Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplays/@comment-26210095-20170418205753/@comment-26210095-20170503014402

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote: @Pat did you ever respond to Cirion talking with Ithilbor or did I just miss it? (Idk. If you could find that, I'd be much obliged) This was the last post.

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

ChazmanianDevil wrote: A hooded man arrives in the swamps around the mouth of the anduin, asking to meet the chieftain of the men there. He is met by Ithilbor, the governor of the small province, who rules over the native people. I doubt it would be considered important enough to be a province. Is Ithilbor a government official set up by Lebinnin or the leader of the local people? Eh, local army garrison leader? So the leader of the locals? Okay.

The cloaked man approaches him. "Is there somewhere we can speak in private." "Absolutely, but for what reason you wish to speak or who you are is still unknown to me." "Thank you." When they arrive in private the man takes of his hand do revealing himself to be... Cirion, the captain of the Sealord's personal guard. "Who are you, again? Oh, I've seen you around the High Admiral, right?" "Indeed. We'd like to, discuss your loyalties in the coming times." "My loyalty is to... uh... the King? or the Queen? Whoever it is these days, I can't keep track." "Indeed. It is a queen now. Might I ask your age?" "Fifty-three years. I've spent the last twelve years on this miserable damned swamp, having to keep the locals in line." "I see. Where are you from?" (So he's like the mini governor of the area.) "Was born in Osgilliath. Never knew my mother, I enlisted into the army when I was fifteen." "You seem like a man with ambitions, so let me let you in on a little secret. The queen's reign is going to be a very short one." A reminder Pat. "I'm listening." "She's surrounded on all sides by enemies. The revolution is inevitable. When it does come, you can be open of two people. You can stay here as a forgotten officer. Or you can ride at the head of a new Gondor, and be hailed as a hero. And when we have secured the freedom of our people, you can rise to the top. The choice is yours." "Define 'to the top'" "How does lord of Osgiliath sound?" "It's a start." He says calmly, but his look betrays his exitement. "How many soldiers you got here, and are they loyal?" Pat. "A garrison of five-hundred men. In days of peace, we had two thousand, but they left north for the war. They're loyal enough." "That's quite enough. Now before we begin there's one other man I need to speak with. The local people here, the farmers and the fishermen. Bring the wisest and most respected of them to me. We'll need their assistance." "I do. Of course, there are a few local cheiftains and whatnot, but I'm the governor." "Yes. Legally. But that is about to change, as you will soon be assigned to a higher station. In the meantime you are a foreigner, and only their leader because of a royal decree, which means little to them. Allow me to speak with them." "You are free to do so. There are a few on this island, as well as on the others. They're no more then the rulers of small villiages, but if youd like to speak to them, feel free." "Thank you."

A few hours later they are all gathered in a small house for the meeting. "I suppose you're wondering why I've brought you here." They all remain silent, waiting for the messanger to explain himself. "Good morning. Men of the anduin. I am Cirion, servant of the Sealord off Pelargir. As you may know, the realm of Gondor is at war. King Aragost was an oppressor and a tyrant, and the woman he has named in his place is worse still, a dealer in dark magic and foul whispers. For years your people have been even neglected. Shunted to the side in the face of Gondorian progress and Numenorean superiority. Passed from province to province as a bargaining chip. No longer. Today I ask for your allegiance, and your men and assistance of fighting n this war on the side of the rebels. In return, you will pay tribute to no one but yourselves and the people of Gondor, and at every council you will represent yourselves. No fiefdom will be your ruler. Tell me men of the river, what is your answer?" "You are no more then another foreign opressor." One says with a spit. "You promise this, promise that, yet, once your goals have been achieved, we are discarded to the side. How can we trust the word of a Gondorian?" He shrugs. "How about I cut off a finger?" They murmur amongst themselves. Oaths, sanctified with blood, are paramount to their society. "Do I have your agreement?" "You have the loyalty of our clans." He says, yet waits for him to make the blood-oath.