Nazgul and Human Agent
Elendor1892 - Monday, March 22, 1999, 4:00 PM
Middle-earth time is:
Midnight on Monday, Day 16 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Middle-earth year is:
Historical Year: circa TA 3008
Online Year: 3016
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Bridge at the Entwade
The stars glitter overhead in the clear Winter sky.
*************** There is a waxing gibbous moon above. ****************
Close to the north you can make out a looming dark shape which you identify as a bridge with the help of skylight reflecting off the rushing water which passes beneath it. The river, for so you take it to be, rushes east and west to join another silver ribbon of water to the east. Though the night holds dangers, this seems to be a peaceful spot. To the southeast looms a dark blotch on the horizon.
Contents:
Fara
Obvious exits:
North leads to Stowburg Town Square.
Southeast leads to A Grove of Trees.
In the darkness that envelopes the plains of the Mark the sound of the heavy beat of hooves is audible. A tall figure cloaked in black rides upon a black war steed, the powerful horse moving a gentle trot. The man rides only by moonlight, the pale white light glinting off the black mail he wears.
The sky is starry and the night is chill. The wind rushes through the land, caressing with icy fingers those brave or fool enough to be abroad at this deep hour. The Entwash rushes onward below a small bridge, the starlight reflected back in a mad glittering. On the bridge a small figure stands on the lower post of the railing, motionless.
The rider continues towards the bridge, nothing more than a shadow against the night sky as he rides. As he nears the bridge his sharp eyes spot the figure, and he calls out, "It is a not a friendly night for one to be lounging in the wilderness, or does someone guard the bridge against my passage?"
A gentle laugh rings out in the night air, and the little figure clambers higher on the railing, bringing the hood of its cloak hear at a level with that of the Rider. Pushing back her hood, the figure releases a tangle of fiery curls which glint redgold in the starlight, and her smile is clear in her voice as she answers, "Indeed, stranger! I shall demand a toll of you to cross this bridge lest you meet your fate upon my fell, " A long pause. "Well, lest you arouse my temper. Have you anything of value with which to buy your safety?" The voice becomes musing and not a little hopeful, "A bit of cheese perhaps?"
Cold eyes look upon the small woman, no humor seen in the jest at which the small figure attempts. Surion says, "I am not in a joking mood, girl, do not tempt me to let the sound of steel ring out on this night." Sitting high upon his mighty steed, the tall man looks down upon the woman, the hood of his cloak revealing nothing more than a tightly drawn mouth.
Her eyebrows migrating under her hair, she repeats these words in a sort of awed wonder, "Tempt you to let the sound of steel ring out on this night?" She stares at the stranger's shadow-shrouded visage as if waiting for him to deny that she has rightly understood his speech. Her eyes rove over his mount, a brief look of appreciation crossing her features, before turning eyes large with confusion back upon his hood-obscured face. The wind tangles her cloak about her legs, momentarily offbalancing her, but for this tiny readjustment of stance upon the post, she is silent.
Eartnan tramps in from the southeast.
Eartnan has arrived.
The direction of the forest, and the road as it stretches into there, is nothing if not silent. The owls' hootings, the scrabblings in the brush--even these are barely if at all audible, the cold and the wind's slow percolation through the limbs which frame this and that stretch of road dulling it into silence. Yet, after a while, the barest sounds of jingling of tack can be heard, and then the slow clip of four hooves in the darkness, drawing nearer.
The sound of hoofbeats reach the ears of the stranger, and he says to the woman before him in a cold tone, "Not a word, child, I do not want the attention of the riders of this realm." Putting his hand on the hilt of his sword he continues, "Call out and your life shall be forfeit."
Her head whips around toward the sound of approaching hoofbeats, and then in
almost infinitesimal slowness does she turn back to stare at the stranger a
look
of stunned comprehension upon her face. An eternity stretches out in those few
seconds and it seems even the water falls silent, so that the oncoming
hoofbeats
sound unnaturally loud. The only betrayal of her thoughts is the quick indrawn
breath before she shouts, "
The sounds of footprints begin to draw nearer, yet with the sound of warning
fade away. They do not turn back, as far as the fullest range and extent of
hearing can work, the shout having done its good. As for the lass, toppled by
her force of will into the ice-cold waters of the Entwash. . . .
No concern is shown upon the dark visage of the stranger as the young woman
tumbles into the water, and it seems he is content to let her be swept away
into
the night. He grabs the reins of his horse and spurs the beast forward across
the bridge, the loud heavy hoofbeats echoing throughout the night like drums.
The black cloaked figure dissappears into the night, heading in the direction
of
the nearby village.