Featuring: Marul, Arali, Vrael, and Gehlmerr (all Haradrim).

It is one of those occassions where the Lady Arali opens up her Tower to the people of Umbar, letting any who have a grievance or request approach her. Sitting upon her throne, the entire morning has passed by as the Lady has listened to the people who have lined up to speak to her, rich and poor, fortunate and not. Betraying no impatience, one must nonetheless suspect that Arali is relieved when an end of the line finally comes into sight. Her guards all around her, ever suspicious, she motions for the next supplicant to step forth.

Standing near the end of the line, his face writ with an expression of abject boredom, Gehlmerr takes a moment to survey the room once more, as though he had not already had moments untold to make such an inspection, being so near to the end of things. He steps forward, as a complaint is heard and answered, a few steps nearer, his patience still intact. He takes a moment to bend low to an old woman who stands before him, whispering something into her, the reply to which is a barely concealed chortle. Realizing that she is next, and that she is keeping the Lady waiting, the old woman advances and states her case.

Leaning forward in a well-practiced motion, the Lady rests her chin upon her hand and listens with interest. Nodding here and there to the old woman's tale of woe, she answers once she is done, "You will be recompensed for your stolen goods, for the safety of Farside's citizens rests with the Tower. If Farside fails in its duty, than the Tower must pay." Motioning to an administrator who stands off to one side, Arali lets the trusted man conclude the business. Expectantly, her gaze then falls to Gehlmerr, waiting for him to step up and speak.

A soft pounding upon the floor signals a new arrival into the lavish domain of the Lady of Farside; for it is that Vrael of Seaward slips quietly into the throne room. A darkened cloak of nightly hues conceals his person, its fine fabric cascading loosely down to the floor to sweep about from behind. Nigh to the back of the line that the Lady receives, Vrael merely stands still, his eyes focused ahead, upon the one who now awaits his time to greet Arali.

With a deep intake of breath, Gehlmerr looks up from his thoughts, as though he had been at vigil for days, and his prayers had been interrupted. But his is not an expression of upset, no, but rather of barely contained eagerness. A smile as bright as the sun, allows for exhalation of his large breath, and he steps forth, taking a knee, and beginning his recitation. "Would that I came with so pleasant a tale, that of goods stolen and easily replaced. But mine is a more precarious position, one not so easily resolved, even by a lady of such high repute... and though we have never met before and I have only the vaguest rumors to go on regarding your greatness... one of your high skills... Say again I will... if the rumors of your beauty are so much the more unrivaled by that of the true thing, then your wisdom and grace will rival any of the heroes of old, if not out do them..." he pauses for a moment to take in another breath, looking at the flagstone before him as though composing his thoughts...

The Lady Arali likes many things....pastry, fine silks and especially flattery. Puffing up with ill-concealed pleasure, the Lady basks in the man's overdone praise, for a while saying nothing as she lets the words sink. The Lady urges the man to go on with an impatient wave, wanting to hear more of what this obvious wise man has to say.

The line moves ever so slightly as Gehlmerr takes his place and steps forward, shifting closer to the Lady; yet Vrael of Seaward does not budge from his strance, rather he holds still, eyes cast forward. "Move off will ya," comes a husky voice from behind, a rather short and quite fat man tossing out his words, "I have no time fer your hesitatin'..." The Captain of the Suleiman immediately pivots to glare upon the man with a sort of quiet anger before calming and shifting off to the side to allow those behind to move ahead, simply content to observe for the moment.

Sensing that he has a receptive audience, Gehlmerr continues as he began... "Surely the wise one who sits before me will know a solution to the dilemna with which I am faced... this horrible tragedy which has beset me... for it is a long lived thing, a thing which has haunted me ere I was born, and may prey upon my spirit when I am taken by the grave. I do not go to another Lord, or another Lady. Nay I have come from afar to sit under the bright and shining light of your fame, that I may find some resolution to my ... " and then his calm demeanor is shaken, and from a bright shining smile, that of a man under the sun, a light breeze on his face... a lovely woman at his side... a full belly... when he once more lifts his face it is stained with tears, an excellent display, if it lacks in sincerity, a thing of pity, if it is not. "They are taken," he says, in between sobs... "they were my life, my breath... they are... taken."

Standing off to the side, by one of the hall's pillars, Marul watches the proceedings intently as one by one people file in and speak with the Lady. A few he knows well as residents of the Tower, others met in the City on daily chores and trips to the local inn. The corsair watches what happens quietly, calmly observing the events of the day.

Like a cat in the sun, the Lady basks in the praise, until Gehlmerr brings up the business he came here upon. Blinking a little, as if she had forgotten all about the man's reason for being here, she quickly sobers up and listens with a sympathetic ear. "Go on," she gently prompts the man, not offering any aid until she knows the nature of the problem.

But whatever troubles him is beyond words, it is a very wound upon his soul that is so difficult to bear, that even he, a man full grown... a man who has no doubt known many horrors in this world of horrible things... cannot. For consciousness surely fades from him... and as he falls toward the hard stones of the floor, a scroll falls forward from his hand, unravelling partway, until it is halted at the steps to the throne. Gehlmerr lays there, unaware, as it seems, an old fool having lost something so great that even the loss of his dignity seems not to compare to it.

This is not what the Lady expected. "Oh my," she murmurs as the man collapses on the floor. Curiously, she leans over to catch a glimpse of what the scroll says, but the Lady must not be feeling overly greedy or nosy, for instead, she turns to one of her guards, "Take him to the infirmary until he awakens. I will hear him out then." Two guards helping to carry the man off, one of them casts a questioning glance to the scroll still upon the floor. "Take it and set it by him. I will not tamper with that which is not mine."

"That was unexpected," mutters the low voice of Vrael, his brow arched in wonderment over the rather spontaneous collapse of the visitor, "I wonder what caused such an event..." The Corsair then turns to look upon Gehlmerr as he is taken out to be brought for treatment at the infirmiry, a questioning glance cast upon the man, yet further attention is not passed unto him thereafter.

An older man, once-black hair greying and his stomach grown fat, walks into the throne room and falls into place in the line. He stands there, advancing forward wherever he can find any spare space, looking interestedly about the hall.

After such a dramatic exit, it takes the next person in line a moment to regain his senses and step forward. Experienced in this, the Lady quickly dispatches the man and the next, until the line dwindles away to but a handful of people. "Next," she says, her face as fresh as when she started this.

The line has long since dwindled so that its ending lies several yards from where Vrael continues his quiet vigil, his form still rigid in stance and his eyes ever in motion, straying from one character unto the next.

A few moments pass, and the large man continues to advance in the line. At last his turn is come, and he stands attentively before the throne. He fives a low, sweeping bow to the Lady of Farside, momentarily bowing his head in respect, before rising and waiting to be addressed.

Dark eyes passing curiously over this man, committing his face to memory, the Lady bids him speak. With a smile gracing her lips, she says good-naturedly, "During your time in line surely you have learned what the procedure is. Please speak, and let your great patience be rewarded."

"Forgive me, milady, I am not from these parts," the man nods solemnly at the Lady's words. "I am Malash of Caldur, once of Kun Anyam, at your service and your family's." The odd person smiles momentarily then looks to the Lady again. "I come not to ask you of anything, not to complain: I come to learn of someone who I know to live here. Perhaps you know of one Marul?"