Enedwaith coastline
Bare and exposed beaches ... lowlands half sea-marshes and sand dunes ... here and there a fishing village, thatched huts huddled together. A desolate coast, this is, and one that pirates would love, for there are myriad little coves in which ships can lie hidden from view.

A stern light shimmers down from the hearty skies above, reflecting in bold measure off the fine and rollicking seas. The crush of wave on shore is forever musical here, and sings the fisherfolk to sleep each night no less than the baying of hunting hounds.

Contents
Yaslyn
Eithaforn
Bakkus
Lominakh
The Aganallo(#9902LQVXaetM)
The Arvada
The Nalozil
Obvious exits:
 NorthWest leads to Belegaer (The Open Sea).
 South leads to Mouth of the Isen.
 East leads to Enedwaith: Countryside.
 North leads to Mouth of the Gwathlo.

Afternoon and the small fishing village is bustling with activity, but these 'villagers' look a bit different than the norm you find in this land. Darker of skin, better armed, and speaking in a tongue rarely if ever heard in these lands. The majority of those about seem to be male but a few females are speckled throughout the group. Carrying supplies in from the shore they seem to be in the middle of stocking up for a long term stay. Not all are workers, archers walk the perimeter of the area wary of any of those who may have escaped the earlier raid and now seek vengance.

Within the center of the village Lominakh stands watching as the huts of the village are checked by Corsairs for any who may have returned since the raid.

The wilderlands up the Gwathlo are a trackless waste, a vast space for any man to traverse. It is for this reason that the greycloaks of Eriador seldom are seen in this part of the land, though they are by no means unknown. Some boon of the Valar, perhaps, brings this man out of the void, black haired and tall, a forgotten reminder of days long in the past.

His cloak flutters in the ocean breeze, prompting him to look up at the grey clouds in the offing. He sniffs the salt air and hums an upbeat tune as he walks towards the village, as yet oblivious of the events of the past days.

Ajnabi remains in the center of the village also, not far from Lominakh. But his eyes are turned to the sea, "I will not deny," he says, to the air and the earth, "I should have prefered the paleskin country to this miserable place. Nothing but the smell of fish, barbarians, and blood."

Off to the north, yet another one of those cloaked wanderers slips into the area, his step cautious, his cloak wrapped fully around his body for what cameoflague the stained and battered garment can provide in nature. But this Ranger is apart some distance from his fellow, moving of his own accord, Talbinor perhaps not being able to see the other even if he knew where to look.

Unblinking grey eyes focus towards the fishing village, even from a great distance. Talbinor walks very slowly and carefully, crouched down low as much as possible behind small dunes of sand to reduce his visibility from afar, even as, suspicion etched on his youthful features, he tries to reconnaitre.

Sitting atop a large rock on the beach is the Quartermaster of the Aganallo, pipe in hand. As he puffs out smoke rings, he occasionally grabs a pebble and wips the stone into the vast ocean. Shifting uncomfortably he reajusts the blade strapped to his side. It seems like Annadur's health continues to improve as many of the bulges on his torso caused by bandages beneath are gone and he moves about much more elegently.

Lominakh looks towards Ajnabi and nods stiffly. "This is a dark place," he says. "Our deeds have made it darker I fear." He too then turns to look towards the sea. "The sooner we are away from here the better." He turns then to look back upon the Captain of Black. "I am considering releasing the ones we took once we are done here."

"Well," Yaslyn approaches her Tower Captain. "At least they don't eat bats." She fingers the fishing net that is hung out to dry and shakes her head. "Because there is no way they could catch anything with this poor excuse of a net. It is amazing they live at all."

"They are a limp and feeble people," Ajnabi agrees with the Lord and Lady, "I see little use for them as labor. Doubtlessly, they will die if put to work. I see little use for them outside the house..."

He shakes his head, "But who would be daft enough to keep foriegners in their house?"

The greycloak walks to within fifty feet of the outskirts of the village before he stops, something odd catching his grey eye, namely an archer with a nocked arrow standing at the main entrypoint into the village. He drops silently flat beneath the level of the underbrush and lays still, contemplating.

The Quartermaster then rises from his seat upon the rock, still puffing. He then begins to walk up to the village but halts suddenly. Turning his head in curiousity, he watches the alert sentinel with the nocked arrow and changes his course in the direction of the guard. As he comes closer he speaks to the guard, "See anything?" Halting at the man's side, he then blows a paticularily large smoke ring.

From his spot on the dune, Talbinor simply frowns. He crouches in the stand, knee getting muckier than usual as he watches the guards, his gaze narrowed. Trying to find a hole in their pattern, trying to find a cunning way to evade them. The conversation raging within the village, with the small dark figures just visible but not audible, torments Talbinor with its unreachability.

For a contemplative moment, Talbinor fingers the longsword at his hip, left fingers dribbling over the hilt thoughtfully. But his hand soon leaves his blade and he backs up, heading some distance off, to where the rise of the land leaves him totally invisible from the village.

The Corsair sentry positioned by the entry into the village pivots, aiming his nocked arrow at the odd sound that he thought he heard. For a tense moment, he waits.

Lominakh turns to Yaslyn and smiles slightly. "It does not matter," he says. "Obviously I can not since it would be seen as weakness, and then the plots would begin."

He chuckles then and looks about the village. "We can at least be happy knowing that whatever fate awaits them it will be better than this," he wrinkles his nose at the huts. "Look at this filth."

What may or may not be the source of whatever the sentry may or may not have heard does not seem inclined to give the other anything else to think he heard. The greycloak lies absolutely still, counting to a hundred before beginning to inch slowly forward and to the sentry's right, the brush all around his head rustling in the wind.

The sentry archer listens to the rustling of the wind, then before relaxing the bowstring, sucks in air through his nostrils noisily until his lungs are full, then makes a gurgling sound before expectorating the pipe-weed discolored phlegm shooting towards the sound with a loud th-th-thwop, hoping to startle whatever wildlife that may be hiding there.

The Lady of Black laughs softly at Ajnabi. "If they eat more than they work, then aye, I agree. We should set them free. But I disagree with you, Lord Lominakh. If we set them free, word will spread, and soon, we will not have to come sneaking in the night. We shall simply dock, and they will hand over anything we ask." She smiles coyly. "Of course, it will take the thrill out of it all."

Ajnabi's expression is rock hard, "There is no thrill in slaving. It is an honorless task, akin to sewing and smoking. No good comes of it."

Talbinor continues to slip back and across the dunes, until he finds himself precisely where he wants to be; a little hollow, some distance from the village, enough to require a little trot. Carefully, he backs off onto firmer ground, where his light step will forbid the quick reading of footprints.

Then, he shrieks, like the stereotypical damsel in distress. He darts a short distance to the east, shrieks again, and then, as quickly as he can, darts back the other direction, reversing along his path. Trying to go the opposite direction of whichever guard sent to investigate this might go.

Though the Quartermaster does not hear his words, as he is too far off, his drags increase in speed. "Are you stone deaf you lubber? I asked you a question and I expect it to be answered properly. I'm not just some old hag that you can ignore. Now answer me!" He shouts like a gambler who has just lost all his possesions. Though his left hand is placed on his pipe, he right now rests firmly on his scimitar's hilt.

Creeping through the brush, the greycloak is now all of twenty feet from the sentry and Annadur, pausing every few inches, almost as though he were stalking. His neck cranes to hear the words that pass between them.

"Honor?" Yaslyn smiles incredulously. "The ability to enslave and control others is the ultimate form of strength and power. Why, even I know that the Eye teaches that in showing Strength and Power, one honors the Eye. Am I not correct, Lord Lominakh?" She glances at Lominakh, then back at Ajnabi as if baiting him to engage in one of their many heated philosophical debates.

Meanwhile, the sentry turns to look furiously at Annadur. "And YOU just frightened away a perfectly good meal with all that shoutin'! I had my sights set on some nice fat juicy game but YOU had to make all that racket and chase it away! I am sick and tired of eating nothing but fish fish fish fish fish fish fish shark fish fish since the day we left Umbar!"

With a nod Lominakh turns to Yaslyn. "That is what the Citadel teaches," he says. "Let us not forget Omkarm and how easily the Citadel can mislead the people. If we release these slaves. . ." His words die off as the sound of the shrieking is carried upon the wind.

His head turns in the direction of the sound. "What in the name of the Eye . ."

Talbinor frowns as he slips around, the guards paying absolutely no attention to his effort at distraction. "Cleverer than I gave them credit for," he murmurs softly under his breath, shaking his head grimly. But the distant sounds of loud argument over the wind draw Talbinor's eye, flickering up towards the unhappy guard and in the direction of the voice of his unhappy commander.

"Perhaps," Talbinor murmurs to himself, and he slips forward, slowly, mirroring his fellow Ranger in movements (though he cannot know it), slipping slowly towards the village even as his shriek finally begins to draw some attention.

Ajnabi waves his hand in dismisal. Something has made the Tower Captain less political of late?

But the sounds catch his ears also, "Eye fire. Now the men are going mad."

"Send one to investigate. No need for all of us to go. We have all seen shrieking women bef.." Yaslyn sighs, as already, four of the corsairs whoop and jump at the chance to investigate something interesting of the female persuasion. They begin running and sliding down the slope, tumbling over each other, nevermind that they may face something that made this female shriek. There are always those who aren't as clever as the rest.

"My apologizes mate. Your not the only one who's tired of fish. Though that shark was good eating." The Quartermaster is much more calm now and he relaxes. Turning now, he draws his scimitar and slashes harmlessly at some grass. Speaking again to the sentry, he says "I'm getting tired of this place. Too much green, not enough sand. Those this beach is comforating."

His attention is then drawn to the Powers of Umbar, as he watches them speak amongst themselves as he cannot hear them. With his back to the woods, his arm does limp and Annadur barely holds the blade in his hand.

The greycloak in the underbrush hunkers down, feeling around on the ground for something, anything. His fingers brush against something hard--a rock! His giant hand closes around it, roughly the size of a potato, and at a moment when he judges neither Annadur or the sentry to be looking, he pokes his head up and throws the rock hard. It smashes into the side of a hut, making quite the clatter.

Men go to investigate the shriek at last, and Talbinor smiles grimly as he inches ahead over the ground. But then, even as he slowly ekes his way forward, there is a rather loud sound even he can hear from the camp - that of a rock clashing into a hut. With something of a start, Talbinor looks off in that direction, freezing in place, pausing even his breath.

Sprawled flat along the ground, Talbinor's eye sweeps slowly across the sweeping hills and dunes. He cannot see his fellow Ranger from his current position. But still, as he slips forward, that suspicious glare about his surroundings does not pause, even if he does not know where to look.

"Madness. I've had enough of this madness!" Ajnabi grumbles, "I'll send some soldiers to investigate," he takes swift steps back toward the beach: the Captain will retire to his ship.

Lominakh watches the men rush off to investigate the noise, before he turns back to the Lady of Black. "There is something out there," he says as he turns towards a hut where another clatter breaks out. He nods in response to Ajnabi as he stalks off. "Have them search the entire area, if you would Captain."

He turns then towards the Lady of Black. "Perhaps the Eye is trying scare us off so there can be no release of the slaves," he says with a laugh.

"Watch here. Shout if you see any strangers approach. I'll go and see what made all that noise." The sentry tells Annadur as he dashes towards the hut, disappearing around the corner.

"I doubt anyone would care enough about a tiny pack of filthy fish mongers to send an army to fight us." Yaslyn observes pleasantly, following Lominakh's gaze towards the hut. She watches as one of the corsairs who was guarding the entry point investigate the noise.

The four randy corsairs who decided to take the matter of the damsel in distress into their own hands look about after they stop sliding and they land onto the beach. They look about, and start heading for where they last heard the shriek. And as they do, they begin to notice the other guards and corsairs start sliding down the hill, as ordered. "Bah. We never have /any/ fun. Lominakh told us not to touch the village women and now looks like we won't be able to either."

"You can count on me. Just don't come back with an arrow in your gob, friend." Now slightly more alert Annadur retains a better grip on his scimitar and then continues to swipe away at the grass, his attentions still directed towards the conversation between the Powers of Umbar.

The sentry's exit is the opportune moment, and the greycloak seizes it. While Annadur's back is turned, he moves forward, quickly and almost silently, as only a man with years of practice could manage, and at the last moment explodes forward, throwing his gauntleted forearm at the back of the Corsair's head.

Silence is the key. His goal, obviously, is to take out the Corsair quickly and quietly.

Eithaforn attacks Annadur with his Bare Hands and mildly wounds him!

From his position slinking along the dunes, Talbinor sees a seven-foot tall Ranger leap out from nowhere and jump one of the Haradrim. To say the least, Talbinor is surprised by this discovery, and he is halfway to leaping up and charing into the fray before he regains control of himself and resumes his more discrete posture.

However, Talbinor shifts his course, heading towards Eithaforn and his would-be prisoner, and his pace picks up significantly, even as he still tries to pay heed to stealth. It's not as though there'd be a lot of attention in -his- direction right now.

Lominakh's hand strays to the hilt of his scimitar, but he nods in agreement with Yaslyn. "I still do not like the feel of this place," he says with a dark look about the village. "I think Captain Ajnabi had the right idea, a night aboard the ship may not be unpleasant. Perhaps, it will be more welcoming once we have set up camp."

The blow lands heavily on the back of the Quartermaster's studded leather helm and the already wounded man collaspes in a heap. Before reaching the ground however, Annadur drops his scimitar which lands with a quite 'clump'. Though he is knocked out cold, luckily for the large man, he does not bleed from the head.

His pipe, still lit, also falls to the ground. Sending sparks flying across the grass, a few of the plants then begin to burn and as many know. grass creates large amount of smoke when burned.

The ranger the Breefolk call Smokey is utterly oblivious to his compatriot's presence as he takes the Corsair down and then lies tense on the ground for a moment, waiting for a reaction from the others.

A few seconds pass, and then he turns to his quarry. The tall ranger scoops him up and tosses him across his shoulders as though he were carrying a deer back to his campsite. The smoke from the burning grass serves as a convenient screen from most of the Corsair camp, and, while they may come to investigate momentarily, the ranger is already trying to beat a hasty retreat into the thickets.

"Set up camp? Here?" Yaslyn asks with a touch of distaste, before looking at the sentry who comes out of the hut holding a large rock. "What have you got there, soldier?" The Lady of Black asks, sees the rock, then smells the telltale smoke. The others have spotted the wispy blue as well, and the attention shifts from the shriek from the beach to the smoke. Again, Yaslyn stays in place while the other corsairs and soldiers dash over to the source to investigate.

One piece of luck Talbinor has: he's on the opposite side of the smokescreen from the village. As he manages to see Eithaforn retreat from the attention-getting device, the Ranger is able to veer his own course towards Eithaforn and his prisoner, straightening up a bit, going into almost a jog.

As he moves, Talbinor looks sidelong towards the village here and there, before ahead on his destination. Whereever Eithaforn is going, Talbinor is going also.

The ranger runs in a zigzag course, changing direction erratically, making for the far side of a slight rise in the terrain, out of direct sight of the fishing village and its occupants, a rather large Corsair thrown over his back, and a small grassfire burning on their very doorstep.

Any other man would be pleased with himself. This one, as he clears the rise, merely dumps the corsair rather unceremoniously on the ground with a grunt and drops to the ground, crawling back to peer over the hill for pursuit.

It is just then that he notices the other greycloak, and frantically gestures at him to hit the deck.

The smoke hides the retreat of Annadur's captors, but his passing is not unnoticed. One of those investigating returns to the beach to hand the Lord of Seaward a pipe he recognizes. Turning the pipe over in his hands for a moment he turns to look towards Yaslyn. "Perhaps there is still a use for those slaves," he says. Tucking the pipe into his waistcoat he turns to head for the skiffs along the beach.

At the frantic signalling Talbinor, of course, hits the deck, dropping like a sack of potatoes. Not that this in any way stops him from continuing to gradually, stealthily, eke his way over towards Eithaforn and his prisoner. Eke, eke, eke, oh-so-carefully.