A Middle Earth Story: The Corsairs of Oros

Chapter One: A Crew for Captain Oros /Part One

"Aye, lass, but you'll stayin' in the brig 'til then. Don't want you sneakin' off without payin' yer dues."

Es huffed as Oros led her away. Fendwall followed, face grim and unyielding. People cast worried glances at Es. Es glanced back at Fendwall and hurriedly looked away. Fendwall smirked. He half hoped she would choose the third option. Trouble would only follow if she joined.

...

A short time later, after seeing Es locked in the stinking brig, which reminded Fendwall it needed a good scrubbing. That would be the first task assigned to her if she decided to join the crew. He approached the door to The Enchanted Hammer, one of the many taverns lining the packed shoreline.

The Enchanted Hammer was anything but enchanting at this hour. Raucous laughter greeted his ears as soon as he opened the door. Already the lowest and meanest of thieves were deep in their cups if the racket was anything to judge by. Fendwall stood out almost everywhere he went, his tall frame and blue striped face drawing the attention of the masses, yet in this place not an eye glanced in his direction among the many strange characters here. Nearly every race from Haradrim to dwarves and the occasional light haired head of the Rohirrim men was represented in the tavern.

Fendwall wasn't here to socialize. Oros had sent him on a mission to find crew members to fill spaces left by deserters, mutineers, and a few who had perished on their last fruitless mission. Oros had been in a frenzy the last few days. Over what, Fendwall had no idea, he knew it was big, but knowing his captain would share in good time he was willing to do whatever need be done. At present that was to find a crew.

And so here he was searching for daring souls. As first mate it was essential he sense courage, and sense it he could, like a bloodhound tracking a wounded animal. A man, or woman, of courage had a certain demeanor in the way they carried themselves, their walk, their talk, and above all their eyes. The eyes were the gateway to the soul. Of course, there were times when he could not find the courageous. It was times like that he sought out the desperate, the ones who had nothing to lose. In cesspits like Umbar, the desperate were far more common.

A slight touch against his leg caused him to spin around, dagger drawn and glinting at the short, thick neck of a broad-shouldered man. He seemed rather ordinary, too ordinary for this crowd. He gave Fendwall an overly friendly smile, revealing large, widely spaced, yellowing teeth.

"Pardon me, good sir. Must've bumped into you on accident," he said good-naturedly. Fendwall scowled and wrenched the man's arm from behind his back. Lo and behold, unsurprisingly, Fendwall's grey coin purse was gripped tightly in his filthy hands.

"Is that so?" Fendwall asked, ripping it from the man's hands. "This looks strangely like my own," he opened it and poured out a few special trinkets he kept, "and look!" he mocked. "This is exactly like that necklace I pilfered off a fine lady some years back." A wild, fierce grin formed on his face.

The man stammered, searching for a plausible excuse. Fendwall cut him off with a laugh.

"Among the rabble of Umbar, there are worse crimes than pickpocketing." He released the man from his vise-like grip. "But it gives an impression you've either got yourself a nasty habit or you're in need of a little coin. I prefer the latter. Now," he thumped the man across the chest, perhaps harder than necessary, for the man gasped and doubled over, "a hardy man, such as yourself, should have no trouble finding work here."

"Why work when you can get coin for free?" the man replied after recovering somewhat, the ever present grin returning to his face. Irritation flashed across Fendwall's eyes. He shoved it down with a broad smile.