting the last of the stairs, Analdin steps intently into the room, yet is nearly frozen as his eyes alight upon the shade. He lowers his blade almost unconscously, but does not sheath it, dark eyes narrowing.

The Ghost of Castamir shakes its spectral head, and disdainful laughter fills the chamber. Then it speaks... and the voice from the depths of Nothingness chills your living heart. "Ah, the Children of Eldacar, proud. Too proud to show their fear--too proud to speak their answers."

Malahir climbs the stairs lastly with Araloth, entering the room cautiously. Remaining in the stairwell, he keeps silent to hear the words, glimpsing the hovering shadow only partly.

Keleir comes last in the group, sword still borne in hand and ready at his side for the mere comfort it offers his mind. Through those that stand before him, he sees the passing of yet another shade present in the room, but this time deigns not to look directly upon it. Casting his eyes downward, his listens only to its voice.

Boromir draws his sword once more from it's sheath, unsuure of whether his blade can harm the creature before him, but gaining comfort from the feel of the well worn leather wrapped round it's hilt. He steps forward another pace, "Worthy? And who are you to judge worth? I see only before us the shade of a rebel....too proud to admit it's death...."

Whispers... whispers of the dead trail like dead lichen on a winters day. And Sirion looks to and fro, fear is upon him, but it is too late - too late to run or break vows, and this you can assuredly see upon his face.

The Ghost of Castamir abruptly laughs, long and cold. "And who art thou to challenge Me, boy? Who art thou to even assume my identity is known to thee? Or have the legends given me away? No matter... come, come." A beckoning finger is curled. "Attack me, Son of Denethor. Show us the might of your diluted blood. Such folly."

Surely, the spectre taunts the Captain of the White Tower.

Sirion cries out, "Lord Boromir! No! Surely we cannot kill what is already dead?"

Leading Malahir into the room, Araloth spies the ghost suspiciously, seeming to be one of the few who is not overly moved by the ghost's words and, even, mere presence. Slowly, viewing the others reactions, she backs away, almost wasting her balance as she loses touch of the floor below her.

The Ghost of Castamir speaks again. "The Old One speaks wisdom." It turns its vacant, mocking gaze toward Sirion, and a smile forms, ghastly and grim.

Sirion shudders at the gaze of the Dead but he speaks, "And why would the dead mock the living? Save to relieve their own torment?"

The Ghost of Castamir almost seems to sigh, then, and turns its back upon the Gondorians. Gliding to the altar, it says nothing, only remains there silent....

Sirion stiffens, and now becomes silent himself.

Carecyn steps forward closer to Lord Boromir and faces the ghost of a once tall proud man, now merely a figment of what once was, he speaks to the thing in a deep voice. "Thing of the dead? Why do ye mock the living? Ye are not at peace with yourself thus ye remain here in between to places, only one of which you belong." He falls silent as the thing move to the altar, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Boromir refuses to be baited, though the experience gained in the last hours where perhaps he might have risen to the bait before now he only laughs, "I do not fear this shadow of evil Sirion, if he cannot be slain by weapons, then we shall find out in due course. But either way, I will not allow only whispers to frighten me away." Speaking to the shadow he says, "We have come for the helm, and shall not leave without it if it is here."

Analdin stares at the spectre, shaking his head quietly, "What can a thing already dead do to one yet living besides taunt?"

"Very well," says the Shade of King Castamir, "We are bound to this place, bound by our own folly and as our own torment. Yet we can see that the descendants of our cousin, Vidugavia's Son, have no more the knowledge of Humility than his own accursed self. How fitting, that they seek the Helm of Turambar... and how fitting that it does not remain here!"

Spectral, mocking laughter fills the small chamber, threatening in its sudden booming sound to overwhelm the ears!

Malahir grasps Araloth's hand tighter, "Hold my cousin, let's observe from here, there's no telling what danger this new apparition brings. The booming laughter prompts the guard to cover his ears.

Shrinking back from the hideous laughter, Nials fights to stand firm. There is a sadness that enters his face upon hearing the helm is not in this cursed place and all they have fought for is but another clue.

Keleir moves little, says naught, growing weary of the game but refusing to retreat from the fear that grips his heart.

With an angry snarl, Analdin nearly spits at the wraith, "Have we come so far only to find death or another long chase?" It seems his own anger and bitterness cuts away at the fear that held him.

Boromir's shoulders slump as the creature laughs with such glee that it is obvious that it speaks the truth. Sighing he says, 'So, again we have traveld far to find that our hopes were for naught. But still, even if this be true not all is lost for we have put to rest at least one shadow this day. "

Carecyn stands fast and listens to the tormenting taunts of the ghost, his heart dropping at the mention of the crown but nevertheless he does not give up hope and stands firmly alongside Lord Boromir.

The Ghost of Castamir does not yet turn to face the sons of its enemies in life--yet Boromir's words bring a soft, whispered, "What knowest thou of rest, son of Denethor? Hast thou lain awake for an aeon and more? Nay!"

The spectre whirls, and it seems to loom, to grow, to overshelm the chamber! "Never shall any of thee rest until the Helm is found! Now speak to us of rest, fools! Beneath thy feet will the answer be, and still wilt thee look to the heavens? Ha! And thou..." It trns on Analdin with an accusing finger.

Malahir hangs his head as words of defeat echoes in the room, he walks toward Boromir and Carecyn, "I stand with you M'lord. I for one will not let this ghost taunt me", he says deviantly.

Analdin takes a startled step back as the spectre turns and stabs a finger in his direction, but only glares at it, hatred shining brightly in his dark blue eyes, "What of me, ghost?" he challenges.

First to Analdin, and then to Malahir, the shade of Castamir turns in fury. "Cursed be thou, and cursed again, and a thousand times cursed! For standing bold in the face of that which thou shalt never understand, nor never hope to! May thy pride be thy downfall, even as Akallabeth of thy fathers' fathers! Ah-ha!!!!"

And the spectral laughter...

...fades...

....away.

The Ghost of Castamir has left.

Araloth whispers softly, and to herself, "Malahir.." Slowly, cautiously, she steps forward, next to her cousin. "As do I, Lord Boromir. For not only could I bear to leave Malahir, but you are--" The ghost's hideous voice cuts her off, and she stands, watching, waiting, as the ghost disappears.

Boromir starts toward the Ghost, only to have the creature disappear from sight. Stepping forward to the side of the alter he turns, his face a mask of confusion, mixed with anger. "Though powerless beside the taunts the ghost has left us without the helm, and without a clue of it's whereabouts save his hint that it shall be found under our feet? Does anyone know what that could mean? Sirion? What of you....you seem the most lore-wise of us here..."

Sirion mutters, "look under your feet." He steps forward and says, "Some of these stones are loose. Let us lift some and look thither."

Analdin shakes his head in disgust, finally sheathing his blade with angry force, muttering curses.

Carecyn steps forward to Lord Boromirs side and nods slightly "As Lord Sirion hath spoken, I noticed loose stones upon which we stood, many were cracked and or broken, others are in their entirety but loose or not set properly, also if I may ask of the Milord, would there happen to be a basement or lower level to this accursed place of ghosts and hounds?"

A chill runs down the tall guard's spine, as he stands motioneless beside Boromir. The ghosts words ring loud in his head, leaving him dumbdounded and weak. He only clutches for his cousin's hand for comfort, "Araloth, I am very proud of you, my cousin".

Boromir takes notice now of the floor as Sirion and Carecyn have suggested. With his toe he prys at a stone, "I do not know if there is a basement, yet.....maybe if we pried at the stones with our daggers we might find some hidden trove...."

Sirion pulls out a dagger and begins to work at the stones.

Nials also pulls his dagger out and helps Sirion with the stones

Boromir bends a knee close to the alter and pulling his dagger from his belt begins working at the stones at it's base.

Finally looking upon the wraith's black, depthless eyes, a bitter chill grows on Keleir, lessening only slightly after the disappearance of the prideful wraith. A shudder, and the scout moves back over to the top of the stairs, peering down to guard its passage while the others see to loosening the stones of the floor. He glances curiously back towards their work, quick thoughts passing through his mind to what might possibly be trapped and hidden below.

Carecyn nods and pulls a dagger out of a hidden spot under his cloak. He moves to a loose stone in which he kicked when he first stepped forward. He bends down at starts to pry the stone free, the grinding of his blade in the crack between stones finally jars the stone loose and the ranger pushes it aside. He calls out to Lord Boromir and Lord Sirion "My Lords, I have found something which might help us on our quest." He reaches down and pulls a crumpled piece of parchment out of the hole in which the stone use to lie. He holds it up and smoothes it out. "Not the crown, but a map of sorts My lords." He stands holding the map and moves to meet the two lords. Holding it out to them.

Sirion walks over to Carecyn and says, "Let me see that Carecyn." He hold out his hand for the parchment.

Analdin stands in silence beside the door, watching as the others dig at the stones. Though the wraith has disapeared, he still casts a wary glance over his shoulder and at the stairwell occasionally, as if keeping an eye out for other such ghostly appearances.

Boromir rises from where he had been working and making his way to read over Sirion's shoulder exclaims, 'Well done Carecyn, well done indeed. Perhaps our journey has not been in vain. What does it say Sirion?"

Carecyn hands the parchment to Lord Sirion and moves around the Lord so he can view the parchment as well.

Sirion takes the parchment and unrolls it, "Must be careful, it is old and the paper may crack." He looks at it carefully, "Why, it is a map!"

Sirion looks carefully, "It is a map of the sea. And here, in the elvish script, it says, 'The Isle of Turambar.' Lord Boromir, it would seem our next destination be the wide sea! I suggest we leave this place at once and make our way back to Pelargir."

Boromir once again seems invigorated by the prospects of the new clue, "The sea? Then aye, to Pelargir we must go and take ship. That lonely isle is just off our coasts , though the Corsair's patrol those waters we shall not be frightened away from the completion of our quest. Let us depart this haunted keep at once, though we have not found what we came for it was not in vain."

Sirion draws his sword, "We shall Lord Boromir!"

Carecyn nods to the lords and pulls his cloak tight about him and tugs on his gauntlets cleaning them of debris which cling to the leather. "To Pelargir." He says deeply and moves toward the door wishing to leave this place in haste.