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Ta'leus Shieldsong
15/Sep/2016, 04:43 AM
The Shadowed Lands Darken
The Battle for Dol Amroth

It was a cold and sunless morning, the clouds covering the sky and casting dark shadows upon the ground far below. Below them in the city of Dol Amroth, sailors and dockworkers moved about silently as they started their long day of toil, while merchants and soldiers and citizens still slept soundly in their beds. On one long dock that stretched far out into the bay, further than any of the others, stood two dockworkers, Delarin and Formaer. As they hung from the sides of the dock, scraping barnacles and debris off of the sides of the post that sank down into the bay, Delarin looked off into the distance and squinted.

"What's that?" He asked his friend. "I've no idea. I can't see that well anymore." Delarin stared intently at the horizon, where little black dots were now starting to appear at the edge of his vision. Then, with horror, he realized what it was. He hadn't seen this since he was a young boy, but their was no mistaking what the black dots were. Far away the black sails of the Corsairs of Umbar whipped about in the wind as a full armada of ships sailed towards Dol Amroth.

Their forward scouts had failed. Their outer defenses had fallen. And now, the Corsairs came fast towards the great city of Dol Amroth. It was up to Delarin and Formaer to raise the alarm. Swiftly the flung themselves back onto the dock and sprinted away, screaming at the top of their lungs, "CORSAIRS! UMBAR! THE SOUTH ATTACKS!"
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We will still be accepting late applications to join the RP. Please first PM myself or Arnyn before joining in though.
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The Battle for Dol Amroth:
Judge: Angelikus Snape
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The Army of Dol Amroth:
Prince Imrahil (Commander): Morwen Daegomir
Arohir (citizen): Helekwen
Lady Isys Azrubel: Ercassie
Lord Anclhang Saphadazra: Ta'leus Shieldsong
Warder Thavron: Ercassie
...: Karis Ziranphel

The Army of Umbar:
The Witch-King (Commander): Bandar
Darrion (Corsair): Helekwen
Lamogol the Wretched (Corsair) - Ta'leus Shieldsong
Abeer Blackbeard (Corsair): Pele Alarion

Ta'leus Shieldsong
18/Sep/2016, 03:42 AM
Lamogol the Wretched
Aboard the Bluestorm

He stood, hunched over the edge of the ship's bow, watching and waiting. For many days they had sailed smoothly and without interference through their own waters where Gondorian ships dared not sail. But now, they were only a few hours away from Dol Amroth, and if their attack was not perfectly coordinated they would be foiled before they ever reached the city. Lamogol was the first-mate of the Bluestorm, a ship that had once belonged to the Gondorian navy but had been captured by his captain, Kartho, when the former was only a boy. It had been painted black, as black as the midnight sky under a hidden moon, but it's sails were bright blue, easily identifiable among the massive armada from Umbar. He had once asked the captain, when he first joined the ship, why the sails were how they were. After being sent reeling backwards by a huge, hairy arm that had collided with his head (this was, of course, for speaking out of turn and place without being addressed) he was told it was because he wanted the Gondorians and others to know it was him who had raided them. He wanted them to remember the name Bluestorm, and Kartho who captained her. He wanted them to see the blue sails on the horizon and feel the fear of death, deep within their hearts. It was an answer that stunned him as a young man, but now as a middle-aged sailor he understood it completely.

He had joined the ship when he was sixteen. A pitiful excuse for a sailor, he was given the name The Wretched and was subjected to abuse on a near daily basis. But one day, three years after he had joined, something within him snapped. The second-mate, a man named Jolawa, had been harassing him as he unfurled the main sails. To this day he couldn't remember what the second-mate had said to him to make him lose control, but after it had been said he found himself swinging down from the heights of the ship and landing right in front of him. He had snidely said, "Gonna do something, Wretched? Gonna fin'ly fight back? Huh? HUH?!" And fight back he did. He grabbed Jolawa and drew him close, headbutting him and then dragging him to the edge of the boat, where he threw him over. Some of the crewmen rushed to the edge, grabbing at ropes, ready to rescue him, but a gravelly voice roared from the back of the boat, "LEAVE HIM!" There captain stood there, eyeing Lamogol closely. "If he couldn't beat a whelp of a boy, he's no sailor that belongs with me."

Lamogol thought back to that day often. He thought back to being taken into the captain's quarters and offered ale, sitting with him and being told a new second-mate was needed. It was then that his life changed for the better, though his name would remain with him, even two decades later. And now, as first-mate he watched the horizon, looking for the first signs of the Gondorian outpost that protected Dol Amroth. A small fleet of ships stayed there, ready to rush to Dol Amroth's aid, if only to delay attackers so the city could prepare itself. Within a few minutes it came into eyesight. Twenty ships were docked, and sailors moved about near them. The Gondorians would see them soon, but as soon as the signal was lit, far above the outpost they would have no trouble. For the plan had been this: the armada would sail to Dol Amroth from the southwest, to avoid attention. A force of Corsairs, along with some Orcs would march from the south, on land, and kill those they could at the outposts, and stop any messengers from leaving. So far their plan had worked, but the last outpost was the most important. If they failed here, the city would be alerted and their navy prepared to fight.

Doubts crept through his mind. His captain and dozens upon dozens of others had been sent a message from the Black Hand. They were to assail Gondor from the west, while Mordor did so from the east. Strong as their armada was, the ships of Dol Amroth were equally so. Deception and guile must be their friends if they were to be victorious, but he wondered if even with the land force attacking outposts, they could truly win. It was as he thought this that, above the outpost on a rocky patch of land, he saw a tall fire with smoke issuing forth from it.

"This is it boys! They've blocked the escape route on land. It's time for us to do the rest!" He shouted at his crew as he ran back to alert the captain. All around him shouts could be heard as the other ships prepared to attack the outpost.

Pele Alarion
24/Sep/2016, 08:09 PM
Abeer the Blackbeard
Aboard the Bluestorm

Leaving Umbar was like a lifesaver for Abeer. He had been stuck on dry land for nearly a month, no one willing to take him aboard their ships. It was not that he was not able-bodied; on the contrary, he was a strong man, broad-shouldered and rather muscular, so he could make no sense out of that many refusals. However, it had to be said that he had all but given up about two weeks of unsuccessful job hunting and had taken to drinking and brawling. More likely than not it was a reason why his bad luck was extended well past these two weeks.

Probably the current campaign required all available hands, for he had finally found a job, unkempt as he was when spoken to. Yet the captain refused to let him aboard until he made himself more presentable, so Abeer had to get rid of the stench he had collected, get a set of clean garments, and shave off his hair and beard that had become unkempt and tangled, and infested by lice. Currently his lack of proper hair was hidden under a black and red bandanna, and a short stubble covered his chin and cheeks, and that bruise around his left eye was almost gone. Besides, the voyage filled him with a new purpose, and that was all for the better.

However, the habit he had nursed lately was hard to tame, and while most of the sailors were out on the deck watching their approach towards the destination, Abeer had quietly found his way to the stash of the drinks. Having filled up a tankard with some rum, he sat down on one of the kegs to enjoy a sip or two, or more. He was sure the guys upstairs would make enough noise to let him know when the time was right to emerge and prepare for battle.

And the time came even before had gotten to the bottom of the tankard. The sound of shouts and hurried footsteps reached him, so he quickly emptied the drink, tossed the tankard into the corner and steadied himself slightly before heading out unto the deck. The fresh sea breeze met him, as he emerged and headed straight for the railing to assess the ongoing events. At any rate he felt ready for some action, and his dark eyes glinted with expectation, as he tried to espy any possible opponents in the distance.

Karis Ziranphel
10/Oct/2016, 12:30 AM
NarÔk Urud
Dol Amroth


NarÔk had been spending more time ashore of late. He had enjoyed the trading runs up and down the coast in his small ship, but others had been trained well in her sailing, and he only did every other voyage now. To fill his spare time, he had begun training with the militia of the city. Knights were excellent fighters, but didn't always know how to fight against an attack from the water.

His pride and joy was the trebuchet he had been assigned to on the heights above the port. There were a handful of them only, but could hurl stones or burning shot a good distance and with excellent accuracy. A few weeks ago he and his crew had taken second in their challenge to hit floating target platforms in the bay. The shipsmasters had been disgruntled, but finally acknowledged the usefulness of the practice for the potential saving of their valuable ships.

This day NarÔk had been sitting on the sitting on the warf fixing a net when he heard the call of Corsair sails sighted. He stood to stare a moment through the mists, and then took off as if jolted into action. Up, up the winding stair to the heights.

He arrived puffing and out of breath for a moment, hearing the waking of the city and the thunder of other footsteps as they ran to the battlements or ships.

Others from his crew arrived moments later, and they took their positions around the great machine. Standing in front, NarÔk squinted to gauge the distance to the first ship. Aaalmost right. "Light the shot!" His order was clear. The wick was lit, and then touched to the oil rope-wrapped shot that nested in the cup. It started to catch, and was took but a moment to be well-engulfed.

NarÔk stepped to the side now to be well clear of the swing of the great arm, and cried "Loose!" The flaming shot soared through the air on its way to the first ship in the corsair line. High, it would burn the sails. Center it would maim and injure, and on the low side it would hole the craft.

Immediately, the crew started preparing the machine for the next cast. Their city would be defended!