Interrogation

Log file from Akallabeth.

Arlanazir
Tall, and possessing an air of superior mein, the maiden before you is a picture of discriminating taste and preconcieved notions. Her grey eyes are placid--like a lake under winter ice, though hinting of curiosity and perhaps strong opinions. Her face is finely structured with an aquiline nose, small chin, and petulantly-set lips. Long hair the color of deep-polished walnut is left free to fall just above her waist.

She is wearing a gown of springtime yellow--the color of daffodils under a misty morning sky. The rounded neck and sleeves of her gown are embroidered in fine satin threads that shimmer silvery-white. Ribbons the color of seafoam and silver trail from her sleeves and shoulders where they spring from rosettes of carefully crafted pale-green ribbons. And added to this ensemble of color is a fan--slightly gaudy--finely carved of bone and crafted of feathers dyed in colors to match.

Tilian:
 With elegant movements and handsome features, this tall man easily stands out from the rest of the crowd. The man has an athletic build and long limbs, and his body is covered by a set of armor, solid black in its color. The plates of solid steel are sewn close together over the flexible leather underneath. He has bright blue eyes that show cunning and alertness, and his long ebony hair cascades down his back freely. The only acessory to break the monotony of the man's dark coloured attire is a white cloak clasped to his neck by a golden brooch carved to resemble a dragon's head.

 Despite his nice appearance, there is something gloomy about this person. His lips are set in a grim line, and there is a distant look of sadness and sorrow in his eyes. A mithril circlet adorns his forehead, set with a single ruby that seems to burn with an inner glow.

Thalos
 Vivid, Warm steel blue eyes examine his surroundings, as if they were a well tempered steel sword. They are deep set and seem to shine as sword would in moonlight flaring with brilliance and youthful energy. He stands about 6'7" even quite a tall man by Numenorean standards, A brave and valiant figure to look upon. His face seems as though it was chisled out of granite itself, a well defined jaw and cheekbones add to this. Upon his head rests soft, well tended black hair flowing as if waves of black silk moved by the slightest breeze. Cut to a medium length, quite often wisps and strands of hair seem to fall to his brow. A strong and proud nose adds to the appearance, while soft red lips finally dispel the illusion that he could be made of granite. His soft tanned skin provides a clue that he is outdoors often, it is smooth and well kept. Penetrated at only one point a scar running across the upper ridge of his left brow down across the bridge of his nose and ending below his right eye.

His body is yet another sight to look upon, wideset shoulders with large arms show that this man possesses the strength to fight. But also his lower body and legs show as if he was a man of agility and quickness. His gaze itself lets you know this man is not devoid of intellegince but rather has a surplus of it. Draped upon his back is a cape of midnight blue, as if a mid-night's sky were brought to life flowing behind him as if it were silk. It shines with soft brilliant white flares as it catches light from the sky, holding it in place on his left chest is the crest of the 8th Host, Belzakhors Host. Under the cloak he wears upon his chest a closely fitted suit of studded leather, the plates of metal fastened so close together it could almost be considered scale mail. As they catch light they glow with an eire color, with a backing of black leather it creates a brilliant combinations. He wears upon his legs a pair of dark blue breeches that fit quite comfortable around his legs they are tucked into high black boots that seem to dully shine with the same color as his leather armor.
Held at his side is a black scabbard decorated by steel knots at the point and two strips running parralell along the edge of the scabbard to where the pommel of the sword lies. A rather simple yet unique design, at the end stands a hollowed out circle which in it lies an 8 pointed star, the symbol of the Longstar family. A leather grip then leads to a brilliantly crafted hand guard in the center of each side lies a brilliant clear stone, looking quite like a diamond. He wears upon his left arm a leather shield with intricate designs and the same 8 pointed star embossed upon the center.

---

Nardu Batan: Umbar Jail

This street, generally twisting and twirling around the cramped housing districts of northeastern Umbar, is widening in this place to a small square, where two solidly built structures glare at each other across the street. On one side, a building of roughly hewn grey stone suggests a fortress at first, until heavy steel bars on the tiny windows make you think otherwise. Across from it, a less grave but equally formidable building hints at some luxury inside, yet the guard patrols are even heavier at its doorstep. Around it, a small park has been devised, separated from the street by an iron fence.The windows look out into it, and occasionally a gallantly clad figure would draw aside the curtain to peer outside briefly.

The patrols stand guard on the doorstep of both buildings, surveying the area with calm, confident indifference. To the northwest, a crossroads can be discerned; Soldier Street bends around the Jail and continues east as well.

This is a cold and grim morning at the Umbar Jail. Ever since the appearance of the Wraith the watch over Tilian was doubled. Some moanings of lamentation can be heard through the empty streets. They come from one of the cells...

The cold stones of the Jail's floor echo with the familiar sound of hard leather boots and the jangle of chain-mail. Nearing the cell where the man known as Tilian is kept, Thalos stops. In turn the echoes fade away, the sound of his feet sliding to look towards the man through the bars in the door scrapes against the hard stone. He says with a voice full of authority, "Stand in full vision of the door." Taking out the bundle of keys he inserts one into the lock.

Down the Hall various conversations between gaurds of different divisions break out. One man says, "I heard he is the right hand man to Sauron himself."

"Thats ridiculous, you are crazy.. he is just some mordor bum." a booming voice follows replying to the outlandish first comment.

Holding an embroidered handkerchief to her nose, the lady Arlanazir follows closely behind the guard Thalos, sniffing and wrinking her nose as they make their way to the Umbar Jail and the prisoner held within. Her skirts swish slightly with her movements--an odd sound indeed to hear the silken skirts of a lady near these cells. Her slippered feet hardly make a sound, yet the lady's proud grey eyes lead her gaze in a darting glance, and she clears her throat as if to punctuate her obvious distaste.

No answer comes from Tilian. Thalos' order is ignored. The former priest of the Dark Religion simply lies on the floor, curled up in a ball close to one of the corners of his cell. He mumbles something to himself, although you really can't understand what it is.

A click of the lock on the door and it swings open the light shining upon Tilian as if a box of light confining him. The shadow of Thalos thick and well built looms over the man. Before he enters the cell he motions for the Lady to stand clear of door and stay out of the cell for now. A few more echoed footsteps and Thalos is brought into the cell, "Stand up, Tilian... or sit if you like on the bed... We need to talk." His words are quick and firm as if there was no questioning them.

The conversation can still be heard from the murmurring gaurds in the front room. A few laughs later they quiet down, now only the damp dark sounds of the Umbar jail can be heard. The drip of water on the floor in some cells echo as if they where a dragons breath and the odd footstep or moan echoes as if in a enormous chamber.

Arlanazir sniffs distastefully, her brows lowering a bit, yet she complies, remaining outside the cell. Yet the lady's curiosity is ever present and she peers inside the cell to catch a look at the man imprisoned within.

Tilian continues to mumble for a few more moments after Thalos speaks, completely ignoring the presence of the other man. And then, all of a sudden he goes quiet. For a long moment of silence he stares at the guard's feet. Slowly his head begins to rise, his eyes carefully scanning the form of the Dunadan before him. When his eyes finally meet Thalos', there is a strange lucidity in them. One that could easily send shivers all through your body. Still, he doesn't reply.

The look in the mans eyes shake Thalos slightly, but his countenance shows nothing of the sort. His steel blue eyes flash with the anger of a thousand swords and he raises his voice slowly, "Alright... sit there!, I have a few questions to ask of you." he pauses and awaits the Mordains response seeing if he will have any impact on the man.

"The fever," Tilian finally hisses, baring his teeth as he does so, "it is coming...the dark fever...coming from the land of shadows...they are coming for me...the wrath...the punishment...keep them away from me," at this point he begins to shudder, "kill me...kill me please...punish me," he slowly looks away from Thalos and toward the door, spotting the lady there. "Lady," he calls out, starting to rise to his feet, "I beg you for mercy."

Lady Arlanazir stiffens as the prisoner addresses her, taking a step back. But upon her own retreat, the maiden reconsiders, wandering closer to the cell's entrance, brows lifting now in interest, grey eyes revealing her curiosity. "Mercy?" she wonders aloud, her voice lifted in pride. "And who are you, sir?" she asks, fairly demanding in tone, herself.
He looks towards the door and shakes his head and asks in an almost concerned voice, "Why did you leave mordor?..." pausing for a second, "And why did you come to Umbar" The questions simple and concise, allowing no misinterperatation. He thinks for a second "Why... are they coming for you?" the last one asked with simple strength in his voice as he motions for the lady to enter and stay close.

"I am He Who Found His Way Back," Tilian says simply. Once he is standing, he keeps his eyes focused on Arlanazir. As expected, Thalos receives no answers for his questions.

Coming to Thalos's side now, the lady of Umbar lowers her handkerchief a bit from her face now, revealing the slight twist of a frown on her face, and her proud gaze regards the man with open scrutiny, eyeing him from head to toe. "So you are the one whom the other sought.." she says with a light chuckle. "Well, your compatriot was much more intimidating..." She sniffs again.

The lady's sarcastic chuckle is replied with a feeble smile. Tilian looks down at himself and sighs softly, "The Voice of Doom...it comes first...the waves of darkness come next...and they will come indeed...and in the aftermath...only woe..."

Thalos sighs and says one simple sentence, "Sauron?... you mean... Sauron will come here?"

Arlanazir takes a step forward, her grey eyes now indignant. "That is folly," she smirks. "There is no threat that could breach the navy nor defence of Umbar. This man is merely as rude and repugnant as his friend in the square." She lifts her chin, eyes narrowing now. "You who would threaten ladies of this fine city--"
 

Tilian looks back at Thalos and slowly shakes his head, "The Weaver of Shadows knows fear too...but he has many puppets...His waves of darkness...for like a sea of destruction they come and overwhelm everything," his words are cut short by the lady's speech, and with gleaming eyes he regards her, "A real lady is not as spoiled as you are. A real lady knows how to control her pride and show some humility. Even before her battered and chained enemies."

The proud lady's stare is unyielding, nor does she seem to be intimidated at all by the prisoner's words. "'Tis surely not my fault that you sit in this cell, prisoner," she says sharply. "And it further shows your ill breeding that you attempt to degrade a lady--one who should not even be here in such..." and she looks about the cell, grimacing, "...surroundings."

Tilian smiles faintly, taking one step forth. A step that brings him dangerously close to the woman, "Then why did you come, if you should not be here? Do the guards need a pretty face to interrogate me? Carnal pleasures interest me no more."

Pushing back the lady and taking her place Thalos grins at point blank range, "If you want to threaten or hurt anyone here, it will be me. Do you understand that?" he chuckles a little staring Tilian straight in the eyes.

The eyes of the woman widen, and she brings a swift hand up to slap sharply across the man's face before Thalos can move her back. Her cheeks flush red and angry, and the voice that follows hisses with barbed reprimand. "You will not speak to me so, rabble!" Arlanazir draws in an incensed breath. "I was brought here by the request of this gentleman," she says, motioning to Thalos, "to see if I recognised you. And glad I am to say that I indeed do not!"

That faint smile still lingers upon Tilian's lips even before he is slapped across the face. And after Thalos moves to stand in front of him, his eyes look directly into Thalos', as if piercing the man's soul. "Did you hear any threats in my words? If you did, you are a madman. I simply asked her why she was here. But I will no longer warn you of the eminent danger. They are coming. They will arrive soon. Get ready to defend yourselves, or ignore my advice. It is up to you. And now be gone. Be gone whore! And take your can hero with you. I want to be alone. I will only talk again in my trial."

"Tilian... please... speak to me of these warnings. Do you know when they will come?" he asks with almost an apologetic tone in his voice yet still in the same posistion not yeilding to him.

Yet there is no apology in the expression nor voice of the lady. Her gaze narrowing and sharp as daggers, she again lifts her chin so she might look down upon the man. "Your words fall flat and cut as a dull blade, sir." The lady smirks. " Think not to attempt to wound me with such vile and weak language any more." She snaps a gaze to Thalos. "I think you find here the man that has offended the other lady who lies in the healers halls, and I think someone should take him straightway and rid Umbar of his contemptible presence."

"They are close," Tilian says quiely, "your advanced scouts will soon bring news of their approach." and with that he turns his back to the both of you, ignoring the woman's words.
Turning to Arlanazir he places a finger upon his lips and motions for her to stay quiet.. as this is a very, very serious matter. "Do you know how many soldiers are marching upon us?" he asks with growing curiousity. He knows the words this man speaks are quite true, or at least close to it. But Tilian doesn't say anything else.

Knowing violence will not solve this situation Thalos stays his anger turns quickly with his hand moving to Arlanazir's back escorting her out of the cell. As the door begins to close Thalos simply says, "Then you will be fed well, and the guards will be under explicit orders until the forces of Mordor overtake this very city that you are to be kept alive." he shrugs and closes the door awaiting some kind of response.

Without another word, Arlanazir allows herself to be escorted from the cell, head raised high and not a glance backwards as she raises the handkerchief once again to her nose, stepping quickly.

Without turning back, Tilian says, "It is not upon you to decide whether I live or die. That will be decided in my trial. And until that day comes, I will not eat."

Laughing loudly, resonating through the very walls. Thalos turns towards the man, "What trial?... I am afraid it has been postponed and you will be fed by forcing it down your throat if nessecary. I didnt want to make this hard on you, but you gave me no choice." he pauses for a second. "But... co-operate with us and you will have your wish."

Tilian remains in silence. You can't see the expression on his face, since his back is toward you.

Shaking his head he looks to the ground, "Too bad..." and starts to walk towards the front entrance his echoing footsteps , fading slowly as if it were Tilian's last hope to be saved from the Fate that he worst fears slowly slipping away into the darkness