Satiated Desires [Open]

[Durion]

“File in.”

Those had been the two words that Durion, son of Daeron had been longing to hear all day. It was the middle of the summer, and being this far south made it unbearable for him to be out in the sun of The Pelennor. Not because it was particularly unbearable. But he was a man of fair features; it would be much too hard to appeal to the women of Minas Tirith if that changed due to over exposure to the sun.

Being tanned, in Durion’s humble—or perhaps not-so-humble—opinion was a sign of the lower class. Those that didn’t have the money to keep themselves properly indoors and out of the sun. That was, after all, what servants were for. It was a horrendous disgrace to have to stay out in the Field all day long. Working for Gondor seemed like a pathetic pastime anyway. Why did the Steward not just surrender over to Mordor? It was not like they had the means to beat them.

From the way they had been working, it was clear that some sort of foul play had gone on. More orcs, more than likely, had been spotted in their lands. Simply something the people should become accustomed to, seeing as to how Sauron would reign over the White City in the near future.

Either way, the troops had turned their mounts and headed back through the gate. That was, however, just about as far as Durion was willing to head. Still, before he went anywhere, he had to put the blasted beast back in its stall. The feral thing, it had tried to buck him at least four times today. Master Faeldor was not sound in his horses.

Of course, lately, it hadn’t appeared the man was sound in anything. He grinned a bit to himself, as they continued the climb. Oh, his recent ministrations he had begun with Faeldor’s lovely sister, Miriel, had turned out quite beautifully. He had heard Faeldor and the loathsome little wench had reconciled. No matter. They had torn them apart before…it wouldn’t take long to do it over.

Miriel, of course, ws furious on the matter. Oh, what faith she seemed to lack. Durion was unmatched in his treachery. She should know that. It was, after all, what had attracted her in the first place.

He had put away his horse quickly; a better term probably being shoved. It fought and whinnied and reared the entire time. But it wasn’t Durion who was going to have to deal with it now. He left the stables, eager for some time to himself, doing something he wished to do.

To satiate himself. With some ale, and perhaps a woman. He had promised Miriel that he would not mess with any others. But, how would she know the difference? The lower tiers were full of rats that paraded as women. He was, then, not reneging on his vow. Not that his word meant anything. There was, perhaps, no loyal bone in his handsome body.

And so, he had traveled all the way to the third tier to take a mug of ale. As soon as it had been given to him, he sat himself down in the corner of the tavern to watch the crowd. As of right then, the game was on.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

"You failed me Khamul. That man who escaped your grasp has likely informed the steward of your presence. However, you are lucky. The Steward is weak, and not as wise as he leads people to believe. No... his reaction will not endanger my plans. For now, then, you shall remain unpunished. For I have another task for you..."

"Yes, my Lord Sauron? How can I further your will?"

"Khamul... the man we have been searching for... he still needs to be found. However, I doubt he will be roaming around alone outside the city. So I need you inside."

"But my Lord! The people of Gondor would know my nature on sight! I can enter the city, but I'd be targeted as soon as I slipped inside!"

"I realize this, Khamul. I have a solution, however. I shall conceal your identity, at least for now. The Witch-King shall help with this. When you awake from this sleep, you shall look to all intents and purposes a normal man. I shall also muffle your aura of fear. However, this will not last forever. You will have three days to find the man. On the end of the third day, you will return to the form of a Nazgul, and will be a wraith forever more..."

-----------------------

Khamul awoke.

The magic-induced slumber was more a vision then true sleep. As it were, Nazgul could not sleep.

The conversation Khamul had with his Dark Lord sparked a feeling of joy, a feeling which he had not felt since the S.A. His lord had promised him humanity! Although temporary, it would be bliss. Speaking of which...

He looked down at his hands, and gasped. They were covered in flesh, and visible to boot! He felt his face, and whooped! Khamul, for three days, would be human once more. Near him, a stream made its way through the forest. He sprinted over to it, and grinned. The face of a handsome man in his mid twenties, with short brown hair, and bright blue eyes, grinned back.

Khamul walked down the stream's path, to where his horse was waiting. When it came in view, he laughed again. His lord had not mentioned he would change his horse as well! In the place of the obviously evil steed he rode was a brown stallion. It reminded him of the horse he rode as a King....

He walked to it, and prepared to mount it. However, he glanced to his side, where he had hid the bodies of the soldiers he had slain. He approuched the bodies, and began to ruffle through them. There should be a sutible set of clothes and chainmail in there somewhere....

-----------------

Khamul stepped into the tavern of the third tier.Now clad in an assortment of dark leather, chainmail, and a platemail cuirass, He looked every bit the part of a free lance adventurer. Exactly the look he wanted.

As he walked through the tavern, he flashed smilies at women, winked, and generally acted like a total flirt. He was a man for three days... Sauron's work be damned! He'd enjoy himself today, and search in the following two days.

He walked up to the bar, where the owner was busy serving drinks to his patrons. Khamul pushed himself through the people, and ordered himself a mug of the finest alcohol in the place. When he recieved it, he paid with the money he had recovered from the soldiers.

As he enjoyed himself, Khamul pushed the thoughts of what Sauron would do to him if he found out he ignored his work for a day to the back of his head. Traitorous calvarymen could wait. Alcohol, women, and fun, things he barely thought of for over 4000 years... they couldn't. Not anymore.

[Durion]

This particular evening, it had been somewhat of a bland selection of women. A few there he knew well; though, it was no game if such things had already been won. It was a night to try something new, vivacious, and intriguing. To test his mastery in cloaking his crookedness. He took another swig of ale, letting his brown eyes rove over the crowd once more. No, he thought with a sigh. But the night is young yet. The upper-classmen was not pressed for time in the least. The sun had barely set. The true women of interest would be due in later that evening. And what Miriel did not know, would cause her no harm.

He set his mug down, and a movement of chain mail caught his eye. The handsome man turned fully to study the newcomer. It was clear by what he wore he was a member of the guard; at least on some level of service. The White Tree of the city spread its branches high, and its roots low--a false representation of what Gondor truly was. Nothing more than a broken city awaiting it's demise. And Durion was not going to lose everything. He was prepared.

His steady gaze held for a moment as he turned to the man's face. Any woman would agree that his own features matched Durion's in appeal. By simply walking in the door brandishing a smile and jolly eye he had taken the interest of a few of the harlots and trash that were keeping hours at the tavern that evening. But above all of this, his face was unfamiliar. He looked like no other he had seen in service before. Durion would not have let such a rival in handsome-ness escape his radar, for the man was unspeakably vain.

However, his vanity did not lead him to jealousy at that moment. It was a curiosity, even a bit of an intrigue. He took another swig of ale and let his thoughts wander. It would be quite a twist on the game to add a second player. Indeed, by the look the man was showing as he approached the bar for his own drink, he was already acquainted with the rules. Womanizing was a fine and delicate work. The slightest mistake, and the woman would leave. Though, for Durion, most of the thrill came from fooling them all into thinking he was anything but the twisted and dark man he was.

Just to prove Anira wrong.

Oh, and he had proved her wrong a near twelve times---in the past month.

He flagged down the bartender, and motioned with his head to the newest entry to the tavern. "Send him an ale. On me. He looks as if he could use a good drink." He seemed to have a quite a bit in common with that one. At least on first glance. However, to simply waltz up to someone and invite them to partake? That was not his style. Durion held a finesse to his treachery. He would reel this man into his competition gracefully and effortlessly. The ladies of the third tier did not stand a chance this night.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

"Say that again?"

Khamul turned slightly, eyeing the bartender. He had approached Khamul, with a tankard of ale. "On who?"

The barkeep motioned over his shoulder, towards a man sitting in a corner of the tavern. Khamul took the ale, and waved him away, staring intently at the man who seemed to be so generous. Having been around for four thousand years, Khamul realized that when a total stranger buys you a drink, and you are not a woman, then obviously the buyer wants something. Or, has an offer.

It was obvious by the look of him that this man was high class. Noble, perhaps. What intrigued Khamul was the aura that surrounded him. It wasn't your typical wholesome Gondorian feeling that emitted from his person. There was something else. Even with his sorcery at an all time low, Khamul could tell there was something different about this man. Something that drew him towards him...

He stood from his stool, and began to make his way towards the man. A unwholesome excuse for a woman tried to stop him, an act Khamul responded with a slight shove, and continued to the man.

Khamul stopped before the man's table, and thumped his tankard onto the table with a rather loud clank. He remained standing however, simply staring at the man. His grin was gone, replaced with a much more buisness worthy face.

[Durion]

The barkeeper had delivered the mug right away, and Durion immediately saw the shadow of confusion that seemed to wash over the other's face as he accepted it. It was entirely amusing; indeed very few men would have changed demeanors so quickly. He knew many womanizers---they were common amongst the lower level swine---but non would have parted with their drink or their female accompaniment for any time long enough to do such deal seeking.

It could have been wishful thinking, but Durion was fairly certain there was something about this man that reflected his own darkened soul, and it made the man offer an even more crooked smile to the man as he came over. It was not necessarily directed to him, for it was oft that he would smile at things that were entirely un-amusing to many; though Durion did not care much how it was interpreted. After all, he was a resident of the sixth tier, wealthy and outstanding in the community. Nothing in the way of lower-class men could harm his situation any. They were all simply pawns. And pawns were indeed useful for play.

He turned back to his ale, awaiting the man to speak, though he did not do so. Finally he flashed his eyes back to the newcomer. "I have not seen you here before," he mulled in a rather charming, though somewhat sinister manner. "Good sir, I do insist that we make acquaintances." He motioned to the bar stool beside him, and took another sip of his ale.

While he awaited the man to seat himself, the man's eyes did well to study him. It was strange attire for a night at the tavern. Chain mail he wore, and a tunic that was mostly reserved for the on-duty hours of the day. There was a chance that this man was indeed blowing off a bit of a rough day by such a visit, though Durion doubted it a slight.

He nodded toward the Khamul and added, "You're a member of the guard? It is strange that I have not seen you before. I am a member of the cavalry." It was calm, almost off-handed; but Durion's words were never wasteful. He was trying to learn as much as he could before moving forward. The only way for him to truly assess the man's worth in his "game" was to be certain they were like-minded.

Sometimes things seemed to just fall right out of the sky and land right before you. First it had been Miriel, who had led him to quite a fun new hobby of toying and straining the relationship her dear Faeldor held with that servant woman from the palace. Tonight, it was a man who seemed to be a bit on the grey side. Wonders just did not cease. "My name is Durion," He offered another smile and then awaited the man's reply.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

At this nobleman's gesture, Khamul took his place on the stool, taking his ale in hand as he did so. The noble's words rang strangely in Khamul's ears. It was almost... sinister, the way the man spoke. This gave Khamul reason to belive his initial assumption was correct, the noble was hiding something beneath a cloak of wealth. However, he had not the time to search for this. It was a mystery that would remain unsolved. Not that it would need to be, fore when Sauron regained all strength, this man would die alongside the rest of the animals of Gondor.

The immortal noticied the noble's eyes began searching him as he sat, but Khamul ignored this. Typical buisness man behavior... at least it was so long ago. Of course, buisness never really changed...

"You're a member of the guard? It is strange that I have not seen you before. I am a member of the cavalry."

Khamul's eyes twitched, something he regarded with disgust. One of the few flaws of having a body. Facial expressions could be read easily. He had not anticipated this question, at all. He figured no one would give a care if a guard walked in...

"Indeed. A guardsman I am."

As he said this, Khamul realized exactly what the noble said. Calvary. Coincidence? Or luck? Perhaps fate. Either way, if this man was a calvalier, then he knew the dissenter. Gondor had but one Calvary unit, so the chance of this man not knowing the traitor was miniscule. Perhaps KHamul would move his task foraward, and enjoy the night.

"It is strange indeed... But you are of the calvary? I'm sorry."

Not really. Khamul could care less if the noble had one of Gondor's most lifethreatening jobs in the military.

"Pleased to make your aquaintence, Durion. My name is Korvaun." The name was the first he could think of, taken from memory of a man he had overheard in the streets. It would do for now.

[Durion]

The man was quite easy to read, which both pleased and disappointed the son of Daeron. The game, after all, was no fun without the thrill of the challenge. But something that can be read so easily left no room for failure. Surely this was someone fate had willed to cross his paths; though to what purpose, Durion could no longer decipher. He had originally flagged the man down to speak with him on the matter of women, though something within him made him think that by chance there was something more in common than love of ladies.

A different game altogether. The very thought made Durion's mind begin to work on all such pleasant matters--or, at least matters that were pleasing to him. Very few others would have found entertainment in the things that passed through his mind, but the man was a twisted and warped individual, who aside in appearance was no man at all.

"It is strange indeed... But you are of the calvary? I'm sorry."

This made Durion's own smile fade slightly, though his eyes seemed glimmer with the hidden meaning that he seemed to find in such a statement. Though, he would need be careful in such an answer. If, in fact, he was wrong as to the desires of this man, then he could bring himself worlds of trouble by a blatant answer. So he settled for something much more discrete and tactful. "Yes. Some would fear the darkening of the days." It sent a slight tingle though his spine to know that he had covered himself and revealed himself in such a fine way. Mind games were things that Durion greatly enjoyed.

"Pleased to make your aquaintence, Durion. My name is Korvaun."

Korvaun? Durion held in a dark laugh. The name sounded foreign to the man before him; though it was not going to get him too far if he revealed it to this Korvaun that he found his name strange from his tongue. "Well, Korvaun. It is a great pleasure to meet you," he raised his mug of ale in a slight toast and downed another sip.

He flashed his eyes to the side once more and shifted once more. "Do you come to this tavern often?" He asked aside. This was of course, meant to lead him in the direction that Durion was aware of the falsity, though subtly. Durion's family was indisputably the richest in the city--he virtually owned the people. His money and charm could get him anywhere or anything. He liked to play with those who were lower.

This man could very well be a new player. If he was? Durion needed to make sure he was still on top. At least down here.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

He brought his drink to his lips, sipping a bit of the ale before he thought on the noble's response.

"Yes. Some would fear the darkening of the days."

Well of course they would. Who in this miserable city wouldn't? At least, what intelligent being wouldn't? When Khamul first arrived, it was quite obvious the skyline was dark and stormy above the mountains. Anyone with brains would fear the coming darkness.

However, the way the man said this hinted at a deeper meaning. As if he was reaching for something. Khamul answered this with a double meaning of his own...

"Aye, who wouldn't? The shadow of Mordor grows great upon the horizon.. Only a fool would not realize the grave nature of this." Khamul's expression darkened... but his eyes grew brighter. Depending on how this was read, a multitude of conclusions could be drawn. 'Korvaun' was afraid... or perhaps a tad... excited.

"Well, Korvaun. It is a great pleasure to meet you."

Khamul returned the toast he recieved, taking another sip of his own. Although it was not the best of the stuff that Khamul had ever tasted, four thousand years generally blurred any line that was drawn between cheap and kingly alchohols, so it mattered little to him.

"Do you come to this tavern often?"

He would have snickered, but held it in. Khamul knew a card had been played... just not which one. It was obvious from the offhand nature of the question that the dealer knew his deck quite well, however. In any other situation, Khamul would have responded with a deck of his own... but now?

"This would be the first time for awhile. The chance to come here rarely comes, with a posting like mine." He knew he played a card the noble had a counter too. But that was the intent, of course.

[Durion]

"Aye, who wouldn't? The shadow of Mordor grows great upon the horizon.. Only a fool would not realize the grave nature of this."

Oh, delightful. If there had been any doubt in Durion's mind that this man was not quite what he had assumed, all such thoughts vanished from his mind. It did appear that the gentleman, this Korvaun, had well joined his game. "Greater, perhaps, than the Steward realizes." He replied nonchalantly. Of course, laced in his velvety voice were traces of yet another double meaning. If there was one thing Durion despised it was physical confrontation. Such manipulative and witty use of one's mind, though, could prove superior to any exerted strength.

Something that many had to learn.

His thoughts turned momentarily to the Stable Master, and a foul taste seemed to appear on the back of his tongue. Indeed Faeldor had oft beaten him in physical matters when they were young. Though, Durion had grown in both body and mind; now, perhaps, he could best him in his own manipulative matters, though probably not by brute force. His thoughts turned away once more as he studied the newcomer once again.

"This would be the first time for awhile. The chance to come here rarely comes, with a posting like mine."

Ah, he did not come here often. Durion was greatly amused by such blatant statements. It was quite clear that this man was intent on playing. "I do understand such things. Days are long and hard, for the enemy grows ever stronger," he paused a moment and then asked, "I am interested, sir, in what precisely your posting is." He was, after all, quite acquainted with all of the useful pawns of the city. For such entertainment as he desired, it was best to have many people to call upon. This particular citizen did seem that he would be quite a useful edition to his collections of connections. If ever he needed more help to, say, cause someone to lose a position, or set them up for some greater demise, well. This man seemed to fit the bill nicely. Though, such treachery had to be tested.

And testing was something Durion did quite nicely. Though, how was he to do such in this setting? What could he possibly use to test such like-mindedness? He let his eyes flick around, until the window of the tavern caused him to smile. Across the street was a small little house---one that he had never set foot into, though knew intimately. It belonged to a rather detestable servant woman, and her poor parents. The one who had been the subject of much of his entertainment this week past; indeed, her new workload and father's unemployment displayed this well.

His eyes flashed back to the man before him, and he pondered a moment more. If this man would not mind playing such tricks for the sake of his own enjoyment, they would get along quite nicely. "I must say, the women of the third tier are quite lowly." Of course there were many women in the area that were busy throwing themselves at the men of the tavern, waiting to be taken home. Harlots, after all, were commonplace in the lower levels. While the third tier had very few in respect to the second and third, there were plenty present to make such a statement not seem so outlandish.

"I do not wish to be so nosey," he lulled in a velvety tone. "Though, I do feel as if I simply must ask." He let his face adopt a look of pseudo concern. "I do know a man. He is a dear friend of mine," this was quite the brazen lie, and if the man was as shadowed as Durion believed, he would see this immediately. "I do believe that a harlot has taken great interest in him. I am ever so concerned." Tracings of a smile shone in his brown eye. "Whatever would you do in such a situation? It has weighed heavy on my heart, and this ale has made it simply unbearable." Yet another lie. He had not taken much in the way of drink at all. Though, if the man replied with what he wished to hear, this would prove an absolutely wonderful evening.

Manipulative matters were something that Durion excelled in. It did appear that this Korvaun was quite the same.

[Khamûl the Easterling]

"I would agree. Night has fallen, and yet the Steward stays out to play." Oh, was Khamul happy with that. It was the perfect veiled statement... Mordor's power is nigh complete, and the fool thinks he can stand against it. It was brilliant. At least, in Khamul's opinion.

"I am interested, sir, in what precisely your posting is."

Khamul let escape a small smirk, the corner of his smile rising slightly. "Ah, my posting. I've been assigned to run patrols along the Pelennor. A dull posting, if you ask me. Although, it appears to be a bit more... dangerous as of late. Perhaps you've heard of the dissiperences?" He knew not if the Steward had been informed by the boy that had escaped. If he had, surely the noble would know....

Nodding in agreement of the noble's comment of the tier's women, Khamul waited for Durion to continue. Such a man had no reason to comment on such, unless...

"I do believe that a harlot has taken great interest in him. I am ever so concerned. Whatever would you do in such a situation?

Ah yes. A 'friend.' To Khamul, it was obvious the man was lieing through his teeth, but he figured he would indulge him. After all, this could potentially form into something quite entertaining.

"Well, Durion. If I were in your position, I would use my influence to convince the harlot to stop her advances. A bribe, perhaps. The poor are so greedy these days. The fewest of coins can make them change their minds. Of course, a threat works nicely. If, however, neither worked? More... how you say, unfavorable, methods could be used."

[Durion]

"I would agree. Night has fallen, and yet the Steward stays out to play."

Durion’s lips curled into a smile that was a bit amused in appearance. This, it seemed, was quite an extraordinary statement. “Night has certainly settled,” Durion agreed taking another hearty sip of his ale. He let his brown eyes drift around the room once more before taking another look at the guardsman. “Though, I do suppose the Steward does not stay out to play,” his smile turned a bit coy and harsh, though his gentlemanly air did not vanish. “He rather enjoys sending out others to do his bidding.”

Such as his own sons. Though, truly, would Durion have done it differently? Perhaps the Steward was no more than a coward like himself. Such a thought occupied his mind for some moments before he moved onward.

“Ah, my posting. I've been assigned to run patrols along the Pelennor.”

“A dull posting indeed,” Durion replied easily. “Though one with more danger than my own. You must have heard of the Nazgul that has taken our lands by force.” He said the last few words lowly. As a member of the cavalry, he had been informed of the presence of the creature. Something, or someone depending on what you thought of such tortured men, that he was certain he was supposed to meet.

It had not been easy to convince himself to go after the Black-Rider. It was going to take all of Durion’s bravery. But what did he have to fear? The Dark Lord was his own master as well. Certainly death would not come from his messenger?

His thoughts were once more interrupted, though immediately Durion was pleased by the outcome. “More... how you say, unfavorable, methods could be used."

“I am glad that we have the same heart, Korvaun.” Durion’s smile twisted to something far greater and more sinister than anything he had shown previous. It was a way to reveal his trust in this newfound guard. “And that you understand the…dangerous nature that comes with being involved with a commoner.” This was not entirely something that Durion believed. He, after all, did a great share of gallivanting and parading amongst the lower tiers looking for some sort of satiation to his carnal urges and desires. Still, it was a perfect grounds to pry and work with anyone’s life. Something that the son of Daeron adored more than anything else in the world.

He took another sip of ale and then added offhandedly, “If my own…urges do not persuade my friend to still his advancements, I may seek your help.” Durion, in truth, did not share his manipulative business often. He preferred to work alone—though in part this was simply due to the fact he could never find any to share his enjoyment with. Miriel had worked for a while, but they had not done much planning as of late; it seemed that perhaps she had not been as forceful as he had originally thought. There was something about this man, though, that made him entertain the thought. Yes, it would be nice to have some sort of partner in crime.

“But enough of such talk,” again. Appearances were important. “Tell me what has brought you here this eve.”

[Khamûl the Easterling]

Khamul snickered. Indeed, the noble was dead on. The Steward used a great many pawns to do his own dirty work... quite like Khamul's own Lord Sauron. However, Sauron had no physical form, pawns such as Khamul were needed. Denethor, however, was flesh and blood. Such a mortal had no excuses to hide behind his followers... such as those foolish sons of his, Boromir and Faramir. The blasted captains were a constant thorn in the Dark Lord's side... however, one that would be removed quite soon.. preferably by Khamul's own blade. Just like those scouts in the Woods.

Speaking of which...

"You must have heard of the Nazgul that has taken our lands by force.”

"Aye, Durion. Indeed I have. In fact, I have seen the Nazgul with my own to eyes. I was unaware that the Steward had made his presence known to the calvary... I trust he has not told the rank and file, however. Men such as you and I, we can cope with such details, those pitiful guardsmen? Not so much.... Bloody fools." The last two words were uttered under his breath, though Khamul figured the noble heard them. No matter. Durion obviously hated the guard, if not half the city.

“If my own…urges do not persuade my friend to still his advancements, I may seek your help.”

A menacing grin to match Durion's own flashed across Khamul's face. Such words were dripping with venom.

"Well, my friend, my sword is yours, when the time comes then." To anyone listening, Khamul would simply be swearing fealty to Durion... Between the two of them, however, it would be obviously he wasn't... he was simply offering to sheath his blade in anyone's back should he ask.

He took another drink of his ale, before turning back to answer Durion's question.

“Tell me what has brought you here this eve.”

"A man like me, I rarely get the chance to simply relax and enjoy myself. Dodging the blades and arrows of your average goblin raiders is not particularly relaxing, in all honesty. So, I came to enjoy a rare day off, and perhaps finish some buisness."

[Durion]

There was a wonder that overcame Durion’s face in that moment. “You have laid eyes upon the Rider?” His voice was light enough, laced a bit with honest apprehension. Still, his own brown eyes were not truly feared in expression or light. It was a sickening and twisted adoration and intrigue. Part of him, as strange as it seemed, had an inkling that the Dark Lord himself desired to contact him. Perhaps this was not the case; though, Durion felt that a sighting of such magnitude seemed a bit strange indeed. A being of such power was not sent to simply kill and destroy. I was a message of sorts. But what?

“It is true that the common men of the city cannot deal with such a knowledge,” Durion continued rather lightly. “Only a select few have come to know; it is by my position I have learned of it. I cannot say that the Steward has truly announced it to any---it was a mere stroke of luck that I heard the news myself.”

"Well, my friend, my sword is yours, when the time comes then."

Durion grinned devilishly for a moment and glanced over to the man beside him. “And I shall remember it. Indeed I am sure you will find much…enjoyment…from such happenings. And I shall certainly be honored to assist you in any endeavors of your own.” It was unmistakably obvious what the lord was trying to say. He well assumed none now were listening, and Korvaun did seem to have shown his true color.

A shade, as it were, that matched his own.

He listened to what had brought the man to the tavern that evening. “Yes, times are getting demanding,” it was said through a sigh of annoyance. He hated obligations—a man such as himself desired merely to have freedom to play and galavant around as he wished. Appearances, though, kept him from getting spotted as a traitor to the White City. Which, Durion assumed, kept his life.

As a coward, there was nothing he valued more than his own self.

“I am pleased, though, to have met you this evening.” He continued rather gracefully and charmingly. “For I do believe we have much in common.” He raised his mug in a half-toast before downing yet another long sip.

“Tell me of the business you need to finish. I can, perhaps, give you some aide.”

[Khamûl the Easterling]

“You have laid eyes upon the Rider?"

"Yes... I have, Durion. The man behind that cloak is truly a adversary any of Gondor should fear. What surprises me about him is that it would seem that he is looking for something, or someone, rather than simply scouting. Strange, for a servant of the Dark Lord, no?" Wow. Khamul's statement practically was soaked with hints. He surprised even himself with such loosely hidden facts.

"Indeed I am sure you will find much…enjoyment…from such happenings."

The Shadow of the East nodded. "Aye, you have no idea."

“Tell me of the business you need to finish. I can, perhaps, give you some aide.”

Khamul was pleased by Durion's offer, but decieded to decline to tell him the truth... at least for now. Not in such a busy tavern such as this. Somewhere... more private, would be preferred. Yes, then he could make his buisiness known. But perhaps...

"My buisiness? Well, my friend, my... superior... wishes for me to find a certain person, one that can help with an assignment that he wishes to move forward with. Unfortunetly, I do not know who this person is, nor what he looks like. It involves much guess work on my part."

As he spoke, Khamul began absentmindedly playing his finger through a small spill from his ale that was on the table. However, it was apparent a sort of pattern was being used. Khamul flashed his eyes downward, as if to indicate to Durion to look. For Khamul's pattern had a purpose... in the ale, elven letters began to take appear, formed from the small power of Khamul's sorcery...

"Do you heed the word of Darkness?"

[Durion]

Durion's interest, needless to say, was piqued as the strange man beside him spoke and commented more on the presence of the Nazgul in their lands. Perhaps Durion was reading into things too well...but did it seem that the man had more knowledge than any on the subject? He had been bold enough to speak on the reason of Its presence in Gondor. "Strange, for a servant of the Dark Lord, no?"

Strange? Perhaps not. Durion had felt that he was being contacted somehow. In any rate, he was supposed to be. His orders had not yet come from the Dark Lord. Something was to be done. His villainy was not to be under-appreciated, or not used. "Perhaps it only seems strange to one who does not know his plan." This, was slightly less cryptic, though equally as revealing as "Korvaun"'s own statement. He was not worried in the least. For some reason, his black soul was put to ease in the presence of this one. As if they could confide with one another plainly. And if not? Well, something could be done to rid him of the thorn he became.

Though, he was certain that such action would not be necessary.

And it was confirmed as he went to take another sip of wine. At first, it had seemed merely a trick. Though, as the man spoke calm and collected words, the ale began to shift positions on its own. He marveled at it, agape and aghast with a slight sense of fear. A sorcerer? Or more? He flashed his brown eyes up to the man, before reading the message.

Do you heed the word of Darkness?

His coward's heart began to beat furiously as he tried to regain composure. How was he to answer? Was this the messenger the Dark Lord had sent? Surely it could be no other! He had known this man to be more than what he seemed, but such a difference he had not thought possible. Was this the creature of black magic? The Dark Rider that had been making bloody massacre and sport of all those men? Here, at a tavern?

"I may be just the man you were looking for, then," he replied lowly, finally admitting his true heart. There was no use denying it. He was the man that was being sought. His tone, though, seemed to make a bit a lightness to it. As to not draw attention to what he was admitting to; which was treason.