Pashaar

[Raithen Anar]

(overview )

Raithen was of the race of the Maia, and when he made Pashaar o the southern coast of Haradwaith, his main capitol, he rebuilt the city, after the soaring designs of the Ainur, and the Eldalie. He flung straight, paved roads to make movement of trade and of armies fast, building way stations for re-equipping, and water.

Pashaar, exotic, bustling, pagan, rich on gold, precious gems, spices and slaves was a vibrant, dangerous, exciting place, its harbour, as large as Umbar in the north, held shipping from any-one who cared to trade with the wealth of Harad





Tribsemen brought in horses, and camels, exotic wild beasts for the Games, mercenaries gathered there, from the jungles came tribespeople with blue black skin, and blue tatoos on their faces, behind fretted marble screens, veiled women with smoky eyes looked out from their veils, and incense billowed from the temples erected to the Dark Gods, and other deities the Haradhrim worshipped.

[Envin]

The High King of Minas Tirith was ever one for correctness and propriety, but within him still dwelt the soul of a free Ranger, and ever and anon it would burst forth, and must needs be satisfied ere it would recede. Aragorn had heard much of the tales of dangerous Pashaar, and the city seemed unto him an altogether inviting jaunt away from his duties. His wife smiled out of the corner of her mouth at him when he said he would go, and she did not like the prospect (which he knew full well but cared not), but she agreed to mind the Citadel for a fortnight or so. So he set out on a boat south, and after many days tossed upon the waves, he was put ashore several miles north of the city. He had remained on deck on the ship all the voyage, and was now beneath the searing Harad sun to boot, and his skin was a dark, dark red colour now, dark enough that mayhap he would not be known in this land, especially where few people if any knew him, disgused as he was at any rate in wayworn rags and tattered boots.

He made his way up to the gates of Pashaar in the evening, and was halted by the guards at the gate, who rudely inquired of him his business. He replied that he merely wished to take his ease away from the winds and woes of the desert, and to partake of the warm Pashaarian Ale.

[Raithen Anar]

The Guards were about to close the great Gates, there was a curfew at sundown each night, - but Pashaar was a cosmopolitan, bustling place, and all were welcome here, - in fact it was a den of vice and corruption, which well suited its King, who regarded it with wry humour.
The guards admitted the tall man, with a tossed piece of advice about the best brothels or inns to find, then a horn rang out over the city and the gates slowly boomed shut.
Pashaar never slept, at night winesellers, acrobats, ' night-moths ', sword-dancers, snake-charmers, hot-food sellers, thronged the streets, music of lyre, pipes and shawms filled the air, and the consatnt murmur of people, seeking entertainment, to buy, to sell, to get drunk, to smoke opium, to pick pockets, to kidnap for the Slave Trade , to slit throats. Above it all, loomed the great palace, seemingly aloof from its city below.

[Envin]

Aragorn passed through the gates with a wry grin, not overconfident in his disguise, but glad it had passed its first test, for with the new ruler in Harad and the upheaval in Middle-earth, the chance was highly likely that no one south of Khand had ever seen him before.

He melted into the shadows of the bustling main thoroughfare, brushed aside a fellow peddling small vials of white powder, and kicking aside a brazen whore that threw herself at him when he rounded a corner. He wrapped his cloak about him tighter, and began to smoke his pipe, adding to an air of mystery which anyone would have thought interesting if they halted long enough to comtemplate him.

He had had a fine thought during his walk to Pashaar, and now acted upon it. It was drawing late in the evening, and for a certainty the Lord of the City would ere long begin his nightly carouse, and Aragorn thought it a fine chance to see this Raithen in his element, beside enjoy a good time on his own. He snatched up a bum sleeping in a horse trough, and inquired of him where the nobility of the City drank their ales and watched their women.

The fellow was completely drunk and paid but little heed to the queries of the stranger, mumbling something about whales. Aragorn shook his head and dropped the bum, and continued on in his search. He heard the town criers proclaiming something concerning a game, and moved into a large crowd to listen.

[Raithen Anar]

( moved from games thread )

Raithen gestured into the street, ' I know of a better inn, ' he said, starting to walk, flowing around the bustling, robed citizens, the scent of spices in a amrket stall srifted over them, and then he turned onto a quieter street, houses were set back behind high walls , and he stepped up into a whitewashed inn, built around a central courtyard where a fountain played. Rich merchants frequented it, and many private rooms were closed by shutters as traders ate and drank together, and talked business.
A slave hurried forwards with a tray of food, soft cheeses, spiced meats, a dish of fruits and a carafe of dark, cold wine. Raithen sank , cross legged, on the rugs. Gesturing to the man.
' You are of the North, ' he said, with a faint smile, ' It is your eyes, sea-grey, like the ancient Atani and Noldor, - and your accent is very good, but some of the vowel sounds are Elvish, - Sindarin I think. But Pashaar welcomes all - mostly, - what would you know of it? I've been here years, ' He uncovered the veiling from his mouth to drink, but his eyes and hair were still covered

[Envin]

Aragorn followed the man, as with apparent ease he navigated the thronging crowd, almost willing them from out his way as he passed, his rich robes billowing behind him as he seemed to weave a path through the city. Strider was not named such for naught, and kept at the tall fellow's heels through the streets. He cast glances about him as they left the more squalid areas of Pashaar behind, and made their way into much more hospitable places of the city, and when they entered the inn together, a rush of cool air struck him, a welcome change from the heat and the dust of the street.

This inn was indeed much better than the previous establishment, for it was lined with velvets and with southern silks, dyed deep hues of red and purple, and the floors were covered with rugs deep and soft. The strong scents of spice and the fruit of the poppy filled the air, and curry and cinnamon thrilled Aragorn's nostrils. His companion had evidently some authority at least with the proprietors of this inn, for they knew him by sight and directed he and his comrade into a large and lavish private room on the highest level of the inn, plushly furnished, and without a moment's wait food was served. Aragorn mimicked his companion and sat upon the floor with his legs crossed, and partook of the food. The cheeses were soft, sharp, and very warm; the meats were tender and marbled with flavours of curry; and the fruits were sweet and pleasing - the coldness of the wine and the slight crispness of its taste matched the food perfectly, and provided the complete finish to a simple supper. They ate in silence for a few moments, and when Raithen posed his questions, Aragorn had only just finished his meal. He was nearly famished after his long walk to Pashaar, and completely satisfied by the food. He leant back into a lattice that covered the room from the courtyard, where sounds of Haradric music: long, wailing cries of a woman singing to a simply lyre, soothed his senses, and took from his pocket his long pipe. He filled it with his northern pipeweed, and took a long draw from it, sending clouds of smoke into the air, and replied to Raithen:

"Thy sight is keen, good sir, I am indeed from the North," he said, a smile to match Raithen's creasing the side of his mouth. "Sea-grey, say thee? And my thanks for the compliments of my accent, I have had occasion in my travels to assume other names. Elvish vowel sounds indeed, another sign of a northerner, for indeed I have passed many days among that folk. Sindarin is correct, but ananta Quenyaesse ten le méra.*" He smiled, and sent up a majestic smoke ring, followed by several smaller ones. "What would I know? It has been many a day since I have seen the strange stars of Harad; perhaps news of late happenings? I hear it said that a great lord rules here now."

(in Quenya, if thou wish)

[Raithen Anar]

' Not so many speak the High Tongue, Dundedain , ' for so he must be, of all men only the nobles of the blood of Numenor or lore-masters knew the ancient tongue. And that set his logical mind working, for , before, - long before - the War of the Ring, the Line of the Kings in Gondor had failed, - many believed the line of Elendil was wholly extinct, in fact, the Realm of Arnor broken , Gondor ruled by stewards. But it had been seen, in truth, that in the North, Elrond Half-Elven had sheltered the heirs of Isildur, through many long years, had, in fact raised the King of Gondor; Aragorn Elessar Telcontar.
' And not so many have the appearance of the Men of the West, of the House of Beor, ' he toyed with his wine, thinking, but then gave a half shrug.
' The so-called Son of the Sun sits on the Opal Throne, - but Harad is vast, you cannot conquer such a diverse kingdom which has had its tribal wars and intercinine strife since Men settled here, in a few years, - there are tribes in the deep deserts and jungles who believe no world exists beyond theirs - actually conquering it,will take many years, and still.. ' he set the wine cup aside, ' This is not Gondor, or Rohan, , where people follow one king, and honour and love that king, they have their own tribes. But they'll come to heel, ' his voice became hard, cold, ' one day. Or die. You see. the Sultans of Harad, the Sheikhs, the fat Pasha's who grow gross on sweetmeats and wine and opium, they care about ephemeral things, wealth , now, pleasure, now, and the King.. he looks further, he cannot be bribed, seduced, or softened, so he will impose his rule and his will, and give them a choice, to bow to him, - or to die, the only news from here is uprisings, here and there, petts wars flaring, the King is here for the Games, usually, he could be .. anywhere, he does not sit on his arse and let others fight for him. Rather like the King of Gondor, ' his voice was tinged in amusement, ' or so I have heard, '

[Envin]

Aragorn smiled in return. "Then thy sight is keener even that I had thought. There are but few Dunedain left in the north of the world, and in the south there are none. Thence cometh the sea-grey eyes and the soft vowels, no? Schooled in Imladris I was, with others of my family, and with Aragorn, my kinsman, who is now the King of Gondor. I have not seen him in many months, not since he took the crown." He quietly drew at his pipe again, in little, thoughtful pulls, quickly releasing smoke into the air and licking his lips. He offered the pipe to Raithen. "The Opal Throne - it is aptly named, for opulence such as this have I only seen in artwork of The Downfallen, in the height of its arrogance. Such wealth, such a teeming mass of life, the Lord of this people, when he has taken all of them in hand, would be a power of powers. What sort of a man is he? For I have known precious few of the rulers of Harad. A calculating fellow he is, I am sure - to have designs over such an expanse as this. He should be present at the Games, will he not? I may catch a glimpse of him there." He poured for himself another glass of cool wine and drank it slowly, his grey eyes intent upon his companion.

[Raithen Anar]

He accepted the deflection with grace, ' Imladris, ' he murmured, he had never seen it, when Elros founded it and after, when he had weilded one of the Three Rings, it had been hidden from almost all.
' Ah yes, the Numenoreans, - I think they almost could have ruled all the world had they not fallen, but if you walk the coastlnads of harad, you will see ancient ruins, some used as foundations for younger ones, like this, and Umbar, - they had settlements on the coasts, long ago, and left many legends, of the Men from the Sea, tall and grey eyed, and stern , with their mighty ships. ' he accepted the pipe, and then handed it back, with a nod.

' The King will be at the Games, yes, and may show some skills, the crowd like lie - of course they like anything bloodthirsty. But there will be contests of skill, archery - although nothing approaching the skills of the Eldar, javelins, discuss, wrestling, unarmed combat, horsemanship, strength, agility, acrobatics, - as well as the fights betwen the gladiators, or any-one who chooses to come. It's an ancient tradition, Dunedain, - mayhap even begun by the Numenoreans, in their years of power, when they were becoming more proud, more cold, - save the Faithful - and curing it all fueds, all wars are void, even enemies may partake, and for the week of the Games, are no longer enemies, disputes can be settled in the arena. ' he sat back, comfertable in his cross legged position.
' I have heard of some of the northern rulers, ' he went on, ' Not of Gondor or Arnor, or Rohan, however, ' his voice eased into a faint , chill amusement ' As you no doubt know, since the route at the Pelennor, mens ears here are tuned to the thunder in the north, - only rumours came this far south, of the terror and wrath of Gondor and Rohan. They fear the Men of the Northlands and hate them. ' he considered, ' this King has plans but they are long term, - and never to follow the ruinous steps of the Dark Lords, ruling slaves, a black land, ugly and dead. He is of - so they say - the Ainur, or the Eldar, no-one is sure, the terrible people of the Bright Eyes, of the uttermost West anyway - and sees things with the sight of millenia, and with an appreciation for , ' he shrugged, ' beauty, - although I agree, this is rather a.... overpoweringly baroque opulence. But the newer buildings, you might find familiar, their tall ilnes are more Elven, more graceful. Bt he is not, ' he ammended ' an easy man to understand, or to know, '

[Envin]

"Harad has rich histories - that much at the least a humble man of the north may easily discern. But that they can easily see the remnants of Numenor upon their own lands, but still fear their descendants should perhaps be enough to give our good Sun of the Son pause concerning the general ... brightness of this folk." He sighed and took another draw from the pipe. "But he is a busy fellow, I am sure - little enough time to ... discourage hatred of the North-men. His time is likely better spent into an attempt to make an entire race something they are not. For I had indeed seen the newer buildings erected upon the old foundations in Pashaar, unmistakably like those of the Eldalie are they. Unmistakably foreign to the Haradrim. They must certainly enjoy the Northern culture their King is bringing to them, especially given how much love they hold for the North."

His pipe was out, and he very purposely tapped out his northern pipeweed into the salavar of southern wine that sat upon the table, and the bit of wine left turned swiftly black. He refilled his pipe and lit it, and caught up the carafe, swirling it gently in his hand.

"This wine was itself, what it had been for as long as it could remember. But introduce something foreign into it - enough of something foreign - and the wine no longer knows itself. It is now more difficult to find the wine, more difficult to taste - to control - it."

He leant again back into the lattice, as for a moment they were silent, listening to the song in the courtyard, replaced now by a man's voice, high and piercing, without music.

"These games do sound interesting indeed, and thou'rt correct: the Eldar would never have taken delight in such bleak carnage - 'twas the waning Numenoreans in their lust for entertainment of a carnal sort, once they opened themselves to their baser natures, who first held a tournament such as this. A tribute to thy folk's high esteem of Numenor that they would follow their example. But, as for thy King's plans for Haradwaith, to not make slaves of these folk is perhaps the wiser choice. For certainly, with all of the marvelous changes he is making in these parts, they will follow him of their own free will. He will not need thralls." He took a sip of the wine. "I can taste naught but pipeweed."

[Raithen Anar]

There was amusement in Raithens eyes but they were hidden by the veiling, as he listened, ' Corrupting... is so much more of a challenge than itter enslavement, or so I have always thought, ' he murmured, ' people are very much like sheep, but their culture....they respect only the strong, their women... ' he shrugged, ' are thralls practically, owned by their husbands , fathers or masters, not as the women of the Eldar are respected, I think. ' he clapped his hands and spoke to a slave, who entered with a small glass bottle of some smokey brown, fiery liquif
' Sheen to warm the heart,' he quoted, ' someimes something foreign and too strong, burns going down, like this, - but then created an almost numbing warmth , '

[Envin]

"Ah, but should one steel oneself against aught foreign," he took the bottle after Raithen partook, and opening his throat wide he poured the remainder straight into his stomach, and felt none of the sting. "then one would feel naught of it, and be only the angrier at the introduction. To corrupt an entire people, merely for one's whims, will require many, many a year, and even so, not all will ever be completely swayed. Many will have steeled themselves, and once the king thinks himself secure, and begins to look beyond his borders, he will be forced to look within them again, for the steel shall harden itself and make its presence known. And who knows? Mayhap it shall have aid from without the realm. One must think of all options if one is to rule. Therefore, as a matter of course, the Son of the Sun always thinks of all options, I have no doubt."

[Raithen Anar]

' That he does, ' he murmured, thoughtfully, ' and you are quite correct, Men are not so easy to bend, sometimes it is like finding a seam of iron embedded in what you thought was soft limestone, easy to carve into whatever shape you wish.
But he has Time, he has not existed so long by walking blindly into the same errors as Morgoth Bauglir, long ago, or Sauron. '
Night had fallen, but the roar of the city was unabated, although this street was calmer, outside a water seller clanged his dipper against his copper water jug , a distant sound of temple drums was heard .
And in the shadows, moved the cut purses, the slavers, the assassins and bully-boys, drunken sailors up from Pashaars' great and cosmopolitan harbour, who would end up dead drunk in some tavern wearing only their boots, the ' Night moths ' and the beggars .

' What is Gondor like now? ' he asked, suddenly, ' The South Kingdom was failing over a long time, until Aragorn Elessar took the throne, I hear rumors that it grows strong militarily, '

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Morsereg walked through the streets after having signed up for the games, robed in black with the hood drawn up over his head, deeply concealing his face. From any and all angles he would merely look like a helpless traveller. Unless he had to prove otherwise.

The city was an intricate design, and not much could be said about that. He was walking slowly, lost in thought, as he bumped into a tall, burly man. The man whipped around, looking at the hooded Morsereg, who merely continued walking. "And where do you think YOU'RE going?" The man demanded in a gruff voice, placing his hand on Morsereg's shoulder to whip him around.

In an instant Morsereg turned around, a mess of black robe, and from within his robe he drew his sword. He ran it through the mans stomach, coming close enough so that he could see Morsereg's face, causing the man to freeze. Among the many tribes that inhabited Haradwaith, there were a few whom had news of the far north, and knew of Morsereg Dindaedel, the Shadow of the North, as they had come to call him.

He drew his sword out, quickly sheathing it and walking away from the dead body, greeting many stares as he walked on in the night. He soon made it to an inn, surprisingly one in the same as where Raithen and Aragorn sat, and Morsereg's eye traveled to the King of Gondor. He knew not who he was just yet, but had heard tales of Aragorn Elessar of Gondor. There was a regal air about the man whom he stared at, and an even more impressive air about the one who sat across from him. He would need to watch these two, most definately.

So he came to sit at a table not far from theirs, and began to delve into his own thoughts.

[Envin]

Aragorn nodded with a smile, listening to the comparisons of the King to Melkor and Sauron, and the implied age of the King. He drew at his pipe. "Men will ever prove hardier than even themselves know. For that is their nature, and an offset to the Gift of Death given them by our good Father. Like a disease they can be, spreading at will and ever adapting to change. Tricky enough even for a Maia - should one ever wish to rule a land of Men, I should say."

He turned his head toward the lattice, and took in the smell of the night in Pashaar, the itch of the dust was gone from his nose now, though the spice remained and the opium was even stronger. The serving-girl entered timidly, almost frightened, and asked in a meek voice if the gentlemen would care for aught else. Aragorn asked for more of her delicious cheese, and asked if they had any ale. She cast him an odd look but answered in the affirmative, then turned to Raithen for anything he might desire.

"Gondor, sayest thou," he asked his comrade after several draws from his pipe in silence. "It had reached the zenith of its power a score of years ago, and then with the failing of the line, indeed its glory was diminished, but now it has returned to much of its former strength and majesty. My cousin Estel, Aragorn, I should say, has seen to that, I suppose. It is fair and it is beautiful. Thou shouldst see the towers and the streets of Minas Tirith! Such gleaming white stone, marvelously carved after the fashion of Andunie! Such art in even the simplest of things! But militarily? Not as such, though the Host of the West still remains strong. Defenses have been strengthened and lands fortified, and the Army of Gondor is not comprised of children, if that clarifies my meaning. A force to be reckoned with, even without aid, is Gondor, I must indeed say. And its folk are happy. They are content. They have lived in the same wise for ages upon count, and the introduction of a king whose values and intents are the same as his people's has only strengthened their lives and the bond with their ruler."

Aragorn's senses were perhaps the most heightened of any Atani in Middle-earth, due in part to his lineage, but also his days of hardihood in the wild, and it should be no surprise that as a dark figure in a black cloak entered the Inn, he at once caught the scent of blood from him. Yet he displayed no surprise, remaining calm in his seat. Years of the wilderness had taught him much, and fantastically he managed to eye the stranger often, yet making it nearly impossible to catch. The cloak, he knew easily, was none of Harad, and the cut of the boots and the tip of a sword-sheath poking from the cloak were in the style of the north. Few from Eriador wore black. Angmar? Surely not. It would bear watching, at the least.