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A Real Welcome Home

Tags: Al-Sharq,  Azradi,  Yildirim

Short Summary: Azradi returns to Umbar from Far Harad. She walks with Yildirim and her guards and is followed by a stranger.

Al-Sharq, Azradi, Yildirim

Date (real-life): 2011-09-20
Scene Location: Corsair Docks, Umbar
Date (in-game): December 25, 3053


         His dark eyes are deep set in his brown face. Between them is a hawkish nose that is not quite straight, as if it has been broken and then reset without much care. A large mouth is surrounded by finely trimmed black facial hair.

         This man is not tall, but he fills out his clothing: wide shoulders, thick arms and legs. He wears loose light brown robes appropriate for the desert and on his feet are mumakil leather boots. He wears a white headdress that covers all but his face.


Thin and tall, this woman possesses smooth light skin and the stamp of Numenor. Her gray eyes are almond shaped and lined with Kohl. She is adorned in silken reds and gold that float and drape about her curved form. Gold adorns her bare upper arms, ears and fingers.Her Midnight hair is long, thick and plaited into a single braid that hangs to the middle of her back.


A product of desert life and war, Yildirim's features are still youthful -- smooth skin darkened by the sun's touch. His figure fit and lean is topped by hair, sable and long, gathered at the crown of his head and secured with a length of twine. Generally unadorned with jewels, only a trio of small silver hoops form a line down the edge of his left ear. A few years into manhood, his manner mimics the stern seriousness of adulthood nonetheless. And yet for his youth her bears the scars of war still. Half-healed scars slash his shoulders and torso and on his left hand, a missing ring finger.

His raiment is simple but distinct for the men of Umbar. In lieu of a cloak, the man wears a length of tan fabric wrapped loosely about his shoulders. A simple chain shirt is tightly fit around his torso and arms. Several belts criss-cross his middle, one having a scabbard for his scimitar attached, the others seeming ornamental. On the opposite hip sits a thick tome, latched, hanging by a chain wrapped across his torso and over his shoulder. On his breast, a chain of silver, hung from it an eight pointed star, a compass, with the Sindarin letters of the directions inscribed in faint gold. His linen pants are colored in olive and brown either through wear or intention, with light traveling boots to match.


Corsair Docks
As you stand at the military docks in the blackness of the night a chill creeps over you at the fearsome power displayed before you. The hulls of over a hundred vessels ranging from War Galleys to War Raiders to Patrol Boats and even an occasional War Catamaran form a patchwork of darkness against the night sky. A huge Dunedain Palanrist from ancient days sits dry-docked just above the docks. The night is shattered by the bathing glow of a lighthouse to the west. The beam of light extends out over the bay and beyond. To the east, the blazing torches of the fortified Fleet Headquarters pour out onto Castamir Point, standing out as a beacon to the Isle's eastern tip.

The night sky is clear with only slight wisps of clouds overhead. The midnight winter air is cool and dry around you.

The Variyah
The Nimrizan(#22885VXae)
The Saqrwa'il
The Kashmira
Dry Dock
The Desert Arkhos
The Klejona
The Arvada
The Nalozil
The Staghound
Obvious exits:
 Bay leads to Bay of Umbar.
 East leads to Fleet Headquarters: Inner Courtyard.
 West leads to Ar-Pharazon's Isle.

Middle-earth time is:
Midnight on Sterday, Day 25 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 19:24:07 MDT on Tue Sep 20 2011.

Middle-earth year is:
     Historical Year: circa TA 3008
     Online Year: 3053
Execute +TIMEFRAME for more information or read NEWS TIME FAQ.

A throng of people have gathered on the docks this evening, some in eager anticipation, others out of bored curiosity. They gather near a berthed ship that has been absent for long months. A sleek raider, bearing a raven prow and flying a dark purple flag emblazoned with the same emblem: The Variyah, warship of Azradi anAzulada, Lady Farside.

The gangplank has been long since lowered and a few crewmembers disembarked to moor the ship or attend to other tasks. But of the Lady, there has been no glimpse nor rumor.


Five men - the elite of Farside, stand beside Yildirim as the ship is tied off at the dock. He seems fresh and awake, his leathers recently worked and jewels upon his polished. He waits at attention, hands clasped behind him.

Two Raven Knights appear on the deck, the personal guards of Lady Farside. They stand at attention on either side of the gangplank. Soon after, Azradi herself appears, taking a moment to sweep her haughty gaze over those gathered.

She is resplendent in red and gold silks; a thick brocaded mantle rests upon her shoulders to ward off the cold and jewels glitter from her thick hair, while gold adorns ears, fingers and wrists. But most startling of all is the gentle swell that cannot be hidden by her gown.

Lady Farside is heavy with child.

She descends, head held proudly. Her guards follow, each carrying a large shield. When she nears Yildirim, her rouged lips curve in a slight smile. "Fleetmaster," she greets. "How kind of you to greet me at the docks."


"I'm not sure kindness has much to do with it, Lady Farside," Yildirim says, with a bow, "But I am glad to hear you say it is so. Your trip seems to have been," a pause, "Productive. You are well?"


"Very!" laughs Azradi, glancing down to her swelling middle. Her face flushes with her pride and joy. "You are surprised?"

She hesitates, a slight frown turning her lips down. "I did tell you I was to be married in the south?"


"You did," he confirms.

"And with assumptions that your condition is the result of a marriage, my congratulations." Another bow. Yildirim looks to the city, the mass of people moving this way and that along the docks, "Your city is ever as you left it. But perhaps it has been long enough you have forgotten your way through the streets?


A small crowd has come to welcome Lady Farside back to the city this cold evening. Azradi stands speaking with her Fleetmaster, Yildirim near her ship. They are accompanied by seven elite guards as well as the many corsairs that served as her crew. The lady is dressed splendidly and is obviously with child. "I have been married longer than I have been with child," replies Azradi, her voice raised. Then conspiratorially, she leans closer and whispers. "That should set off rumors to the contrary." Her eyes twinkle and she straightens."I have not forgotten my way, but your company will be welcome." She looks around the crowd. "Where is Captain Tiribazus?"

"Idle I am sure," Yildirim jokes in mock seriousness as he begins their walk back towards the Tower. "In truth, I was sincere in my words of the city being quiet. I think, especially in Farside, crisis and demands have waited for a voice who can speak answers to them true. I only kept the most eager at bay."

"And you? What news of the South?"

Al-Sharq is one of those who has gathered to watch the arrival. The Hassadite retainer looks pretty impressive in the clothing and gear that marks his station. As the lady and Yildirim start walking, he turns to follow, pressing to get closer.

Pulling her mantle closer about her shoulders, Azradi falls in beside the Fleetmaster. She sighs and answers his question first. "We did not find my father. But we learned more and I have at least reminded the local tribes that Aglarrama may rise again. Some day. My husband remains there for a while longer. He will return before the baby is born."

"But I bring you news from my brother's isle that may bring you some ease," she says.

The Farside guards fall in ahead and behind their lady and Yildirim, the pair with the large shields in front. One of those bringing up the rear catches sight of the turbaned Hassadite. He watches him closely.

"Alkahazor was killed in some painfully terrible manner?" Yildirim asks to the Lady, though his eye catches the movements of the young man pressing towards the Lady. A whisper then to her, his face a wide smile, "Is he known to you lady?" he asks, hand casually moving to the pommel of his blade.

The Hassadite retainer comes up to the guards. He makes no move to try to push his way past them or otherwise confront them. Instead, he keeps walking, looking forward past the guards at the very important people ahead.

Lady Farside's smile is never given the chance to blossom into laughter. She looks where indicated, her gray eyes scanning the immediate crowd and settling upon the Hassadite as the most likely man in question. She studies him a moment, frowning in thought. "I do not know him," she says at last.

Yildirim slows and then with some alacrity turns and steps through the guards to face, Al-Sharq. "I could not help but to notice your interest in the Lady Farside. Would you care to join us, ...?" he trails off, waiting for a name.

"I am called Al-Sharq." The Hassadite retainer bows with a flourish of his arms and robes. As he rises from his bow, a hand appears from a fold and in it is a dagger! "My interest is not in the woman!" Even as he corrects the man before him, he attacks deftly with his weapon.

Azradi stays among the guards, who close in tighter around her. Upon sight of the dagger, the guards with shields move in front of her. Taller than them both, Lady Farside has a clear view over the protective shields. "Yildirim!" is all she has time to call out in warning.

Tretchery was suspected but not so bold as this. Yildirim's sword is but half-way pull from its scabbard, his free hand batting away the attack as he can, when the dagger slips into and through some of the meat on his arm. His sleeve at once darkens blood makes its way down his body. A growl and he steps closer to the man, attempting to grab the arm with the knife with both hands and hold it from striking again.


Blood is drawn and the Hassadite is grappled by Yildirim. He pulls back and tries to stab again while with his free hand working to keep the sword from being drawn. The guards and corsairs around him are forgotten as his prey lies right before him! "First blood!"

The Farside guards do not immediately rush to Yildirim's aid. The lady's safety comes first. Now surrounding her, they draw their weapons and quickly assess the crowd, looking for further danger least this be but a diversion to mask the real assault.
Azradi watches Yildirim's fight impassively, trusting her men to do their duty and her Fleetmaster to defend himself. At least for the moment.

"Is it a game we are playing?" Yildirim questions in a whisper. His demeanor changes, grave and terrible, and his sword forgotten. One arm wrapped around his enemy's, the blade is free is slice at his armor near his kidney, while his free hand tries to grasp the man's face, his thumb moving to slide inside Al-Sharq's eye.


Al-Sharq jerks his head free and attempts to headbutt his foe at the same time as he brings his knee up for a shot at the groin, a double-attack!


One the Farside guards looks to Azradi, "Orders, my lady?"She looks away from the fight. She nods her head. "If the Fleetmaster wishes it, aid him."

The guards nods crisply and moves forward...The gap he left is closed by the remaining guards.


Yildirim pushes the face away with his hand on the face once more, then making a fist he pounds down on the man's face, like a hammer upon a nail. Still his eyes are on the knife arm most of all and misses the knee to his chest. He cough a breath and fixes his stance so the knee cannot reach any place more... precious."You are ruining my afternoon. There is still time left for you to live if you drop the knife now."


His face bleeding from the fists of his foe, Al-Sharq spits out between broken teeth and blood, "Never, you will have to kill me!" He grunts as he shifts his weight, trying to get position to take Yildirim right down to the deck.


"No," Azradi says, her voice steely. "He will not."

"Take him," she commands her guard. She looks over the combatant's heads to where a half circle has formed around the fight. There corsairs have gathered, including some of her crew. She nods to them and three move forward to help her guard, converging on the Hassadite from all sides...


They fall and Yildirim does his best to pin the knife arm under him as he does. He continues to beat upon the man's face, "More likely I will knock you out...garghhhh... and torture you for a few weeks." He doesn't seem to notice the guards approaching as yet, "Maybe months!"


Al-Sharq is taken from behind. Hands fall on him and grip him, strong hands used to tough work at sea. The Hassadite retainer struggles, but it is a useless cause. "Others will come, do not think I am the last!"


The Corsairs haul Al-Sharq to his feet, gripping his arms tightly as the guard moves in with drawn sword to take his dagger if he still possesses it and search for other weapons. A fourth corsair darts off into the crowd towards the ship, in search of rope.Azradi pushes forth from her guards to stand beside Yildirim. She looks down at him, amused. "You must have done quite well as Lord Regent, my friend. Assassination attempts are a sure sign."

She glances up to the restrained Hassadite, "And now I think we should repair to the Tower so your new friend can explain himself."Yildirim climbs to his feet and draws his blade in a flash, stalking towards the man in but a few steps, "I shall send a message in reply."


Azradi's words unheard, he pushes the blade between the man's ribs, catching the edge of his lung, and continues on until the hilt is pressed against his skin. He holds the man's head aloft by the hair, "Look at me. Look at me!" he commands and then screams into the man's face as he waits for the life to drift from him.


There is only hate in the Shark's eyes. They were cold and lifeless before and the blade that is stuck into him does nothing to change them. There are a few gurgles of frothy breath as the man tries to breathe and then the final bubbly exhale comes as his body slumps in the hands of those restraining him.


After the man dies, Azradi looks towards the heavens and sighs heavily. "Yildirim..." she begins, with exaggerated patience. "We will learn nothing from a dead man."

"Please remember that with the next one."

To the corsairs, she tosses her head towards the ships. "Strip him, search him and then dump his body in the bay. Bring his things to the Tower. There may be something to learn from them."

Breathing still hard, he lets go the blade, leaving it to hang in the lifeless body, and walks to where the knife lays. He takes it up, looking back to the corpse, "If this is poisoned. I swear I will cure your meat and feed it to your mother." A sigh then, then another.

The fascade slowly covers over the rage, and he smiles towards Azradi, arms opening wide, "Welcome home!" and then grimacing at the forgotten wound on his arm. "Really, if I am poisoned... I will never forgive myself."


The lady places her hand on either side of her widening hips; a pose that looks less impressive when six months into her quickening. She snorts a light laugh. "I will not forgive you, either. Go on ahead if you are able, and see the healers quickly."

"I am not swift on my feet these days, do not wait on me."

"Take some corsairs with you," she adds, "In case your friend's promise is kept along the way."


Date added: 2011-09-20 22:42:33    Hits: 57
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