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Weather:            Clear
Time:                Twilight <about 8 PM >
Season:              Autumn
Date:               Mersday - October 25, 3014

Real Time:          Tue Jun 30 18:46:26 1998
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Minas Tirith: Before the Great Gate
Rising up before and tappering off towards the great moutains behind them, a walls of Minas Tirith climb into the air. Here, at the roadside a small hill rises to the entryway of the city where guards stand before the gate. These men are known as the Doorwardens. Currently the gate is withdrawn into its housing and the doors before it opened wide. The great Gate itself is housed between the two Doortowers before you, standing some 100 feet tall and nearly 50 feet wide. The gate to is made up of a pure steel bounded about the trunks of an unknown wood. The gate is said to able to withstand anything, as even the most strongest blows will just make the gate bend slightly and then return to shape.

Men and women enter and leave the city being stopped, most pass without contest others pass over weapons they carry or have them peaceknotted. Others are turned back as they approach with a horse or a cart. Only the horses of the Stewards errandriders are allowed in the city. Off to the south are the stables and inn houses outside the walls. To the east lie the crossroads of Great West Road and the Great North Road.

The Sun settles in Her bed as the Moon shines forth and brings the stars with him. Evening lanterns are lit, bathing the land with pools of light.
 

Contents:
Malahir
Beladan
Boromir
Aiesha
Hyarmenweir
Merchant's Caravan
Jalorian
Gate-Wardens
Weapons Rack
Obvious exits:
 North leads to Anorien: North of Mount Mindolluin.
 South leads to Inns and Stables.
 East leads to Pelennor Fields: Crossroads.
 Gate leads to Minas Tirith: Inside the Great Gate.

Beladan reaches up and aids Chrys down from the war-horse.

Chrysalis slips silently out of the saddle.
Chrysalis has arrived.

Nials has arrived.

Hyarmenweir nickers lightly and nuzzles against Beladan, his ears pressed flat back and his nostrils flaring in expectation.

Beladan stands quietly, near Chrys, his face an unreadable mask.

Boromir steps through the gateway, fully decked out in the gear of war, his shield slung over one shoulder his horn over the other. He glances about at those gathered, ready for the journey. He says, "Analdin and Malahir, come here a moment before we depart this evening."

Analdin stands quietly at the side of everything, watching yet keeping himself detached from the group of people prepared to depart. As his name is called, he looks over the crowd, and catches sight of the Captain-General, matching the voice to the face. Taking a few steps forward, around the crowd, to stand just outside the Gates. With a simple bow to the Steward's son, he keeps his silence, waiting to be spoken to.

Malahir, in full military regalia, stands at attention beside the lieutenant. As the Lord Captain addresses them both, Malahir snaps back a salute and falls in behind Analdin. He also bows and remains silent.

Chrysalis stands silently next to Beladan and Hyarmenweir. She holds tightly to her shawl as she watches the gathering of men.

Boromir reaches to his side and pulls something out of the belt pouch that hangs at his side, holding his hand out still closed he says, "Malahir, while we are gone from the city, taking your Lieutenant away from his duty I charge you with assuming his rank until he shall return and is fit to assume again his normal duties." He opens his hand showing the silver marks of rank laying upon his palm.

Standing near the gate, Nials watches the Lord Boromir's decend from the city. Keeping quiet the young squire watches everything that happens, looking about occasionally to see who has gathered to watch the departure. His eyes rest a moment on the Knight Marshall as which the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown. His blue eyed gaze then turns to the lady at his side. Looking at her a look of simple confusion comes to his features. So as not to stare, Nials continues scanning the crowd for familiar and unfamiliar faces. His hand resting on the wrist of the other, his fingers running across a braclet that rest upon his wrist.

Analdin gives an almost approving nod, a hint of a smile touching in his face as Malahir is given the temporary promotion. "There is no better man in the company to shoulder it," he says in a low tone, quietly, so that only Malahir and perhaps Boromir can hear.

Chrysalis puts her hand on Beladans arm to get his attention then smiles and quietly leans over and whispers to him.

Sirion comes downhill from inside the city.
Sirion has arrived.

Malahir takes his eyes momentarily away from Boromir's outstretched palm to look questionably at his Lieutenant. Gulping slightly, Malahir steps forward and reaches out his hand to take the silver cords. Bowing deeply as he reaches the Captain-General he says in a forced deep voice, "It will be an honor to look after the company until the Lieutenant's return", looking into Boromir's eyes.

From the dusk, a rider approaches the gathered. His white hair shimmers in the sun as his voice erupts in song,

...in panoply of Ancient Kings,
in chained rings they armoured him,
his sword was lined with scores of runes,
to ward all wounds and harm from him.

His bow was made of Dragon-horn,
His arrows shorn of ebony,
of silver was his Habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony!

Indeed, the deep voice carries over to the gates and then those who may tell at last see the son of Tirion - Sirion the White of the House Isilrim.

Boromir nods, a small smile appearing on his lips, "I am sure you will do well. Your faithful service has prepared you well. If you have any questions do not hesitate to ask Vorlain for his advice. Serve this duty well and more responsiblity you shall earn."

Sirion strokes the mane of his steed until at last he comes before Boromir, "Hail Lord Boromir. Provisions are ready and with luck no wains shall be in need! The course is set, hopes are high, and most importantly, our hearts are ready for you to lead us Son of Denethor!"

The sun sets as the day draws to an end, leaving the night sky dark save but the twinkling of stars.

Analdin clasps a hand on Malahir's arm, nodding quietly to him, though the smile appears to fade into seriousness as more preparations begin. "Just keep everything in one piece, and, if you get the chance, I've been meaning to organize my desk for a while..." the twinkling smile in the young officer's eyes resurfaces, and a touch of a grin upturns the corners of his mouth.

Malahir bows respectfully and takes the cords that symbolize the duty that he is about to take on. "I will take your advise and seek Lieutenant Vorlain's council when I need it. May we both find honor in our service sir", and he steps backward into the clasp of Analdin's hand. He turns and grins wide, "I've been meaning to get in there and organize that desk for myself", he says wryly.

Boromir raises a hand towards the aged knight that approches, "Hopes are high for the need is great. We shall not tarry here long, and by the dark of night we shall make our way towards our destination. Is there any man that is not ready? If so speak up."

Denethor comes downhill from inside the city.
Denethor has arrived.

Beladan turns to Chrys, listening to her words before smiling at her. Moving close, kisses her cheek and takes her hand from his arm, and turning it, kisses her wrist. Setting a foot in the stirrup, he slides quickly onto Hyarmenweir's back, edging the anxious beast away from the pedestrians nearby.

Sirion smiles his eyes now look almost mirthful:

In darkness I beheld them,
In night's sudden sorrow,
Wrought ruefully in the waning of days,
Done deep in the halls of men I saw them
The works wondered in the ways of old
Emyn Muil, the twisted knot.

Need drives us thus shall be won honour.

Sirion smiles again his voice tinged with the accent of the folk of Belfalas, "Tis said high hope oft bring fruition. Mete winds of ill omen for less. None may not be ready whose heart is not wholly singular of our purpose. Therefore great Lord. Sound thy horn, and let us hearken to its noble sound over the ringing hills!"

Denethor rides through the gates atop a large white horse, his guards closely flanking him. The guards are dressed in very formal regalia, as well as Denethor himself. He reins in his horse and pulls up close to the group assembled at the gates and one of his retinue pulls a trumpet to his lips and blows forth an announcement of the Steward's precense.

Sirion turns and draws his sword, "Hail Lord Steward of Gondor! We of Dol Amroth salute you!"

Boromir puts a foot into the stirrup and swings himself onto the saddle, as he does so his eyes light upon another figure at the gate, "Behold, the Steward of Gondor has come to see us off. Hail Denethor!"

A murmer ripples through the crowd as the very Steward himself shows forth. Cries of children are hushed and an awe-filled silence descends on the populace as they turn to gaze upon the mighty man of valor, Denethor!

Arnafel comes up from the inns to the south, following a narrow dirt track.
Arnafel has arrived.

As attention is turned more towards the departure and preperations that have need yet to take place, Analdin takes a few steps back from the Captain-General, and away from the Gates, and towards the mount he has been given fot this quest, just in time to not be in the way of the just approaching Steward.

Sirion again speaks a stave:

Tall were the mountains,
The grass was green,
The moonlight on the dewy sheen,
Of green Lebinnin neath the vales,
Of Anduin of many tales,
Forth they rode into the night
Beyond the darkness dreadful lingering,
Yet in the works and tales of fright,
They held their hearts high and singing!

"Thus spake the bards of my land of the going of Anarion to war in the days of old," says Sirion, "Therefore, let us too go with high heart and merry voice!"

Beladan has left.
Beladan climbs sliently up onto Hyarmenweir's saddle and takes the reins.

Chrysalis moves even farther behind those gathered, her eyes still upon the Knight Marshall.

Malahir takes his place beside his cheering company, hailing the newcomers from Dol Amroth. Corporal Malahir replaces the cords that wrap around his tabard with those that Captain-General Boromir had just handed him. Seaking out his lieutenant's horse at the gates, he gives a him a farewell salute.

Arnafel arrives at the gates, moving at a hurried pace, carrying a pack with provisions for the journey which lies ahead. He bows to the Lords present, and nodding to the few people he does know among those gathered, moves to stand next to Lord Sirion.

Denethor raises his hand to the crowd and a hush falls upon the masses. He takes his time before saying anything and lets his gaze fall upon the crowd of assembled adventurers and all others that have come forth to see them off. As he begins to speak his voice is not strained yet it carries forth, plain and clear before everyone, "Citizens of fair and beloved Gondor and those who have placed themselves in her honorable service, The prave men before you are about to go forth on a quest of the utmost importance, to possibly save us from the dark cloud that hangs above our heads. I invite you all to cheer forth your support for these men for they are brave heroes of our time."

Sirion urges his steed by Beladan. He smiles at the Marshall, "Can you not feel it Lord-Marshall? It is as if the years were stripped away. Washed away like sand while the tide is flowing! Oh how do I long to walk amid the wild lands and seek that which has been lost! Oh my heart burns for the going. It is almost if," at this Sirion pauses searching, "...as if the blood of my sires has been rekindled anew within my veins! Hark! The Lord Denethor speaks, and his words are wise. Not for naught does the Dark Lord fear the Son of Ecthelion." Sirion draws his sword and uplifts it. Then he calls in the tongue of the elves of old - strange perhaps to some, but some may garner his words, "Hail Steward! The night is now less dim with your coming! Hail Denethor!"

Denethor says in Sindarin, "Go forth with the blessings of the Valar upon your shoulders that they may act as wings when there is a need to be uplifted and **** as shelter durring the stormy night."

Boromir smiles grimly at his father's words and nods in agreement with old Sirion, "Aye, Hail Denethor! Tis true our quest is one of great urgency, and also one of great hope. And I think not that you have come merely to see your son off on his journy, yet still you honor myself as well as the company that goes with me."

Ladies who look upon the well built Boromir smile with fluttering eyes. One comes up to his horse and hands him a flower blushing, "For your journey lord so that you may smell something sweet. Prithee thee blow the horn of your sires so all may hear?"

From Hyarmenweir's back > Beladan manouvers Hyarmenweir with practiced ease through the gathering throng, bringing him gently to rest beside Chrys. Hyarmenweir prances skittishly, the large horse only to keen to have the formalities done and be free to run, unencumbered by people about him. "He looks to Sirion, a growing smile on his features. "Such joy as this hast been long from thy breast, Sirion, and verily, the years hath fallen from thee even before our eyes. Let us hie hither thou and myself for the Glory of Gondor." Looking back, a movement catches his eye and he notes to no one in particular, "Yet even so, aprting brings it's pain upon us all. I trust that thins will bide here whilst we set forth." To Boromir he calls, "Sound thy trump, noble Son of Denethor, that e'en this moment all men of valour might feel it recourse in their veins!"

The tight lines of Minas Tirith guards, standing in the fore front of the crowd under the shadows of the great gate, give a hearty unanimous cheer at Lord Denethor's announcement of the quest. Malahir, at the forefront of his company, is seen raising his brandished sword.

Analdin keeps his silent watch over the company assembled, a hand on the reigns on his horse. He catches Malahir's salute out of the corner of his eye, and turns his gaze from Lord Denethor to the Corporal, and once more almost smiles. However, it is only a moment before his eyes roam once more to the lords of the city, watching them closely, waiting for the word to mount up and depart.

The normally dour son of Denethor smiles as he takes the flower that is pressed into his hand. Sticking the stem of the flower over his ear and under his helm he says, "It seems I must needs blow the horn of my fathers by common acclimation. Stand back well for I intend the din to be heard throughout the land." Without saying more he reaches to his hip and lifts the ancient horn to his lips. Taking deep breath he lets lose a blast the echos off the walls before him and the nearby crags of the mountains, HROOOOOOOM! HROOOOOOOOOOOMMMM! With a shout he exclaims, "Let no man nor fell beast stand in our way! We shall not return empty handed!"

Sirion clashes his sword against his shield, "Forth Gondor!"

Denethor slides his sword out of the sheeth that rests on his hip and raises hit to the sky toward the men who are about to depart and calls forth, "Hail Prince Boromir, the hope of Gondor!"

From Hyarmenweir's back > Beladan casts a final look at his bride before, moving Hyarmenweir clear of the crowd and dashing through the gates, into the land beyond!

Beladan, riding Hyarmenweir walks east along the road, towards the fork.
Beladan, riding Hyarmenweir has left.

Sirion urges his horse eastward, leaving the gates of the city far behind...
Sirion walks east along the road, towards the fork.
Sirion has left.

A cheer follows the echoes of Boromir's horn as the crowd yells and shouts, cheering. Analdin swings up rather ungracefully onto his horse, apparently not a motion he is accustomed to, joining in the shout with a half-hearted one of his own, though his gaze turns longingly to the city he is about to leave. Guiding his horse after those who depart the city, he does not look back, though his head is anything but held high.

Boromir draws forth his blade and setting the spurs to the horse's flanks causes the beast to rear up. His blade raised in salute to his Lord he too wheels his steed and makes his way to the east.

Arnafel takes the reigns of his horse from the hands of one of the Guardsmen standing there, and nodding to him, mounts the steed, having to pull the reigns tightly even as he does so for the horse is unsettled by the great blast of Boromir's horn. He wheels his horse around as it quitens, and sets it on the path leading out of the city, looking back once as the gates diminish in the distance.

Boromir walks east along the road, towards the fork.
Boromir has left.

You walk east along the road to the Fork.

(Note: At this point, we all rode for a couple hours, then stopped at Osgiliath.)

Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Old Merchant Quarter
Once the bustling center of trade in Osgiliath, here at the point that the Great Royal Road first entered the city, there is now naught but broken buildings and a large open trading plaza, covered with scant grass and broken stones. Some of the buildings have crumbled in on themselves, but others are standing and in relatively good condition. It looks as if there has been an effort to keep a clear path leading to the east, and also to the southeast. Perhaps these areas are still in use.
Contents:
Boromir
Arnafel
Beladan
The Great Travel Object - Enter if your on the Quest!
Obvious exits:
 West leads to Anorien: East Road - Just before Osgiliath.
 East leads to Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Gondorian Garrison.
 NorthEast leads to Osgiliath: Northern Ruins - Old Residential Area.

Boromir reins in his horse, raising a hand to slow the others, "Let us seek rest in the garrison, we can snatch a few hours sleep then press on after dawn. "

Beladan turns and signals back along the line of men, looking to Arnafel to carry out his orders.

Analdin brings his horse to a stop shortly after those in front of him, being near the rear of the group. Sitting rather uncomfortably on the mount, he waits almost impatiently for the chance to get off and rest.

Nials reigns in his mount. Being near the back of the line with Analdin, the young squire watches the others in the group milling about. His gaze goes around him as he takes in the sites of the ruined city, the place where he first met the enemy the even now threatens his home.

Elphir has arrived.

Boromir looks about himself and those with him, he says, "Though our departure at the gate may have not passed without notice we will spend a few days here to make it seem as if this will be our base of operations. If any question you in the garrison that is what should be said."

Hoofbeats in the distance, coming apparently from the west, begin to grow louder....

Nials nods in understanding from atop his mount. He turns in the direction of the sounds of an approaching horseman, his eyes alert his hand on the hilt of his blade.

With a quiet nod, Analdin walks his horse up closer to the front, so as to speak and be heard better. "Then what we are doing is not to be common knowledge, Lord Boromir?" he questions, as if he already knows the answer but is looking for confirmation stifling the beginning of a yawn in mid sentence.

Boromir looks towards Analdin but speaks to all present, "Nay, though I trust the men in the garrison our purpose should not be known too all, especially this close to the enemy. In truth not all has been made known to most of those present even lest they are taken captive and the truth wrung out of them."

Even to the sharp eyes of the Dunedain in the group, the approaching figure is not yet entirely visible. By chance the moon peaks out from behind the dark black clouds cast by Mt. Doom, and casts her pale light upon the approaching rider, glinting off the silvered helm atop his head. Louder the hoofbeats come, and soon torchlight spreads its golden glow over the figure's light blue and silver surcoat, glinting sharply on the exposed vambraces of his armor.

Analdin does not reply, only nods once more, contemplating the Captain-General's words in silence, and taking his horse back a few steps or so.

Boromir turns upon his mount, his hand drifting to his sword hilt as he looks toward the approaching hoofbeats.

The figure closes distance quickly, and reins in his steed. By the heraldry he bears, this is certainly the Prince of Dol Amroth. "Hail," the deep voice rings out, "And well-met." The voice is not that of Imrahil, however, but rather that of his eldest son Elphir. "I pray I come not too late?"