Paved with cobblestone, the square lies wide and content-looking before you. All the traffic that enters or leaves Umbar through its busiest Eastern Gate must go through here, and thus the Romenahl is rarely empty. Before dawn, scores of wagons from the countryside line up the square on their way south to the market; messengers and adventurers form a small trickle that goes the opposite way, and occasionally an army marches East, overruling all other traffic.
Two pillars on the eastern end of the square support the Eastern Gate fortifications; the road out passes between them. Streets run in all directions from the Romenahl, making you wonder which way to turn next, for Umbar is the city of much business and many pleasures. All the area surrounding the square is known in Umbar as Eastgate.
Obvious exits:
Adunalu
This man's black hair curls atop his head, and two blue eyes peek out from beneath his bushy eyebrows, and a short beard sprouts from his chin. His clothing, like that of many Dunedain, is rich and beautiful, an embroidered black tunic and a belt of pure gold; his hands are covered in rings of gold and silver. On his feet are a pair of sandals, not as beautiful as the rest of his attire but still functional.
Daenurwen
~~~
It is early in the night in the great city of Umbar, and activity, even at the east gate, is at a low. Few people walk outside at this time, and fewer still stay in one place for long. The sky is clear, and the moon provides a source of light in the night.
A large man stands by a building on the south of the square, speaking with two other, smaller people. He holds a lantern in one hand, and gestures with the other. From time to time he looks over his shoulder nervously.
Daenurwen makes her way down Romenahl Square slowly, seeming tired. She carries a basket in her hand; covered with a large dark-blue cloth, the woven container is heaped with something, though seems not heavy. Holding one edge of her cloak, the maiden tugs at it as it catches upon something that juts from a cart as it passes. Luckily, the cloak is quickly freed--though a small fray is the result of it.
The large man, Adunalu, nods as he speaks with his companions... two men, but not Dunedain. Too short, and their skin is dark. Haradrim. They too look nervous, and shuffle in their black robes. Adunalu speaks quietly with them, and occasionally the two say somehting in return, but infrequently.
As her pace has slowed from the mishap with her cloak, Daenurwen cannot help but see the strangers that Adunalu is talking to. She readily recognises the man from the Tavern, but stays to the side and keeps her face from being shown as she steps a little closer to hear..
Adunalu speaks quietly to the two Rhevain. "Danash... you've taken too long in getting here. Do you have it? I must know."
One of the two Southrons, the taller of the two turns and whispers something in Haradaic to is companion. "Tanim ... ... ... mumak?" The smaller man shakes his head and stares uncomfortably at the Dunadan. The taller turns back to Adunalu.
"We no have. Cannot get, too hard."
"Well then..." mutters Adunalu, "you must try again. I don't care how hard it is, I must have it..." He glances over his shoulder and, seeing nothing of note, turns back to the two.
And indeed there is something of note going on between the three men. Daenurwen is not usually one to listen in on other conversations, but she recognises the man, after all. And her life so recently turned upside-down has given her to finding whatever information she can on events that might affect her.
Pretending to shuffle things within the basket, Daenurwen stops and lifts the cover, exposing layers of folded cloths, which she starts to rummage through quietly.
"We no do again," states Danash, shakeing his head quickly. "You want so much, you do yourself. We no get mumak, too hard." Tanim nods in agreement.
Adunalu frowns and glares at the smaller man. "I've told you, I don't care how hard it is. I'll provide you with whatever you need... weapons, money, anything, just get it to me..."
Head bowed, Daenurwen lifts an eyebrow at this latest insistence by Adunalu. But the expression is entirely hidden beneath the cloak. Soon the brows are set to knitting and her lips pressed to a thin line as she thinks, though she still rummages through the basket quietly.
Tanim interjects, "No. We almost die last time. Fierce, he like to kill us." Danash nods this time.
"Cowards," mutters Adunalu. "Your people excel at this, you know that, yet you cannot perform this simple task. I provide you spears, bows, everything you should need and you return empty-handed. Pathetic." He scratches his chin for a moment. "If you do not fullfil your end of the bargain, I -will- see to your punishment."
Now the maiden is thoroughly confused. Such talk seems very unlike the man she first met in the Tavern those many days ago. Straightening, she shifts the basket in her hand and looks to the others, gaze narrowing.
The rattle of a cart sounds behind her upon the cobblestones, and a coarse voice shouts out, "Outta th' way, miss!!" as horses hooves clatter upon the stones very nearby. Harried upon her way, Daenurwen must move forward to avoid the nervous animals, and to turn back now would indeed look suspicious. With a frown, she continues down the road and resists the urge to look back.
Though she cannot help but wonder what Adunalu is up to...
The two Haradrim wheel around at the sound of the cart driver and without any warning cover their faces in black hoods and rush away out the gate. Adunalu starts to call after them, but snarls and shakes his head angrily, pulling a brown hood over his face and walking between two buildings out of the square.
Northwest leads to Ar-Batan: Magistrate.
West leads to Gimilbatan: The Star Arches.
Southwest leads to Harbatan: At the Leather Shops.
To The Gates
A tall man of Numenorean ancestry is this, somewhat different from most Dunedain. Though taller than the Rhevain of Middle-earth, he differs from the typical Numenorean in his impressive weight. Weighing over two-hundred pounds, this person is truly a big person.
There is little that is remarkable about this maiden. Tall, like most of the Dunedain, she does not carry her height with any noticeable grace. Her dress is of plain muslin, dyed a light brown with russet trim--neat and pressed but certainly humble of style. Little can be seen of her face and nothing of her hair, for most is shadowed under the heavy-cowled hood of dark brown, attached to a large and somewhat worn cloak of the same color--which also succeeds in hiding most of her figure. Upon her hands are grey woolen gloves which leave the tips of the fingers exposed, and upon her feet are leather boots, which show a fair amount of use as well.