Haradwaith - The Lands of Harad

[The Black Serpent]

Welcome to the far-away and exotic lands of Harad. Here you'll find Haradrim, or Southrons as they are called more commonly. You can RP here, and even train like a Southron warrior, or live the life of one!

History of the Harad

‘Aye, curse the Southrons!’ said Damrod. ‘’Tis said that there were dealings of old between Gondor and the kingdoms of the Harad in the Far South; though there was never friendship. In those days our bounds were away south beyond the mouths of Anduin, and Umbar, the nearest of their realms, acknowledged our sway. But that is long since. ’Tis many lives of Men since any passed to or fro between us. Now of late we have learned that the Enemy has been among them, and they are gone over to Him, or back to Him – they were ever ready to His will – as have so many also in the East. I doubt not that the days of Gondor are numbered, and the walls of Minas Tirith are doomed, so great is His strength and malice.’ (The Two Towers)

The state of Harad in the Third Age, as established by Chieftain Suladan, the Black Serpent.

In the Second Age, the Men of Númenor built a great city in the firth of Umbar, a vast natural harbour on the southern shores of the Bay of Belfalas, eventually turning the city into a fortified citadel from whose gates the Men of Númenor could levy great tributes upon many of the tribes of Harad.
For many years, the Haradrim were the greatest enemy of Gondor. Several times, they invaded the north. Finally, the Men of Gondor were able to subdue the Haradrim, though they were later freed by the Kin-strife. During the War of the Ring the Haradrim were allied with Sauron. A Haradrim warrior wounded Faramir. At the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, the Haradrim cavalry and Mûmakil were a great threat to the Rohirrim that had come to aid the people of Minas Tirith. During the onslaught a Haradrim chieftain, who bore the standard of a black serpent on a scarlet field, led the Haradrim cavalry. King Théoden of Rohan slew him in single combat.

The Land of Harad

"He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from, and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace" (The Two Towers)

The Haradrim were bold and grim men, fierce in despair. They were tall and dark-skinned with black hair and dark eyes, and for that they were called Swertings or Swarthy Men. The men of Near Harad were brown-skinned, with black hair and dark eyes, while the race known as "half-trolls" out of Far Harad had black skin.

The Haradrim Army

We Wants You. Join us Preciousss!

‘What the Lord Denethor may know or guess of all these things I cannot say,’ answered Hirgon. ‘But indeed our case is desperate. My lord does not issue any command to you, he begs you only to remember old friendship and oaths long spoken, and for your own good to do all that you may. It is reported to us that many kings have ridden in from the East to the service of Mordor. From the North to the field of Dagorlad there is skirmish and rumour of war. In the South the Haradrim are moving, and fear has fallen on all our coastlands, so that little help will come to us thence. Make haste! For it is before the walls of Minas Tirith that the doom of our time will be decided, and if the tide be not stemmed there, then it will flow over all the fair fields of Rohan, and even in this Hold among the hills there shall be no refuge.’ (Return of the King)

The Haradrim had tamed the massive Mûmakil beasts and used them in warfare and, like their masters, were decorated with scarlet and gold. They even strapped towers on their backs, garrisoned by Haradrim archers and spearmen.

The Haradrim were said to be skilled horsemen, though not of prowess near to the Rohirrim. They are known to have mounted champions and archers, as well as infantry. Horses feared the Mumakil, and so the Southron forces rallied around them when faced with mounted foes.
Harad's tribes included into those of Near and Far Harad, although there were many tribes of the Haradrim, often mutually hostile. Some of the peoples of Far Harad were organized into kingdoms.

The armies of the Haradrim were said to comprise of horsemen, camel riders, foot soldiers like spearmen and swordsmen men bearing scimitars, and of course riders and tamers of the giant Mumakils. These were enormous and quite deadly creatures, especially to horsemen.

Ranks and Branches of the Army

Cavalry- Recruit, Scout, Lancer, Heavy Cavalry, Mounted Serpent Guard
Footmen- Recruit, Scout, Swordsmen or Spearmen, Veteran Swordsmen or Spearmen, Serpent Guard
Mumakil mahouts: Apprentice beastmaster, Seasoned beastmaster, Veteran beastmaster, Master beastmaster, Legendary beastmaster
Hasharin or assassins: Recruit, Apprentice spy or assassin, Seasoned spy or assassin, Veteran spy or assassin, Master spy or assassin,

Uniform or livery:

Many Haradrim warriors were seen in bright clothing, such as scarlet robes, and were decorated with golden ornaments, such as collars, earrings, corsets of overlapping brazen plates; they braided their hair with gold. Some tribes painted their bodies. Scarlet and red was also the color of their banners, tips of their spears, and body paint. Their shields were yellow and black with spikes. It is also mentioned that at the end of the Second Age some of the Men in the south had weapons of iron. Red scimitars were among their weapons.

The Chieftain of Harad

But they had not yet overthrown the siege, nor won the Gate. Many foes stood before it, and on the further half of the plain were other hosts still unfought. Southward beyond the road lay the main force of the Haradrim, and there their horsemen were gathered about the standard of their chieftain. And he looked out, and in the growing light he saw the banner of the king, and that it was far ahead of the battle with few men about it. Then he was filled with red wrath and shouted the battle of the Pelennor Fields aloud, and displaying his standard, black serpent upon scarlet, he came against the white horse and the green with a great press of men; and the drawing of the scimitars of the Southrons was like a glitter of stars. (Return of the King)

Suladan, also called The Black Serpent and the Serpent Lord, now rules over most of Harad. He is known as a peerless warrior and a master assassin. Among both friends and foes, he is considered to be a monster due to his decisiveness, prowess, and cruelty in battle. Suladan is also a master politician, for he more than manages to keep all tribes of the desert lands under his sway. For now, I play this character.

Place names

The lands of Harad were vast. And yet, it was is not a wild and barbaric land. Warlike the people are, and yet civilized and even sophisticated in their own right! Here are some places where you can travel to, and what you can do when you do go there. Be careful though, the Southrons are not welcoming folk, especially to the people of Gondor and beyond. Emissaries of Sauron are always welcome, but not their armies.

Kârna- This is one of the largest settlements of the land, known for its trade, commerce, and large market area. Kârna is known for having the largest castle in the land, and is the seat of Suladan. Anyone wishing to have an audience with the Black Serpent can come here.
Places of interest:

• The great castle of Kârna where Suladan holds an audience

• The Harad road, where you'll see the busy life of farmers and merchants

• The great walls and fortress of Kârna

Abrakân- Another large settlement in the hills. Have you ever wondered how Harad can field such fantastic armies? This is it! An important trade center where one can get goods of all kinds, especially expensive spices from the lands beyond! Due to a comparatively better climate, agriculture is a prime profession here along with trade. Want to open a shop? Apply here!

Places of interest:

• The Abrakân market: One can buy sugar, textiles, salt, spices, gold, slaves, and horses famous for their speed and obedience.

• The castle and keep

• The Harad road, where you'll see the busy life of farmers and merchants

Badharkân- This is where the army is trained. While this is where the foot soldiers are mainly trained for war, troops from other branches can be seen as well during times of war.
Places of interest:

• The castle and keep

• A nearby village

• The army camp

• Training area

Hidâr- This large settlement lies in the middle of the land. It is where one can train in the arts of horse riding, horse archery, and camel riding. Hidar is surrounded by vast plains and wastelands, perfect for training in such arts.

Places of interest:

• The castle and keep

• A nearby village

• The army camp

• Training area

Nâfarat- This is where the “hasharin” or assassins are trained. Nafarat is a small camp in the middle of nowhere. And that means we're not telling you where it is!

Places of interest:

• Endless sand dunes around the settlement

• A small settlement a few miles away where the assassins and spies practice their skills...live

Dhâran-sar- Another settlement near the borders of the Near Harad region, dedicated solely to the training of Mumak riders, or Mahouts as they are called. Most of the Mahouts are from Far Harad, although riders from other regions are seen as well.

Places of interest:

• Shrubland and plains
  Hills
  Camp and training area

Rules

-All races welcome, but beware of being captured if you're from the lands of Gondor, Rohan!
-Any location in the general geography covered by this thread is open for use, not just those described above
-Please keep overt silliness to a minimum
-Double post but don't spammer
-Pick any color, but I'm reserving Bold Red in this thread.

[Galadrihell]

Amaris and Talain, approaching Kârna

She was almost out of money, but not quite out of luck.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” Talain murmured, against the jolting of the wagon. “We were meant to be sailing on The Jade Maiden. There was quite a nice berth picked out for you, and everything. You could have gone to -“

“I thought it would really irritate Father,” said Amaris brightly, cutting through his monotone monologue. She snuck a look at her not-brother through the dusty fall of her curls, escaping from their braids. Talain was looking back at her with annoyance - with that furrowed brow and serious expression, he did rather remind her of Lord Harân when he was about to solve a problem (usually by unpleasant means). An illegitimate son of the Umbarian merchant lord, he shared Harân’s looks as Amaris herself did not: despite being nominally Harân’s daughter, she herself was the result of an illicit liaison between Lady Harân and an adventurer unknown.

The only snippet of information Amaris had managed to coax out of her mostly drug-addled mother had related to a curious tattoo that her probable father bore: a winding, coiled serpent.

What better place to search for that rogue than in the capitals of the Haradrim, and the great walled fortress wherein ruled the Black Serpent himself, the mighty Suladan?

So, at least, Amaris had judged.

“How do you even know you’ll be granted an audience with him?” grumbled Talain, his eyebrows drawing ever more alarmingly close together. Amaris laughed, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face again whilst bracing herself against the splintery wagon seat with her free palm. Her eyes gleamed.

“I thought I might join the army,” she suggested merrily, laughing almost loud enough to drown Talain’s inevitable groan of despair.

[The Black Serpent]

Palace of Kârna
Court of Suladan, the Black Serpent
As Suladan

As one approaches the city of Kârna, one can see farmlands and many villages. Most of these village homes are nothing more than mere hovels, more holes than homes. Here the poorest reside. Others who are more wealthy manage better homes, but only slightly better. Their work is monotonous and heavy, for theirs' is the burden of tilling the land. Such villages are surrounded by the desert and arid lands, and yet there are several large oases where one can quench thirst on one's way to the city.

A road leads to the city, known in Gondor and in the Common Tongue as the Harad Road. It begins from South Gondor and reaches the center of Northern Haradwaith. It is said that the road was once built by a King of Gondor long ago. However, the Haradrim rulers now claim it is built by them. For they are indeed great builders, and they are prideful aplenty. Now, this road is lined with both sides with tall palm trees, their long leaves rustling peacefully in the wind. Their like is not seen in Gondor, not indeed in the rest of Middle Earth, except in the desert. These, along with various shrubs and cacti belong to the harsh arid climate. Like the people, they are strong. Only the strong survive in the desert.


Travelers, especially from the North, are amazed at the flora and fauna here. Of cacti, there are many varieties to see. For instance, there are barrel cactus, lace cactus, and organ pipe cactus. Some of these bore small, bright flowers. The Brittlebush was a shrub, whose yellow flowers rose on long stalks, peeping out of the grass at passers-by. The Creosote bush is seen in more arid regions, whose yellow flowers are as small as the leaves themselves. The Desert Ironwood Plant is there, whose violet flowers are a delight to the eyes. It is called Ironwood for it can grow in the most inhospitable climate imaginable. Other plants you can see are the Desert Sage plant, the Desert Marigold, The Desert Lily, and so much more besides.

Of fauna, you may see wild horses running free, the bashful antelopes and gazelles, long-necked camels, and large lizards. But be careful of poisonous spiders, snakes, and other things that claw beneath the sand!

The desert of Harad can be delightful!

The city of Kârna is a planned city and a marvellously planned one at that. The city forms a perfect circle with high walls around its perimeter. Inside, one can find or come across as many as 20 sectors or city districts. Most of these were residential areas, subdivided again into living quarters according to one's position in society. There are several merchant quarters as well with grand bazaars. Almost anything can be bought here if one has money. Thieves are not spared. Suladan's laws are not light on criminals and foreign spies. Each of the city districts has one direct road to the main palace area and roads to the adjoining city districts. In all, the city was perfectly circular having a diameter of 2000 meters!

At the very center of the city lies the palace. The Palace is walled high once more by a citadel. Within the palace complex, there are delightful gardens fed with four sparkling streams of water, a marvel of irrigation. Just beyond the gate will you see such delightful and refreshing gardens, but after walking through a courtyard of rows beyond rows of tall arches of white and red, supported on black pillars on a red sandstone floor. Here, you'll be checked for weapons. May your Gods help you if one is found, for you supposed to deposit all weapons at the gate!

Keep on walking, and you'll come across many huge courtyards where the floor is of white marble, in the middle of which there are small, rectangular pools of clear water. The light of the sun reflecting off the floor hurts your eyes. As you squint and avert your gaze to look closely, you see there are many while columns supporting the two-story building structures on all sides. Their walls show motifs of kings, armies, and mumaks, and sometimes of mythical winged creatures.

As you keep advancing deeper, you now come across the Audience Hall where the current chieftain of the Haradwaith, Suladan sits. Here he gives the audience, discusses matters of state and of armies, makes decrees, and even judges matters of life and death. The audience hall is made in a hypostyle fashion. The hall itself is on a raised platform of the finest red and black marble. The platform is 7 feet tall itself and has winding stairs on 4 sides leading to the hall above. The hall is open on all sides. There are 4 rectangular seating areas on all 4 sides where government dignitaries, army generals, and commoners sit, all having high vaulted ceilings and massive columns with serpent-shaped capitals on top.

A slightly raised square-shaped platform in the center is for the King and his closest people, also having high, grand vaulted ceilings and serpent-shaped capitals on top of columns on a high roof. The vaulted ceiling is especially magnificent, for it is sculpted with colorful stones and jewels to seem like the night sky! Suladan sits on a golden throne with red cushions. And since he sits this in the very center of the hall, one needs to approach right in front of him to speak. The closest one sits to him, the higher the cushions are. Suladan wears a robe of gold silk and a high crown shaped like a snake on his brow. His hair is greying, yet his eyes are alert and even cruel at times. He holds a red scimitar in black scabbard in his hand.

[Galadrihell]

Amaris and Talain, approaching Palace of Kârna

The road to Harad had been a long and rough one; both Amaris and Talain were dusty and a little sore, although they had both borne it with nothing more than gritted teeth and tightened lips. The sights that met their eyes on the way and been enough to crease Talain's brow and make Amaris ponder.

"How the people live, when they weren't brought up in palaces full of money," Talain remarked drily as they rattled past another gang of hard-toiling labourers, chained into a coffle. The clinking of their manacles was the only bright note about them. Amaris shot him back a glance.

"I've seen poverty before," she said, mildly. "I ran about on the docks enough. Think you I'm some sheltered princess, whose eyes have never beheld such?"

He scoffed wordlessly, but looked a little shamed. Amaris knew well he had been provided for, as a byblow of her father, but that coin had been shared out amongst the many others that his mother had had to provide for, and Amaris had, in truth, never really gone without. The privations of their journey were harder conditions than she had endured before, but she had taken it without complaint. She was, after all, nothing more than some adventurer's child; not the offspring of a wealthy merchant prince but his nameless fosterling. She deserved nothing more than what she could earn herself. And she had already been given a priceless gift in her education.

"But we don't want to go in looking like - well, this," she continued thoughtfully, gesturing down at their travel-stained jerkins. "Let's find an inn in Kârna and settle up."

They were not completely green, of course. Amaris had seen her father - no, her foster-father- gut a man when she was eight years old and then explain the complexities of negotiation to her, gesturing with bloody fingers. They secured themselves a place and meals using small enough coin that the innkeep judged them good for the handful of nights, but not enough to be worth passing the word to robbers on the keep. Talain's bowstave jutted over his shoulder; Amaris absently performed a dagger-trick as she drank her ale. They were disturbed with nothing more than appraising glances. Carefully, in their room, she shook out the clothes they had kept wrapped up to be presentable.

"Wrinkled a little," Amaris crinkled her nose as if in imitation, "but that will come out in steam." She shook out the clothes: well-made leather and linen, with the edging of embroidery and finer materials that would mark them as suitable for court. Amaris had a split skirt in silk to match, and Talain a satin half-cape. She had already told Talain that a hot bath was not negotiable. There were public ones, but for now, in a strange place, she preferred the privacy of the inn's facilities.

"And then to court," added Talain in a murmur. He was standing with his back to her, politely, despite the short cloth screen the inkeep had hauled up. Besides being her almost-brother, Amaris knew for a fact that he was not particularly interested in women. "What will you ask the Serpent for?"

Amaris shrugged, although Talain could not see it. "Whatever he's willing to give? I'm skilled in all manner of finance, trade, diplomacy,-"

"Modesty," added Talain.

"And so are you, and in more besides. I know you know heaps of geography and history and you've been taught more fighting skills than I have-"

"-due to being a girl," they said together, in dull mimicry of Grandmother's disapproving tones.

"And I'm also a real expert in mixing up doses of milk of the poppy," finished Amaris drily. "Perhaps we could go and train with those - hashishim?"

Talain choked a laugh back. "They're assassins, you dolt. They're not just - distributors!"

"That only makes them sound even more interesting," said Amaris, thoughtfully.

[Galadrihell]

Amaris and Talain, approaching Palace of Kârna

"How do I look?" demanded Amaris, spreading her arms and giving a little half-twirl.

Talain was giving her the appraising, critical glance of an elder brother down pat, as though he'd grown up with her. Eventually he clicked his tongue softly and stepped over, straightening her half-skirt and picking a bit of fluff off her sleeveless jerkin fastidiously. It was deer-leather, the softest suede, dyed into a soft shade of burgundy; gold embroidery ran riot over it, setting off the plainness of her dark grey linen tunic. The half-skirt was in burgundy to match, and Amaris had spent an hour that morning vigorously buffing their boots: for Amaris, black matte leather to the thigh; for Talain, the leather shone, and came up to the calf. He was dressed slightly more severely in black linen, embroidered less frivolously in the same gold thread that adorned Amaris, and his buttons were gleaming. His half-cape was burgundy as was his waist-belt.

"You look nice," he admitted, begrudgingly. "But stand up straight. Chin up. And let me do your hair again. You're awful."

Amaris rolled her eyes, but made to sit in front of him -

"Don't sit on the floor," he said urgently. " I just dusted you off!"

"You act like we're visiting an ancient maiden aunt," she grumbled.

He tweaked a strand of her hair, deftly plaiting the dark strands into a complicated braid. "Be serious," he chided. "This is Suladan, the Black Serpent. He rules an incredible amount of these lands and if you're going to impress him, you can't saunter in there like a half-soused urchin. Not everybody here knows who you are."

"I don't know who I am," she said, half under her breath. He tugged the curl of her hair again.

"You're Amaris Haran, and I'm Talain Fitz-haran, and we're the children of a great merchant prince," he said in a sing-song voice. "Got the gift?"

Amaris touched the golden serpent where it coiled on her arm.

"Let's go."

---

Into the Palace, to face the Serpent

"They'll give it back," said Amaris reassuringly, as they crossed the marble steps. Their footfalls echoed over the pools of water. "It's not like Suladan appears to be short of a few coins to rub together - I'm sure he's not out to pinch your favourite dagger."

"I know that," rejoined Talain, fidgeting crossly with his waist belt, where nothing was sheathed. The guards at the first entrance had politely divested them of all pointy items. He was incredibly nervous about the lack of a receipt - as any boy whose father was a merchant might be. "But who knows what his guards might be like?"

"He certainly has enough to pay them with," Amaris commented, her eyes travelling over the vast display of wealth as they crossed into the open Hall.

There he sat: @The Black Serpent, enthroned on a dais. And it was a throne, despite the rich cushions heaped there. Amaris and Talain stopped at a respectful distance from the throne and bowed (the half-skirt didn't really warrant a curtsey).

"A gift," she announced, "to the Black Serpent, from Amaris Haran!"

[Baphởmet]

Die Blasphemie des Unlichts
The Great Desert, Near Harad
(Private)

The sun was hot, the air was hot, the sand was hot, the back of the camels was hot. Everything was hot. Enki looked, though, as if he felt none of it. She rubbed absently at the scar below her eye, how did he do that? Harnril felt something more than envy as she listened to him sing. They had been travelling through the Great Desert for days now. Her guide was adamant that his route was the easiest, fastest, and safest routine through it. She should have been suspicious of him from the start. The law of the triangle should have told her that what he was offering was impossible. Two of those could be true maybe, not all three. Still, she had been in desperate need to escape her mother’s palace and he was the only one willing to help. The half elf took a drink form the water skin slung under her armpit. The water was hot and unappetizing, but it was wet. She pushed herself up on the stirrups of her camel and tried to look over the horizon for something that looked different. For leagues and leagues and leagues there had been nothing but golden sand dunes, each looking so cliché that she was sure they were all manufactured to look that way. The air shimmered on the horizon, a haze obscuring everything beyond with an impenetrable barrier.

“Where are we?” she asked, cutting off the large Haradrim man’s baritone singing voice.

“We are in the Great Desert, princess; where else would we be?” his tone was mocking but jovial. She was not amused.

“I know that. Where in the Great Desert are we? I feel like I’ve seen all these dunes before. You’re taking me in circles. And stop calling me princess. I am not a princess.” Not anymore.

Enki clicked his tongue in an arrhythmic pattern and the camel he was riding quickly pivoted and turned back around to face her. Beneath the heavy cloak, she could see his eye blazing with anger. “You think that I am leading you in circles? For what? What good would it due me out here to do that? We are two hundred leagues from your mother’s city, a hundred from the nearest oasis. If I am leading you about in circles, princess, I am killing myself as well.”

She had not thought of that, but the heat was making her irritable. “Then where are we?”

“I told you, we are in the Great Desert. There is no landmark anywhere nearby to say, ‘oh we are at old Ozymandias’ Grave’ or ‘by the waters of the Amrûn’.”

She glared him and threw off her hood, the sunlight bursting off her snow-white hair. “You said your route was the fastest and the safest, I must tell you Enki I do not feel safe at all and this is taking a very long time.”

He grunted and laughed. “Princess Harnril, you really do know nothing of the lands surrounding your mother’s city, don’t you? There is a route through the Great Desert, several in fact. They are well known and well-travelled. They are also full of brigands, thieves, and marauders. When I told you, my route was the safest and the fastest, it was not both of those at once, but each depending on one another. It is the fastest safe route I have found. If we had taken the Grand Highway, the one that cuts through the heart of the desert and reaches the oases, we would have been caught by raiders or your mother’s guards within two days. I think both of us would like to avoid that particular fate.”

“For the rate I am paying you…” the half elf began.

“For the rate you will be paying me,” the burly Haradrim corrected. “You have only paid me half of my fee. I know where you are going and who you are going to see.”

“You are planning to rob me! You dirty scoundrel!” She grabbed the whip that lay coiled in a pouch of her saddle and cracked it at Enki. He had anticipated this and grabbed the tip out of the air like a cobra.

“Yes, I am planning on extorting you. The Great Desert is a dangerous place you mad girl! And the family you are going to see are rich, I deserve to get paid for my troubles.”

She hissed, the scar under her left eye began to turn red with rage. “You bastard!”

He laughed and yanked the whip out of her hand. “I would thank you not to talk about my parentage in such a way, especially given your own dubious origins.”

She fell silent, seething under a baking sun. Her parentage had been a source of embarrassment for much of her forty years. Her mother was the caliph of a sprawling city state, an Avar who and long ago refused the summons of the Powers in the West in favor of her own lands and laws. Her father was a corsair, an alsaahir, an outlander from the north. Harnril was the youngest daughter in the palace, all her siblings were pureblooded, and they never let her forget it. The scar she bore was a reminder from them that she was not welcomed in their home. Her mother, aloof and austere, refused to involve herself in the squabbles of her many children, preferring to let them fight for supremacy and, in turn, her love and affection. She held none of it for Harnril. This was the fourth attempt she had made to try and escape. Though her mother seemed to disdain her very existence, she refused to let her little jewel rest in the hands of someone else. It was through the drunken ramblings of a tutor that she even found out where her father was from: Umbar. He was from a wealthy family; he could protect her. He would have to; she was not going to give him a choice.

“How many more days do I have to endure this?” she finally asked.

“A few more days, amira. Then we are clear of the desert. There is a port city on the Poros where we can book passage to Umbar. Then I will escort you to your father’s house and deliver you and be rewarded handsomely for rescuing you from certain death.” He tossed her the whip and turned his camel back around with the same series of arhythmic clicks. Within a few moments, he was singing again, his voice carrying far over the desert sands.

Harnril pulled her hood back over her, her deep ocean blue eyes glimmer as the noon sun caught them. She cast a fearful, cautious gaze about her. The dunes, once mundane, looked sinister, as if they were hiding half a hundred warriors waiting to descend on her and either kill her or deliver her back into the hands of her capricious family. “Certain death?” she muttered softly. “You have no idea.”

[Lailyn]

City of Karaskadar, Near Harad (private)

The city of Karaskadar is a place that should be buried beneath shifting sand or burnt to the bone by the heat of the unforgiving desert sun. The waters of the River Harnen and the peaks of the Grey Mountains, as they are called by other people, are distant landmarks, mere sketches on maps far from this settlement deep within the deserts of Harad. The seclusion is a blessing or a curse. Sometimes it depends on the day.

Great cliffs of vermilion sandstone tower in the distance, the only other sight breaking the horizon aside from the stony spires and palm trees that peek out from behind the wall encircling the city. For some, this place is an oasis of saving grace and for others, it is a death sentence. One never knows which way the winds will blow. Pale stone buildings cluster together as if this closeness might stop the windblown dust from settling in the cracks and piling up in corners, the desert taking the city and claiming it for its own. At sunset, the stone facades are illuminated with a brilliant, luscious scarlet; the color of life, blood, death, desire. With one final desperate pulse of violet, the sun cedes to night and a cool darkness envelops the city.

The night is dark, the moon but a pale sliver in the sky. A woman creeps into the streets, wrapped in layers of indigo silk so dark it is almost black as the night itself. A ripple of wind sends palm fronds rustling and prickles dancing across her skin. Her heart leaps into her throat. Not out of fear but at the thrilling anticipation for the task ahead. A cold, calculating hint of pleasure lifts her painted lips. Just ahead, her destination awaits. There will be no turning back after tonight.

Folds of silk fall to her elbow as she raises her knuckles to drum on the door. Moments later, a woman with a sun-wrinkled face and a mane of pale white hair greets her. She is old, yes, but her mind is still sharp. At least most of the time...now, her pupils are shrunk to tiny dots. The smell of poppy permeates the air.

“What are you doing here so late?” The old woman peers out from behind the door left ajar.

“I had a matter I wish to discuss with you, Master Mina.” The woman uses the reverent tones of a model student. “It could not wait. You understand that the curious mind will not rest, don’t you?”

Mina hesitates and the younger woman outside holds her breath. It is only a moment before the door sinks inward and she follows her mentor into a den where thick rings of smoke sting her eyes. “What is it you wish to ask?” The old woman crosses her arms, her irritation palpable.

The workshop is just steps away. Through the open door, the student glimpses shelves stacked with vials and jars glistening and glowing in an array of colors. Scratches sound from cages where all manner of creatures are kept hidden away. She meanders toward the room she knows so well, this place of her learning where hours were spent carefully honing her craft. She picks up a vial of crushed silvered powder and examines the contents, shaking it back and forth. “Do you remember when I asked you about extracting the venom of a rock viper?”

“Yes...and I told you you were not ready yet.” Mina does not hide her exasperation. “Be careful with that.” She takes the vial from her student and returns it to its place.

“You’re wrong.”

Like a viper, the woman strikes out for her mentor and lances her hand with a cactus thorn. All it takes is a single touch, a single pinprick of the imbued thorn to deliver the very venom she was denied, deemed too inexperienced to handle.

“What have you done?” Mina gasps. The venom moves fast. Faster even than her previous experiments on rats, birds and lizards. The old woman crashes to the floor taking a shelf of vials with her. They cascade in a shower of tiny shards that fall upon the old woman’s robe like snow.

“Did you think I would not notice your treachery?” The silk-shrouded student demands. “You, who has taught me so well? Too well perhaps. When the student becomes a master, she no longer has a need for a teacher. Didn’t you know that?”

Mina groans and clutches the wound on her hand. Her chest rises and falls as her breath hitches with panic. She knows. Yet she asks anyway. “What is this? Tell me it isn’t--”

“It is.” She hisses. “You told me I could not do it. I went to the cliffs, I found a rock viper and you are witnessing my success firsthand.” She presses her foot to the woman’s chest, grinding the shards into her. “Aren’t you proud?” She sneers.

“Why?” Mina croaks.

“You should have thought twice before you decided to try to poison me,” she spits. “Did you think I would not notice? Did you think you could offer me an antidote and keep me on a leash? Force me to be a loyal servant to your Lord in His faraway dark tower?” Her disdainful laughter fills the room. “I will never submit to you or Him or anyone else. You forget-- I am Soreya Zunkar and I bend to no one’s will but my own.”

The venom does its work and her mentor, the Poison Master of Karaskadar, stills. Her eyes say it all: I am afraid. She knows death is near. She is unable to speak as paralysis takes hold.

“I know you cannot feel a thing right now. Don’t worry, Poison Master.” Soreya smiles through eyes that remain cold and dark. “Soon you will be able to feel again. It will be agonizing and you will wish for death a thousand times before it finally claims you. And I will watch it all.”

She draws an orange from somewhere in her silks and peels the skin while Mina lays completely powerless, prone on the floor in the shards of her labor, descending into pure anguish. Every nerve, every fiber, every hair on her head will be on fire with unimaginable pain now. Soreya watches and bites into the fruit’s juicy flesh. The taste does not rival the sweetness of her victory. It is almost anticlimactic, disappointing, when she sees her mentor’s vacant brown eyes staring up from the vastness of death. It is over.

Soreya flings the orange peel on the dead body and spits on it for good measure. Before she leaves the former Poison Master’s home, she sets a single flame to light. It grows and grows until the workshop bursts with flames that build and crack and break into new bursts of red. The caged animals crawl and slither to freedom before her. The same freedom she claims with this act after playing the loyal student for far too long. Soreya Zunkar emerges from the ashes of her infernal prison with fire licking at her heels, clawing for more fuel. She stands un-scorched and free, armed with the deadly knowledge of a Poison Master, never to be a student again.

Before dawn breaks over the eastern cliffs and canyons, Soreya is already miles away from the city. Karaskadar is but a tiny speck on the distant horizon. It will be obvious who was responsible for Mina’s death. In one night, Soreya has earned herself a host of enemies. For now, it is worth the cost.

[The Black Serpent]

@Silthy Bagginses

Note: The way I'll interact as Suladan is in this way. It will be as prompts, so you all will have more freedom in carrying out your RPs. Whether you're training in the army or something else, I think prompts will help more, like the one below.

Prompt 1- with @Silthy Bagginses

Suladan, sitting in the middle of his court, at length observes a couple of strangers walk up to him, bow and offer a gift. One of Suladan's courtiers accepts the gifts on his behalf, and Suladan only thanks them curtly. He asks them who they are, but is suspicious for some reason.

"Amaris and Talain Haran, untruth is what you have given me as your gift. You are not what you say you are. Know that Suladan knows more about you than you know yourselves before you walk inside the city. All merchants in these lands are known, as is their ilk. Out with it! Who are you and what do you seek?"

How do you react?

-Tell the truth and hope he likes your frankness and lets you go, and even employ you?
- Keep lying but risk a lot, hoping he will believe you?

[Baphởmet]

Die Blasphemie des Unlichts
The Great Desert, Near Harad
(Private)

It had been a few days. There was no sight of river or settlement. They were lost, Harnril knew it. Phantoms of air and doubt crowded her thoughts. A dozen times she thought she saw her mother coming ahead of them, riding on the back of a great black desert horse, silver blade ringing in the clear air. She could hear the shouts of “death to the half-breed” and “kill the traitor”. But there had never been anything there. Mirages, Enki said. But there was something about these “mirages” that made the peredhel on edge. Everything out here put her on edge. The cloudless sky, the bright molten gold sun, and the endless expanse of sand in front of them. There was something not right about this desert. She asked him if they were lost yesterday morning, he growled at her, called her a know nothing child. That had not been a no. She asked how much further to the settlement, or to anything. He didn’t answer. Was it because he didn’t know? All these sand dunes looked the same. Their tracks went off in the horizon. She could see for miles and miles and all she ever saw as the same dull orange. She would be enraged if she wasn’t so tired. Every day they were out here in the desert she felt more and more of her strength sapped. Her thoughts drifted, unable to focus on anything. Twice today she’d fallen off her camel.

Had this all been a mistake? Her life under her mother and her siblings had been harsh, she touched the scar under her left eye, but at least she wasn’t going to die a slow death by desiccation. They had tried. Harnril’s memories were hazy of her early years, but she remembered more than once a stranger following her home or creeping around the edges of the palace. Accidents followed her too, walls collapsing, chandeliers falling. She had been naïve at the time. But that period of her life did not last long. She could never say which sibling had done what, or even if her mother had been involved somehow, but the last 25 years of her life had been spent on constant guard. It had taken that long for her to find a way to escape the oppressive, opulent prison. Was that better than dying out here? She looked up at the sun and squinted. She was not altogether certain. A knife in the ribs and a snide comment versus a slow suffocation.

Enki clicked his tongue and the camels came to a halt. The sun was still high in the sky. There was still time to go further? Her mind was cloudy, when she tried to focus on him, his image split in two then four then eight. “What… why are we… stopping?” her tongue was thick in her mouth, like a half animate slug. It was a foreign thing in her mouth, she gagged and spat up bile. She bit down on her tongue but there was nothing but a dull pain.

Enki turned back around and leapt off his camel. Despite his size, the man was as graceful as a gazelle. He moved like quicksilver, sliding over the sand and barely leaving a footprint. She looked at him hard, trying as hard as she could to focus on a single image of him. Was he part elf too? That would explain…

“Amira,” he said, his voice thick with concern, his eyes seemed panicked. “You are not well. You look…”

She fell from the camel, her body going limp as she lost her grip. He caught her, but he unbalanced too and staggered back, coming dangerously close to the edge of a dune. Her head rolled around and saw just how high up they were. The ground seemed to rush at her, whirling until she squeezed her eyes shut. “… like hell.” Enki finished. She glared at him, but when she tried to form words nothing came to mind. The edges of her vision was filled with black flies, crowding in until she was overwhelmed.

When she came to, the sun had set. The camels were resting and there was a fire going. Something was cooking over the small blaze. It smelled good. Her mouth watered, miraculously. When she tried to move, her head began to split open. She groaned, growled, then whimpered.

“Evening,” Enki said not looking up at her. He sat with his eyes fixed on the meat cooking and the stars beyond them. “You’ve been out for a while. I found a lizard hiding out and decided he would make a good meal. I know you’re used to dates and lamb but it’s the best we can do for now.”

She scooted closer to the fire. The desert was hellish with or without the sun, but without the lands were a frozen nightmare. The fire felt good. “How long?”

“How long, what? Were you out? Several hours. Until the food is read? A few more minutes. You saved me the trouble of waking you.”

“Why did…” she tried to speak but the pain in her head built to a crescendo, she whimpered and grabbed her head. She expected there to be some nasty gaping wound. There was nothing, no blood, no bone, no brains. Still, pain radiated from her skull like a small fire. Her eyes refused to focus, the more she tried to sit up and right herself, the more she felt like the world was about to turn upside down and she was going to fall off into the sky.

“Raiders.” He still didn’t look at her or acknowledge her pain in anyway.

“What? Out here on your secret route?” her head still hurt enough that she couldn’t see straight, but she could still stab at him.

“It’s not my route, amira.”

“Stop calling me that, my name, my name is Harnril. What do you mean not “your” route? You said…”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off, waving a hand in her direction. “I know what I said. I use the route, but I don’t own it. I didn’t find it either. Certain… people use it from time to time. I thought they’d all been killed off. I was wrong.”

The pain was still excruciating, but Harnril forced herself up into a sitting position. She wanted to vomit but kept her gorge from rising. “They?”

“Old associates,” Enki said, finally looking in her direction. “The Whirlwinds. We…” he paused for a long time, “we were a mercenary group, sellswords, soldiers of fortune. We took a job for your mother about a decade ago, went bad. I left it behind. I thought they were all killed.”

“And you think you saw someone, out here?”

“I don’t think anything girl!” his face twisted in anger and spat in the fire. “I know what I saw, I know what I heard. I know this place and I know where we are.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me!” she shot back, perturbed.

She could hear the large Haradan’s teeth grinding. “Do not presume to order me about, Harnril.” His voice was deadly calm, but she could see the fire in his eyes. “I know what I saw because I know this place. We were coming close to our old hide out. I stash waterskins and supplies there still.” He turned and looked back toward the empty desert. He fell silent. She was about to say something snide about his brain getting cooked when her ears picked up something. It was faint at first, she almost mistook it for the wind. The sound horses. The sounds of men. It was far off yet, but they were coming closer. Panic gripped her stomach. She tried to stand but the pain in her head forced her back down. “Easy girl.”

“But, but there’s someone coming; you said you worked for my mother, what if, what if, what if they were still working for her and, and, and what if they’re tracking us down? Sandy gods, what are they going to do when they catch us?”

“Quiet!” he moved like an adder, he was up and had his hand over her mouth before she could scream. For a long moment, their eyes met, deep ocean blue and amber gold. The sounds of hooves and hollers grew louder and louder. He cursed and moved away from her. A blade, wide, sharp and glinting in the starlight, was in his hand as though it has always been there. She felt for the dagger at her side, fumblingly pulling it out. He shook his head. “No, that’s as bad an idea as there can be. You need to stay out of sight. Hide.”

“But… but, you’re just one man, how can…?”

“I am a ghost, I am a lion, a serpent, a vulture. I can be all that I need. I cannot look out for you at the same time. You are paying me good money to protect you. Let me do it.”

She nodded the stumbled backward, toward some of the rocks. She pressed herself to the ground, squirming about like a snake until she was as far under the stone as she could get. The sounds of the horsemen got closer and closer. She did not have a good line of sight. She could see the camels and she could make out his outline. The world exploded and horses and men appeared as if out of nowhere. They bore down on him. He was trapped! He was doomed! She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his end. But it was not the end, she opened her eyes a moment later and found three dead men laying on the ground. Horses screamed. Something snapped, it sounded like the breaking of cedar tree trunk. There was an explosion and the smell of acrid smoke. She saw a flash of light. There was something in that light. A shadow? It moved too fast for her to get a good handle on it. It was little more than a blur. How many men were there? Horses? She couldn’t tell. They were in constant state of motion and they all looked the same, they all kept moving in and out of the fire light. They were shouting in a language she didn’t recognize. They were foreigners, or from much further south. There was another scream and another explosion. Horses began to bolt, riderless. Then she heard to hollow echo of steel on steel. How was he still alive? How many were left? Finally, the sounds died down. She dared to move finally. The pain in her head was still substantial, but her focus had returned. Marauders apparently had that effect on people. When she could stand she gasped. There were more than a dozen bodies, horses and men, all torn to pieces, arms and limbs missing, blood everywhere, gashes from groin to neck, missing heads, blood, so much blood, there was a river of it streaming to, to him. Enki stood in the light of the fire. There was not a single scratch on him. He was covered in blood and sweat but none of it was his. His massive falchion was tinted red. The firelight made him look like one of the ancient Melechesh. She crept into the light. For the first time, she was truly afraid of him. He had something in his hand. It was covered in blood, she couldn’t see it.

“You’re safe, amira.” His voice was terrifyingly deep, like earth itself was speaking. “And we have more water and supplies. Fools called themselves the Whirlwinds, they were naught but spring breezes, an insult to the name. Your mother though, well she knows you’re not in your room sulking.” He tossed that bloody thing in his hand to the ground. It was a scroll with the mark of three ravens around the single star: her mother’s personal seal.

Harnril felt her stomach drop. She bent double and vomited.

[Baphởmet]

Die Blasphemie des Unlichts
The Great Desert, Near Harad
(Private)

The smell was atrocious. Dead bodies left to cook out in the desert sun. Buzzards and carrion beetles had begun to do their work. The corpses of the Whirlwinds had been displayed in a double spiral pattern. Time had been taken to send this message. Asalluhi was reasonably impressed. How many men had it taken to accomplish this? A dozen? A score? More? His little sister was well protected, that much he could tell. A simple snatch and retrieve was not going to work, not if this gloriously gruesome display had anything to say about it. The camels did not like the smell any more than he did, the one beneath him bucked and neighed, pulling at its reins to get away. A buzzard sitting atop one of the corpses, its head bloody and strung with gore, looked up and squawked angrily. The creature’s wingspan was massive. The elf regarded the creature with wary disdain, their eyes locking in a battle of wills. The winds died down and the intensity of the sun increased. Neither of them broke their gaze. Gore and half consumed chunks of rotting flesh dripped from the buzzard’s beak. Asalluhi was not impressed. He never took his eyes off the creature as he drew back his bow, a recurved bow of palm wood and auroch horn, and loosed a green feathered arrow. The dart was true and knocked the massive creature off its perch in a shower of blood and feathers.

He smiled then turned his camel to face the men behind him. A score of heavily robed figures stood behind him. A century ago, his mother had given him leave to train his own personal guard. Apparently, her ever present paranoia had lessened. He was the first born, the heir to her mighty throne. And yes, he did have designs on it. But there was plenty of time for intrigue and plots, now it was time to bring that little mongrel to heal. Why his mother had not just given him leave to dispose of her he did not know. But that did not preclude him from giving his sibling another scar to match the one he’d give her years before.

“They cannot be more than a day or two ahead of us. We’ve caught their scent. Ride! We do not stop until they are found.” The chains rattled on his saddle, his sister’s reward for her attempted escape. One of the riders moved forward on his camel. He was taller than the rest, Asalluhi knew who it was, and smiled.

“If my extrapolations of the scene are… correct,” he began, “then we should be on the look out for no more… than one individual, clearly skilled but still just the one.” He had an odd, nearly mechanical way of speaking, his timbre and intonations would change halfway through a sentence, likely a byproduct of the perilous training the elven prince had put him through.

“One? One did all this? Tell me how you’ve come to that conclusion Kafir.”

“All the strikes… are the same, they come from the same height, from the same… blade. Even when accounting for those on horseback, they… are… all the same. One man.”

Asalluhi rubbed his chin. It was true. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he saw it. The angle of strikes, the length and cleanness of the cuts, all from the same position, all from the same man. He let out a whistle and chuckled. “The little weasel has managed to find herself quite the guide. Do you know who he is, Kafir?”

The man’s hood twisted and rumpled. “I have a theory, your grace, but I must have more information before… I can offer you something true.”

“Take three men and ride to the Whirlwinds’ cave. Don’t engage if they’re there. Tell me what you find.” A hawk screeched. Asalluhi turned in his saddle and offered his arm to the bird, who bounced from the camel’s rump to his proper place. “Take Iblīs with you. Send me a message then ride for the city of Ctesiphon. From here, that’s the only place they could be making for. Go!”

He snapped his fingers, the hawk screeched again and flew to Kafir’s shoulder, his talons digging in deep. The captain of his guard and three others whipped their camels into motion and disappeared into the sands like wraiths, silent as midnight fog.

“The rest of you,” he said with casual indifference, “a hundred crowns to whoever brings me this man’s head.”

[Galadrihell]

Amaris and Talain Haran

In the Palace, audience with @The Black Serpent

Wrongfooted immediately. Amaris set her teeth firmly and subtly elbowed Talain to make him close his own jaw. She had entertained some fantasies of immediately charming Suladan, of the lord allowing him to place the delicately crafted golden serpent bracelet on his own arm as she pointed out the faceted gemstone eyes, the tiny needled teeth, and the final trick to the whole thing - the serpent could be uncoiled, the tiny tail flipped downward on a hinge, and the whole thing used as a blowpipe. Given the nature of their audience - and the fact that Suladan didn't permit arms within his chamber - it hadn't seemed appropriate to load it, but it was functional nonetheless, if you happened to have any darts on you. Amaris didn't.

She went to one knee immediately, one fist pressed against the marble and her head bowed. Talain, not as familiar as she with courtly ways but not exactly slow on the uptake, followed.

"Forgiveness, my Lord," Amaris said, clearly. "We have not told you everything of ourselves, but no deception was intended, in truth - it is hard to define what we are, when we scarcely know it ourselves. Of course, we intended no slight on your lordship's vast knowledge, but I scarce thought we would be of much interest. Truly, Amaris Haran am I, and this is Talain Haran, my half-brother by blood, but not born within wedding vows. Strictly speaking, we are not merchants, but merchant's kin - our father is Lord Haran, of the great trading houses of Umbar, but we are not here on his behalf. Indeed, not with his knowledge. But he has always wanted us to make something of ourselves, and I could think of no better place than here, and perhaps in your service. Certainly not in the schools of the West or the South, as he had thought." She screwed up her face slightly; but as she was still facing the ground, this perhaps was not noticed.

Tell the truth, hope for the best

[Baphởmet]

Die Blasphemie des Unlichts
Ctesiphon
(Private)

The city of Ctesiphon was massive, yet it was empty. In the long days of the past, the city had been a capital, a shining desert gem of a king so opulently wealthy that he could afford to outfit his personal guard in opal studded armor. That king, along with all other Haradrim kings, had fallen under the yoke of the exiled Númenórean kings. Harnril had learned the names and places and rules of all the ancient kings. Her mother wanted to show her mongrel daughter just how powerful she was. She’d ruled before the island and had endured long after it sank. She had evaded the proud kings and their tall helms. She’d broken their ships and turned back their swords. At least that was the tale she liked to tell. Her daughter had long harbored doubts about the absolute strength of the Mad Queen Bee. As they approached the city, Enki told her a story about the city that she’d never heard from her mother’s tutors. The city had been built as the summer home of the king, crafted and constructed to please his newest wife. She had been born of folk that worshiped the river and being kept far away in the sand of the Great Desert had worn on her soul. As a token of love and devotion, he made the city a garden, reminiscent of the days before Númenor and before the elves. Harnril wasn’t sure how much she believed that story, but there were nuggets of truth in it. The reality of the city and its past laid somewhere between her mother’s teachings and Enki’s romantic tales. The towers were beautiful, conical roofs of painted clay shimmered against a sky of pure sapphire. Yet the towers were old, the roofs showed signs of plethoric age. The people of Ctesiphon milled around the streets like ants, scurrying from one location to another. They were all sorts of shapes and colors. Ctesiphon had lost its ethereal status as the hanging gardens but was still a powerful entity on the River Poros. It was no longer beautiful, but it was practical. Since the fall of the ancient king, the city had been repurposed into a port, every business in the city was predicated or dependent on the boats coming to and fro. The city had grown wealthy off the taxes it levied. Where that wealth went was anyone’s guess, the Harbor Lords were a secretive lot, not liable to give away such valuable information.

The trip here had been fraught with peril. Harnril had been half surprised she even made it to the city. The night they had almost been caught by the sellsword company had been eye-opening, in more ways than one. She knew her mother was after her, that she would send men as the ocean sends waves, and that Enki was not just a simple desert man. He had been quiet all the next day, the air grew heavy and laden without his baritone voice breaking the silence with a song or two. Harnril for her part had been too frightened to bring up what had happened. A day later and she was not sure any of it had really happened. Enki stood along against more than a score of men and horses. Yet he’d cut them all down as if they were no more than reeds in the river. He painted that hill in blood and displayed his defiance of her mother in a sanguine cadaverous monument. It had made her sick the first time she saw what he was doing, it had not been until later that she understood what it had meant.

“What are you?” she’d asked when two days had passed after the battle.

“I am Enki,” he’d said and refused to elaborate. It frustrated her to no end, his reticence, but when it became apparent that answers were not going to be forthcoming, she decided to drop it until a more opportune time. He’d grown more and more taciturn since that night, becoming more and more feral, meaner, and sharper. He had metamorphized into something she didn’t understand. He was as much beast as he was man. Who was this man, Enki? What secrets did he harbor? She tried to push the thoughts into the back of her mind, rationalizing that it had been fear that made her see the faeness in his eyes, and that it was none of her business elsewise. He would take her to Umbar and then they would part ways. It would be that simple. Be he man or beast, it was of no concern of hers.

They hid from hunters and raiders. Harnril was glad of this. Even though Enki had proven himself ferocious and capable, luck had a way of turning sour in battles and all it would take was one blade slipping in to end his life and, by proxy, hers. They’d come to an oasis, but Enki said there was something wrong with it. He’d forbidden her from refilling any of their waterskins or refreshing the camels. It was not until they were miles and miles away that he revealed what he’d seen: two dozen bodies trapped at the bottom, chained together. He couldn’t tell if it was the oasis itself that was the trap or raiders, but he wanted nothing to do with it.

Ctesiphon could not have come soon enough. And when the city finally loomed through the mirages, Harnril felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. It was not the end of the journey, far from it, but it represented the first real place she would set foot in as a free woman. It was where she could decide her fate.

“Two passengers, all the way to Umbar?” the riverboatman was fat and greasy and his brow seemed constantly soaked with sweat. He would wipe his brow here and there, but it never did any good, there was a permanent sheen that reflected the sun. “That would cost you eh, two hundred gold marks, per.”

“Two hundred gold marks?” Harnril wasn’t sure if that was exorbitantly high or just outrageously so, but it was too damn high either way. She looked to Enki, trying to read his assessment of the situation. Unfortunately, he was blank.

“The Autumn Dancer is not a slop,” the greasy man said, his face placid with an air of arrogance. “You get what you pay for, I give you opulence and comfort and the best food you can imagine.”

“And what about security?” Harnril asked.

“Security? Are you expect trouble young lady?” He was suddenly less friendly.

“No, but I also don’t want everyone in Ctesiphon knowing where I’m going.”

He looked at her with an appraising eye and his lip curled in annoyance. “Are you some runaway princess looking to escape your groom before the wedding?” He looked at her seriously for a moment, then burst out laughing, his belly jiggled obscenely.

Harnril wanted to slap him. She looked to Enki who only sighed and shook his head.

“We’ll pay two hundred marks total, plus you don’t announce us when we come on board.” Enki rolled his head to the side, looking at the Autumn Dancer. It was not a bad ship, but it was not worth four hundred gold marks. It wasn’t even worth two hundred, but times were what they were.

“Two hundred total? What sort of barge do you take me for?” he looked insulted. He spat and waddled off.

“Well,” Enki noted with a sneer, “that didn’t take much. Come princess, there are other riverboats in the city.”

“And they won’t charge us all the money I have left plus more?” Harnril was agitated, her scar itched.

“Well, perhaps they would charge less if you looked a little less like a queen’s runaway daughter…”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Harnril rounded on him, her jaw set angrily.

“Easy, I didn’t mean to offend, princess.”

“Stop. Calling. Me. Princess.” She interrupted.

“Put your hood up, slump your shoulders a little. That will hide your elven nature and make you less of a target.”

“Fine,” she said grudgingly, pulling her hood up. It was hot and the hood only made it hotter, the back of her head and neck was soaked with perspiration. She slumped.

“Not that much, you’re not a crone.”

She unslumped a little.

“There we go. Better. Let me do the talking. If anyone asks, you’re my cousin from further up the river. I’m escorting you to Umbar where you’re going to meet a prospective husband.”

The half-elf raised her eyebrow. “A husband?”

Enki broke in the first smile she’d seen on him in days. “or prospective wife if you’d prefer.”

She scrunched her lips into a frown. “I’d prefer no one.”

Enki nodded. “I feel much the same, still it’s just a cover story.”

“Fine,” she said again. “Husband it is.”

They traversed the docks, looking for something other than a fishing trawler. They found a merchant ship offloading cargo.

“Gon’ta Umbar? Well, tha’s a fair ways distant. An’ dang’rous beside. Wot you want to go there for?” the man had a thick accent that Harnril couldn’t follow. Luckily all she had to do was pretend to be a simpering, demure young bride-to-be.

“Times are tough, as I’m sure you well now,” Enki’s voice changed from gruff and gravelly to silken and smooth. “My young cousin has volunteered to meet a man in Umbar we hope might help end our family troubles. Debts to Gondorians and all that.” Both ship captain and Enki spat at the mention of Gondorians. Harnril almost did as well out of habit.

“Damned sharks they are,” the captain said, “not to be bold, young sir, but yor family made a bad move gettin’ involved with tha lot.”

“And don’t I know it, still what’s done is done. We’d pay handsomely though. A hundred and fifty gold marks for passage aboard your vessel. You could put us both to work as well.”

“Mmmmm,” he said, considering, “free labor’s not a bad thing. You ever been on a boat? What about you, young lady? You ever swabbed a deck?”

Harnril was about to open her mouth to answer when Enki spoke up. “Sadly, my young cousin has not, but I have, served in one of the Swamp Lord’s armadas in my youth.”

The captain was taken aback. “You don’ look near old enough for tha’.”

Enki laughed. “You flatter me sir, but that will not raise my offer.”

They both had a laugh. Harnril wanted to disappear. She bit her tongue hard to keep from sniping at both of them.

“Right then. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. We’re off at the fourth bell. I’d suggest you stay close, the streets can be rough at that hour. When you come aboard, report to Quartermaster Qakros, he’ll get you settled and give you tasks you’ll need to perform. You’re both going to work. I promise you that, and you’ll eat and sleep with the crew. I’m not a passenger ship, ya see. Only doin this out o’ the bottom of my heart. Can’t stand ta see a man’s family brought low by Gondorians.” He spat again, a thick, bluish glob. “But you’ll get no more charity, d’ya hear?”

“My family thanks you, from the bottom of our hearts. If this works, my cousin will name her first child after you, right cuz?”

Harnril cleared her throat and nodded. “Of course, Captain…”

“Cap’n Daedheldir at your service, young lady. Cap’n Daedheldir.

“Daedheldir it is then,” she smiled as sweetly as she could manage beneath her robe.

Enki handed the man a heavy sack of coins. He took one coin out and bit it. He looked satisfied and clapped Enki on the shoulder. “Glad t’ave ye both aboard. Remember, the fourth bell, and if’n ye don’t show, well that’s too bad fer ya.”

“We’ll see you then, bright and early,” Harnril said, not looking to Enki.

Tomorrow at the fourth bell. That’s when she’d be on her way to her father.

“Lady Harnril,” Enki asked as they made their way into the street again. “Are you sure about this?”

“I think you asked a little late, you already have the man his money.”

He groaned. “Not about that. About trying to find your family in Umbar. Are you certain that’s what you want?”

“What choice do I have Enki? It’s them or my mother.”

“There’s a third option…”

She stopped and looked at him hard in the eyes. “What? I… what do you mean?”

“You survived crossing the Great Desert, that’s no small feat. You could stay with…”

The affection in his voice was strange, it didn’t fit his demeanor. “You would make a hrovaquendi out of me? Part of a sideshow attraction?”

He sighed.

“I thank you for the offer, Enki. But I am set on this. House Nûlukhô is the only thing that will turn back the Mad Queen Bee.”

“For your sake, Harnril. I hope you are right. I have heard things about that house, about the Matron of Crows. There are rumors about her and the Cult of the Black Crown.”

“I’ve heard the same rumors. That’s what I’m counting on.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

[Baphởmet]

Die Blasphemie des Unlichts
Ctesiphon
(Private)

Harnril wasn't hungry, but she ate nonetheless. The sky was black and starless outside, covered by a thick layer of cloud; even the moon hid his face this morning. The inn was chilled and empty. The fire in the hearth turned to embers hours before. Aside from her and Enki, there were only three other souls in the common room that early. They all looked burly and unfriendly. Two sat in a corner and argued in hushed tones over some payment that was due. The other sat in a shadowy alcove and smoked a pipe. His area was ringed with vanilla and cedar-scented smoke. The half-elf could just make his eyes, they were looking across the common room at some vague splotch on the wall. He was silent. Harnril was apprehensive. There was a feeling in her gut that something was wrong. Maybe it was being so close to freedom she could taste it, or maybe it was that she knew she’d get caught eventually and this was just the calm before the storm. She barely tasted the hummus and panir cheese. The movements from plate to mouth were mechanical. Enki, though, seemed to have no problem. He looked rested and alert. That meant there was one of them. How had he slept so well? He was still awake when she was nodding off near the midnight hour. Did he ever sleep? She sipped her chai tea. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him sleep. But he must, right? She stared at him over the lip of her cup. He seemed to take no notice of her. That was both reassuring and infuriating. He’d sold the camels last night. He told her that normally he would merely lease them to the tavernkeeper while he was away but given who was following them it was not likely he was going to be back for them any time soon. She’d seen how that hurt him. He’d had those camels for years, raised them from calves, trained them to respond to clicks rather than words or hands. Harnril felt a strong pang of guilt. If not for her, he would still have his camels. He received a good price for them, as far as she could tell.

There was still a lingering question in her mind. It had bothered her all night and troubled her sleep. Why had he suggested they go somewhere else? It was more than just a tactic to through off their pursuers. It was the closest she’d seen him come to making a personal plea. To do what he was suggesting though, that would mean she would become a hrovaquendi. She shivered and shifted uncomfortably just thinking about the word. She did not take most of what her tutors told her to heart, being propagandists for her mother, but when the subject of hrovaquendi came up her stomach would turn. Wild elf. They were the rejects from society, the loners that no one wanted, the chaff that gets blown away by the wind. According to legend, they were vicious and murderous, barely better than the animals they lived amongst. They were common in the First Age when the elven kingdoms were under constant assault. The hrovaquendi were as dangerous as the enemy. They were reckless and feral; there were legends that some of them turned into animals or commanded lightning or caused fires. There was something in their blood, some sort of transformation that occurred that made them… different. The lessons always said they killed everyone around them, that they served neither elf nor demon, only their own selfish whims. Some of the tutors even said it was them that sank Beleriand. A group had been called to answer for their crimes against their brethren and instead of allowing themselves to be judged and punished, they used their powers to break the world. Hrovaquendi were unpredictable. They were an evil that had to be stamped out. According to the historians, her mother had stamped out all the hrovaquendi in Harad at the beginning of the Second Age, before the Dark Lord reappeared with his rings and promises. It was the one boast they made that she hoped was true. Hrovaquendi were terrifying. They were a blight, a curse, an evil that would destroy the very land they lived on. She’d had nightmares about hrovaquendi coming to steal her away and turn her into one of them, like a coven of vampires. She knew what she was doing was dangerous, if she stepped wrong on this path to freedom, she could end up an insane, monstrous Wild Elf.

She looked at Enki again. He was looking about the place, half-boiled eggs in his fingers. She squinted. His ears. They didn’t look like elven ears, not exactly. She frowned. They didn’t look like elven ears because they looked like they’d been clipped, scorched, and pierced. She looked at his forearms. He had tattoos up and down his arms, shapes, and symbols that she’d not bothered to examine until now. His skin was dark and coppery, but the patterns were clear. Were those marks tattoos, or tiger stripes? A rotten feeling started welling in her stomach.

“Enki, are you a...”

She never got to ask. The tavern exploded with fire and shouts and smoke.