Island of Sorrow RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Child of the 7th Age · 10-07-2005, 05:49 AM

Lindir slouched against a boulder vainly trying to support his body. He simply could not go on. The blood that had once been a trickle was now a spreading pool of crimson that covered not only his shirt but his outer cloak as well. He could hear Orëmir speaking to him, offering to tend to his wounds. The voice sounded muffled and faint as if the words were spoken from a great distance through a tunnel. With considerable difficulty, he turned his head to try and focus on the other companions, but nothing seemed clear or distinct. The ground rose and fell as if he sat astride the back of a rearing steed.

Lindir had been grateful that someone had even noticed the situation he was in. He felt amazingly foolish. He chided himself for his foolish pride in keeping the problem to himself. Struggling to respond to Orëmir, he was unable to make a single sound. His knees suddenly gave way as his body slid awkwardly to the ground. All pretense of Elven grace had been stripped away. He looked little better than a lumbering Orc.

The last thing Lindir remembered was staring up at the sky and wondering if this was how it felt to die. Perhaps I'll go to Mandos and maybe I can talk my way back to Elvenhome. That was the last conscious thought he had.

10-07-2005, 05:49 AM	#11
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	Lindir: Lindir slouched against a boulder vainly trying to support his body. He simply could not go on. The blood that had once been a trickle was now a spreading pool of crimson that covered not only his shirt but his outer cloak as well. He could hear Orëmir speaking to him, offering to tend to his wounds. The voice sounded muffled and faint as if the words were spoken from a great distance through a tunnel. With considerable difficulty, he turned his head to try and focus on the other companions, but nothing seemed clear or distinct. The ground rose and fell as if he sat astride the back of a rearing steed. Lindir had been grateful that someone had even noticed the situation he was in. He felt amazingly foolish. He chided himself for his foolish pride in keeping the problem to himself. Struggling to respond to Orëmir, he was unable to make a single sound. His knees suddenly gave way as his body slid awkwardly to the ground. All pretense of Elven grace had been stripped away. He looked little better than a lumbering Orc. The last thing Lindir remembered was staring up at the sky and wondering if this was how it felt to die. Perhaps I'll go to Mandos and maybe I can talk my way back to Elvenhome. That was the last conscious thought he had. Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 10-10-2005 at 01:05 AM.