Barad Eithel -- Outer Courtyard

High walls and lofty towers cast their long shadows down into the courtyard
below. Troops often train here, learning the skills which will protect them
against an implaccable foe always more numerous than they. At times, the whole
of the fortress gathers here to hear the words of their commanders or of the
High King himself...or to muster for battle.

Ringing the courtyard are the grainaries, armouries, smithies, stables, and
other buildings which support and provide for the fortress in peace and in war.

As the clouds part, moonshine fills the outer courtyard of Barad Eithel. Up
above, a black shadow glides through the emptyness, an owl perhaps. Down below,
some fires are still burning. Around the last glow of warmth for this night, a
few hooded figures are huddling. From the darkness beyond the firelight, a tall
man approaches silently, a staff in his hand and a big cloak around his
shoulders. He moves quietly, avoiding men and elves alike. As he draws near to
one of the fires, however, he pauses, looking at one of the people. He waits.
With two quick strides he steps into the firelight and puts a hand on the
shoulds of one of the men sitting there. He says, "Hail, Hedwin, I thought you
weren't going to show up tonight!"

The cloaked figure startles, not expecting the hand on his shoulder, and he
grabs the wrist, the grip powerful, if not even painful. A voice comes from the
hood, low and deep, ringing slightly. An elven voice. "I am not... he whom you
seek," answers the elf, turning to regard the adan with flickering, intense
eyes.

Derelin freezes. He pulls his arm back as far as the elf will allow. He
mutters, "I am afraid I mistook you for a friend of mine. Sorry to startle you
in the middle of the night." He tries to pull his arm back once again. Finally
he says, "Your cloak looks just like his cloak. Truly, good sir, I am sorry to
have bothered you."

[...]

Unfortunately, Rp ended right there.  *sniff* 
The cloaked figure was Fingolfin...