A shard of Crystal...

(In a back room somewhere in Umbar...several weeks ago...)

The old Corsair felt the sweat trickling down his spine.
The room was dark, his new master sat across the table from him, the crystal shard sat in the centre of the scarred and weathered table...glittering in the weak lamplight.

"Master, are you sure this will work?"

The reply was silky smooth, as always, his Westron strangely accented.

"Of course it will...I told you the words to speak, the gestures to make...it will happen as I say."

The Captain reached across the table to pick up the stone, as his hands grasped the shard he felt a static shock, and he dropped it from his hand. It lay again on the table...still glittering.

"What you felt just now was expected Captain. It was why I have taken you into my confidence. It took me some time to find a person with your....talents."

The former Corsair looked up in alarm at his Master, and then Kaldumeir continued:

"I have made enquiries into your past, and certain events surrounding your youth have led me to you. You are uniquely...qualified for the task at hand. Pick up the stone again...and please...do not let it go. It is...how you say...fragile."

The man reached across again and picked up the stone. The shock was less this time...and then he felt a strange warmth coursing up his arm, to suffuse his whole body. Unexpectedly, he smiled. The new tattoo on his forearm pulsed with the strange energy.

Kaldumeir nodded in satisfaction. He handed the seaman a parchment.

"This is the name of the ship, this is the name of Inn in Pelargir in which you will find your crew. Do as I instruct and you will be able to sail it right out of the Harbour without anyone noticing".

After the man left, Kaldumeir sat and considered his options. This was the last of the four shards, the others he'd given to similar men...of different ilks...but all willing to serve his needs. The power...and the money were irresistable to them all.

A final journal entry.

It has come to this.
The summons from Ar Pharazon is explicit and his command cannot be denied. I know the plans for the fleet and the invasion of Valinor are madness, but how can I gainsay an order from the King?
I should have no complaints, my life has been long, and for over 200 years I have explored this beautiful country and seen marvels that would satisfy any adventurer. I have mapped the plains of Harad, seen the towers of the far cities of the Oasis Sea, including the stunning Minarets of Celenestra. Places no child of Dunedain has ever been! Who would not be content?
If I have made any mistake it was in letting others know about my discoveries...tales that grew in the telling, and now my name and reputation has grown overmuch. To think I would be of use in this fools errand against the very power of the Valar and the High Elves of Valinor? Madness, all of it!
The King was wrong to take Him prisoner, he should have been killed and his soul destroyed on the day he was taken. It did not take long for him to find his way from the deepest prison to the chair of trusted councellor. A power mightier than any child of man, the King was a fool to think he could conquer such as he.
Oh how I wish to be left alone for my remaining years, at peace in my study. More and more I find the tedium of administration galling, my only relief here in my secret library, where even the servants cannot bother me.
I am of half a mind to stay here til the end. I sense my time is near upon me, and I would not tarry in this world one day longer than is allotted to me.
I have wine to sustain me, and I would regret leaving my work unfinished. Eventually this place would be found, and my work with it. Perhaps the madness of the King and his foolish plans will have reached their fruition. I just hope that the punishment the Gods will visit upon us will not be all encompassing.

3319 of the Second Age
Vorondil, Master of the Eastern Fleet of Numenor, Governor of Umbar.

The Mariners of Numenor

(Here is a brief synopsis of the events relating to the downfall of Numenor and activity of the exploring Dunedain Mariners. For more details and a richer look at these tales, grab a copy of the Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien and read the section titled Akallabeth.)

In the Second Age, in the days before their blessed Isle sank beneath the waves, the Mariners of Numenor spent centuries exploring the coastlines of middle earth. Great harbours and strong towers they made, and there were manythat lived in these coastal settlements. To the commen men of middle earth they appeared as lords and masters, and they gathered much tribute from their overawed and lesser brothers. The great ships of Numenor were borne east on the winds and returned ever laden, and the power and majesty of the Mariners increased, and they drank and they feasted and they clad themselves in silver and gold. In all this the faithful men of Numenor had small part. They alone came to the north of the land, keeping thier friendship with the elves and lending them aid in their fight against Sauron. Their haven was Pelargir above the mouths of the great Anduin river. But still, the powerful and greedy Mariners continued their far journeys east and south, and the strongholds they made have left many rumours in the legends of men.

After defeating Sauron (as detailed in the first post of this blog) and dragging him in chains to the Island of Numenor this industry changed. The Mariners were diverted from their exploration and they set about creating a massive fleet to assail Valinor, the Undying Lands in the West, where the Elves and Valar lived their lives under the light and guidance of Manwe. This was the work and plan of Sauron, who had been turned from captive to advisor to the last king of Numenor.
The men of Numenor were punished for their folly, and this fleet was sent to the bottom of the sea in a storm of epic proportions. The Island of Numenor was sunk, and Sauron lost his physical form in the destruction of the Island as well.

The Faithful men of Numenor, or "Elf-Friends", knowing the blasphemy that was underway, gathered a smaller fleet that sailed east to Middle Earth and their leaders arrived to create the countries of Gondor and Arnor. Using some of the ports and communities established earlier by the Mariners, they were able to transfer their culture, expertise and philosophy to the largely uninhabited northern sections of the continent. The ports in the far south and beyond were never visited again by the sea-going men of Numenor. Their work in the North was vast and they lacked the resources to continue with the settlements of the southern region. How the men, and Numenoreans left in those locales fared in the thousands of years that followed was at best a mystery.
After the sinking of Numenor the seas to the south were often in a state of perpetual storm...and no ship could survive passage to the southern regions.
At the end of the Third Age of Men, Sauron was defeated in his entirety, and things began to change. Flows of Essence that had fueled the storms of the past stabilised. And the clock began ticking on the date when the men of the far south would again regain contact with their distant bretheren of the North.

A new life...in chains.

Khalid swung the pick again...and a small stone was chipped away from the wall of rock in front of him. He coughed...the air was bad here...and the dust from the other diggers made it hard to breathe. The crack of a whip split the air and he felt a fire of pain across his shoulders as the lash sunk into his flesh.

"Back to work you dirty desert bastard!" Shouted the foreman.

Khalid swung the pick again...and bided his time. The last few weeks had been misery and chaos. First the attack on his tribe and camp, and then, falling to a warrior who possessed an un-natural light in his eyes. Strange, he had never lost in combat before...

He had awoken in chains, and was dragged across the desert with other captives. Then to a boat, his eyes blindfolded, his hands bound. Some of the other prisoners he had recognized from other clans...people he had made war on...at least in the traditional sense. Stealing goats and camels was a well respected tradition...but this...no Bedu kept slaves in the Haradwaith.
The memory of the burning tents and the slaughter remained etched in his mind. His family gone, all his cousins and relatives slain...and he the leader of his tribe! The shame washed over him again.
He would find his redemption. Khalid was no slave, but a warrior of great reknown! He had carried his families honour with distinction...continuing a tradition hundreds of years old. He was chosen as Sheik at the youngest age in generations...his spirit walk had been the tale around campfires for over a dozen years.
All gone now. He was the last of his tribe.
He swung the pick again. He did not know where he was. All he knew was that this tunnel in stone had become his world. Other men of the desert toiled next to him. Why did they dig here? Where were they? Hours of labour and then blindfolds again. Back to a dank cel for a few hours sleep, a stale crust of bread and back to the digging again.
The sweat grew cold on his back. Would he die here?

At anchor in Umbar

Captain Lanahar surveyed the dock with unease.
Standing on the quarterdeck his view of the harbour and surrounding waterfront of Umbar was extensive.
He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow...again.
Damn heat. It was likely going to be over 100 degrees again today...and still full noon was an hour away.
Damn orders. From Minister Falastur himself!...but still a fools errand. Any Seaman worth his salt knew this was the wrong way to catch a pirate. Lanahar had great experience with pirates, and not much respect for them. Before the great war he had captured many, and sunk over a half dozen Corsairs.
This was a different kettle of fish. The Crown's latest vessel! Stolen! Magic behind it? Idiocy! What stirred his bitterness most was the knowledge that the ship had been promised to him as his new commission. And to think some filthy pirate was helming that beautiful vessel! His teeth ground in irritation and suppressed rage.

"Captain?"

Lanahar turned toward his first mate and raised an eyebrow.

"Sir...I have had another request from the Captain of the Marine force. It seems he would again like to convey his wishes to grant shore leave for his company of men. It seems this waiting at port is badly affecting moral and..."

"Absolutely not!" barked Lanahar. "I've allready told him that there was to be no shore leave permitted! Not for my Sailors and not for the Royal Marines of Gondor! Is he some sort of idiot? Doesn't he realise that we are on the most important mission since the end of the great war? Doesn't he realise that any word of our mission in that festering pool of a city will certainly reach the ears of this pirate within days? Blistering barnacles man!, we are barely in control of this city...the last thing I need is to ship home bodies of fools cut down in dark alleyways! There were 3 guards killed here last month! You can't trust these blood thirsty savages...barely civilized and filled with their stupid customs and superstitious notions. It was bad enough I had to provide transit to that...merchant. And to think he is here to work on our behalf?!?"

The first mate mused:
"Well sir, they were a strange bunch it's true. And that quiet one...he always kept a hood over his head? Sir, I don't like the look of him. He is...unsettling."

The Captain wiped another bead of moisture from his brow, then surreptitously wiped his sweaty hand on his heavy wool uniform. He continued:
"I don't understand how we can be ordered to follow their requests. Who in hades are they anyways? I've never heard of any of them...and they certainly aren't from of the Navy...or Army from what I can see. Freaks I deem them...unsavory to be sure."

"Well sir...we are under orders to wait only 8 days in a port, and then we are free from this shmozzle of a mission. If they don't return from Umbar by tomorrow, we can set sail and pursue the bandits ourselves. The orders from Minister Falastur are quite specific."

The Captain sighed and scanned the brilliant clear azure waters, and the city beyond them. The shimmering heat caused the view of distant buildings, wharves and towers to waver in the late morning light. Yes...just one more day...and no sign of the four had been heard since they'd been rowed ashore 7 days earlier. Searching for clues? Trying to gain intelligence from the savages in this cesspool of a city? Truly these 'so called' agents of the king were fools with a naive understanding of how things should be done. And all this talk of magic...the Minister's secretary had been quite insistent...but was obviously a fool as well.
Everyone knew with the Dark Lord Sauron gone the evils of sorcery had also been eradicated from the world of Men.

So it begins

Elenbrand lay on the bed of straw looking up at the cracking plaster of the inn as Tyrion leaned over his latest parchment scratching out notes as fast as he could. The tapping of the feather quill on glass vial of ink snapped the former smuggler back to contemplating their situation instead of the similarity between the cracks in the ceiling and the sands of the Harad.

It had been an eventful month since that fateful meeting with Grendel. Their former master had always been excentric with his teaching of magic and passionate about the possibility of bringing ‘the magic of the elves’ or the ‘magic lost to us’ back to Minas Tirith but never in Elenbrand’s short 23 years had he seen the manic look that their former teacher had in his eyes in speaking of his ‘findings’.

With all the mystery of those prior ages and adventure evident even in the 2nd age coins their master gave them for passage “Grendel’s greats” as El had taken to calling their group sarcastically, caught up on old times and things that had happened since they had all met under the crazed magician’s promises of teaching them wonderous magic. To this day it was only Tyrion, the recluse and somewhat macabre friend of theirs that really truly believed that their ‘spells’ really could work. None of them had ever been able to get their magic to work although each was hooked in some way to the arts lure and practiced it’s disciplines despite it’s ineffectiveness.

Elenbrand shook his head…and now they were in Pelargir and although he had ulterior motives in setting up the Dwarven trade route he still couldn’t believe the last couple days events for in meeting with Minister Falastur and confronting him on the ‘letter of introduction’ that he near refused he shook the foundations with the news that Grendel had been stripped of his teaching certification. The minister had been a tough nut to crack to be sure, his avoidance of the problem and hiding in administrivia was common among his type…the former smuggler and freebooter was well aware how to confront these types however. Once open the nut produced the most flavourful information yet telling them of the dedication of the new ship they had seen sitting in the harbour and confirming other tales that they had heard from Arkhad.

Ah Arkhad….his brown skinned friend…El could do nothing but smile when thinking about the crazy boy from the Harad he had met just a few short years before in taking his first class with Grendel. It had nearly come to blows a few times back then and while Elenbrand still called Arkhad “brown boy” it was a show of friendship and loyalty unlike those first few times. After finally understanding the broken westron with Harad accent Muriel, Teerion, and Elenbrand had many a laugh at the “brown boy’s” stories. His exploits whether true or not were entertaining in between days of studying musty tombs and listening to Grendel drone on about the ‘possibilites’. Regardless the El and Arkhad had exploits and stories of their own that only a few dams and innkeepers of Minas Tiras knew to be true no matter how unbelievable the tales now sounded.

So now after confirming this increased bandit activity the new “pride of the fleet” gets stolen from right under the noses of Minister Falastur and crew. The freebooter’s chuckle was cut short at Tyrion’s blistering gaze…still it was damn funny that now they wanted them to chase after the thing….and were going to pay them….traveling in the next fastest boat in the fleet. This confirmed that the only people in government were those who couldn’t make an honest, or dishonest, living.

The group sat there stunned as their macabre friend relayed a tale from research he had undertaken. It seemed he had gleaned more from the secretly viewed scrolls of the Minister than the rest had although that was a theme oft repeated. The letters on the scrolls confirmed the research in that a Wonderous crystal that celebrated the Dark Lord’s death had untapped unbelievable magical properties. Taken in the sack of Umbar in the Third Age it had been taken into the ‘unknown city” of the desert. East by Southeast they headed into the Harad.

Minister Falastur had said that there were competing organizations but left out a few key points Grendel had made in his letters to the administrator in that these bandits may had already found some of the crystal and were using it in their raids…..that was it….
Elenbrand sat up quickly, “Hey I know how they stole that boat!”

Tyrion deigned not to even look the smuggler’s way, continuing to concentrate on his notes as he replied in deadpan boredome “Mmm, magic with a crystal made the boat invisible. You always were the last to get it.”

The door slammed behind El as Tyrion let slip a slight self-satisfied grin…it might take the rest of them the balance of the day…no perhaps two days to realize that Kadumeire, the leader of the group who would oppose the King of Gondor with his array of assasins was probably behind it all and that the lost city was Cerenesta of Oasis, River Valley….no maybe three days…until then he had some theories of his own to write down before their trip to Umbar.