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#121 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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‘Yes,’ he said, securing the top back on the pot of salve, ‘I am traveling back to Rhûn. My family . . . my mother is there. I have not seen her in five years.’ Tenzin fingered the greenstone carved horse that hung on a slender cord about his neck, looking down at the ground with saddened eyes for the briefest of moments and remembering the brief touch of his father’s fingers as he placed it over his head. ‘It was my father’s wish that Rhûnnaro see me safely back there with her.’
‘What will I do? I am one of three children. My two sisters are older than I, and already have chosen their husbands. They will have their own pieces of land now, beneath the wide blue skies of our valley, and fine fat babies for Uncle Tenzin to play with and give sweets to.’ His face lit up when he spoke of this, the desire strong in him to be there among them once again. ‘And one day,’ he went on, speaking low, and almost to himself, ‘a woman will choose me for her husband, and there will be the lively cries of my own sons and daughters, ringing through our own house. I will be a healer among my people, for I have studied that art here, and have some small talent for it.’ He picked up a small stick which lay on the ground beside him, and drew a series of random designs in the dirt, his face a study in considered certainty. ‘My wife will have her own garden, and the running of our house. And some craft of her own which she treasures and makes her glad.’ He laid the stick down carefully across the designs, his brown eyes looking thoughtfully at her face. ‘We will be happy,’ he said with quiet assurance, ‘and far from the shadows of this place.’ *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* Rhûnnaro listened as the woman spoke to him. ‘I just have to know for myself, if there is a greener side. I think I'll go with you.’ She was one of the younger there, if not the youngest he thought. Thin, too thin. Black curls that framed an open face. Her eyes, though, looked old, and fearful, even now, that she had made her decision. He talked to her gently – there was some shadow that sat heavy on her at times, and he feared she might bolt at a misspoke word. ‘How far do you wish to travel with us . . . Haven, is it not?’ He recalled that this was the name Tenzin had given her, after he had circulated among them, tending to their wounds. ‘It is a long journey from here to the high, green plains of Rhûn and many green places lie scattered along the way. How far do you wish to come?’ Turos approached, limping slowly toward where the two stood talking. He heard the last words that passed between Haven and the man, and nodded his head thoughtfully. Seeing Turos draw near, Rhûnnaro excused himself from Haven and went to speak with him. ‘I have something I would like you to do. We need to make some weapons that have a longer range than these knives.’ He pulled a small leather bundle from his pack which lay propped against the rock, well away from the river. In it were six blades, each a hand-span in length with sturdy wooden grips. ‘If you’ll sharpen these,’ he handed Turos a whetstone, a small bottle of oil, and a soft leather cloth, ‘then Tenzin and I will cut staves for them, and we can bind them to the ends with leather lashings.’ ‘Can you do this for us?’ he asked. Turos nodded his assent and sat down on the ground, the fingers of his left hand working the edges of the knives deftly over the oiled stone, wiping them clean on the leather cloth. Rhûnnaro, seeing Tenzin otherwise engaged in conversation with Fionel, went himself a little ways into the woods to cut and trim some thick, long staves. When he returned, he asked the group to take one each and a knife, and cut some strips for leather bindings from the sack in which he had stored the knives. ‘Bind them tightly,’ he instructed them. ‘We may need them soon.’ ‘Gather up what you have, when you are done. We should leave soon before the hunters draw too near . . .’
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#122 |
Shadow of Starlight
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Fionel smiled to see Tenzin so happy at what seemed to be such a simple thing, but something puzzled her as well.
"A woman will choose you to be her husband? Does the wife always choose the husband? I would have thought it would be the other way around." She inquired. [ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#123 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: Set adrift on the Great Sea
Posts: 373
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Santiara sat in silence as the others sat and talked. She lay back, her legs stretched out in front of her and her head lying on the ground. Her feet had almost gone numb from all the bruises and cuts, a result of the running. Her whole body ached but since they had rested for a while now, she had become rather accustomed to it.
Her mind wandered as the others chatted, thinking over things that had happened and things that may happen. She looked over each of the slaves and then Rhunnaro and Tenzin. Her brown eyes watching them talk and listen. The Easterling man caught her eye but she looked away quickly. She wasn’t sure what to think of him, whether to trust him or not. No matter what she thought they were following his plan anyway. She recalled him saying something about Minas Tirith and asking them what they were going to do when they got there. She hadn’t really thought much of after the Hunt. She had always imagined that as soon as she escaped, everything would simply fall into place, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. What would she do? Where would she go? These and other questions raced through her mind and she tried to search for an answer. If her parents had been with her she would have gone back to her home town, if it was even still there. She remembered how the Easterlings had burned her beautiful village. How everyone she knew had been taken to work, even the youngest children were forced to work on the fields every day. A swell of anger surged inside her as she thought of all those who had suffered and her eyes flicked up towards the two Easterlings. She couldn’t help but think of those who were still back in the camps, working on the fields, praying for a sign of hope. Exactly how she had been until a few days ago… Rhunnaro was talking to Turos and Tenzin and she listened to them. He then came and addressed the group giving them each a knife. When he came round to her she shook her head and pulled out her own dagger, which she had kept hidden until now. 'I'd rather use my own thanks.' She said. The others gasped in surprise. Santiara looked down at the ground, not sure that had been such a good idea. The man was about to reply but before he could, she had already walked away.
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~I am not young enough to know everything~ Oscar Wilde |
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#124 |
Speaker of the Dead
Join Date: Oct 2002
Location: Superbia
Posts: 868
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"I would greatly appreciate anything you can do to ease my pain, Dôranna," Desolyn replied, smiling a little.
Dôranna took some of the salve and grabbed some dried herbs out of her pack, ground into a fine powder. "I don't have much," she said apologetically, "and I wish it wasn't dried--everything is better fresh-cut--but we use what we have, don't we." She mixed a bit of it on her hand, and lifted the back of Desolyn's shirt. "This may sting a little bit," she added apologetically as Desolyn inhaled sharply. "These are ugly, Desolyn. They might take a while to heal, but this will soothe them some--once the stinging stops--and it will protect them, some, from infection." As she rubbed the salve onto Desolyn's wounds, Dôranna studied the back of the woman's head. She knew that Desolyn had been born a slave. What would it be like to not have a home to return to? To have no certain future? Desolyn even looked something like an Easterling. Where would she go? Dôranna blinked and her hand faltered for a moment. For that matter, what would she do? It had been...over a hundred years, though Dôranna winced to think of it. That was a hundred years for everyone else, too, including her fiancé. What if he had moved on? Desolyn winced as Dôranna accidentally put too much pressure on one of the wounds. "I'm sorry," the Elf said in a soft voice. She had to keep her thoughts on the present. If she wanted to survive, she did.
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"Oh, my god! I care so little, I almost passed out!" --Dr. Cox, "Scrubs" |
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#125 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Tenzin looked up from the designs he had scratched in the dirt beside him, and laughed softly. ‘Ah, yes! I had forgotten the strange customs of those beyond the borders of Rhûn. Here the men have all the say, and own the families, and their wealth.’ He drew his knees up near his chest and circled his legs with his arms. ‘Which would not be a problem were all men honorable, but they are not.’
He looked round the camp at the women, worn and sore from their travels and from the hard times their lives had dealt them. ‘It is different in my country. The lines of descent pass through the Mother’s family. Women are honored there, their voices heard in the decisions that are made. And yes, they are the ones who bear the children for the clans and keep them healthy and the clans strong, so it is their choice to make - who they will take to husband.’ Rhûnnaro had come quietly up behind the two as they spoke, listening with interest to what was said. His low voice broke in on a question Fionel was just set to ask. ‘You realize, of course, that women can be as cruel as men, as grasping, as deceitful, and as ruthless.’ He squatted down to be on a level with the two. My young friend here is idealistic, as young men should be. And as so, he bears the burden of an honorable man, whose ideals are not always met in the realities of daily life.’ His eyes hardened and he stared into the distance, remembering past histories. ‘There have been times when women in Rhûn have not lived up to the qualities we would like to see in them. Just as men here often fall short of the mark, though some it seems come dangerously close to no longer being Men at all.’ He stood, his gaze fixing on Turos, whose labors with the makeshift spears were bearing fruit. ‘Fionel, see if you can get the others up. Tenzin help her pass out the spears and let them get the heft of them in their hands. The women are strong, but small, and the spear’s length will give them some advantage against a taller foe with longer arms and a sword in hand.’ The older man watched as the two drew near Turos and collected the spears he had finished. Tenzin hung back, holding the spears as Fionel approached each of the women. ‘Good,’ he said to himself, noting how they worked together. ‘Let her take the lead, these are her companions, let her draw them into some feeling of hope.’ His eyes glinted for a moment, and a smile played lightly at the corners of his mouth as he watched the shared glances when their fingers slid over one another’s in the handling of the spears. ‘This is how young people should be,’ he thought, thinking of his own children. Like a cloud covering over the sun, Rhûnnaro’s expression darkened, and he steeled his thoughts against these ordinary images, remembering the darkness of the men who sought them . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#126 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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Lanbriel had finished with the few slaves who had requested her bandages, and now looked on as the other slaves recieved their spears. She gratefully accepted hers, thinking of what a great honor it was to lay hold on such a powerful weapon.
She had, as a child, been taught a very small amount on using such weapons. She had loved this training, and now missed this excersise greatly. Her skills now diminished to something near zero, she clumsily spun the spear in her hands, getting bruised on shoulder or knee every so often. As the minutes passed, her hands began to remember her training, and some skill slowly began to stableize itself. Pausing a moment, she walked to a nearby tree and tried piercing it with her eyes...imagining a hunter in its stead. She then took the spear and tried to stab the hunter. This excersise was a good target practice, but it achieved little since the tree could not move and react to her blows. She also stopped when she realized how stupid she must have looked, standing there, screaming and hitting a tree with her spear. Luckily, none of the slaves noticed her. Then, she remembered something she forgot to do. Spear gripped tightly in both hands, she walked over to Rhunnaro. "Sir, I apologize for delaying you the knowledge of my decision... I needed much time to find the right choice, because if I didn't, I could have been dead very soon..." The man looked at her, waiting expectantly for her to reveal the nature of her choice. "I have decided to come with you." She then curtly bowed and walked off. She made her way to a small, treeless area and resumed her spear excersises. [ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ] [ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]
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The world was young, the mountains green. No stain yet on the moon was seen. No words were laid on stream or stone, When Durin woke and walked alone... |
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#127 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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“Ekatran no!” Shivana gulped, she had just realised what she had said she clasped her hand tight around her dagger ready to fight or run she did not know yet.
“Why do you stop me? Who are you to stop me?” he spat towards her face and scowled. “We could use him……for information….then we can kill him,” she blurted out hoping that she had not gotten herself into too much trouble. “Yes, yes good idea,” inside she was relieved but her heard exterior did not break. “I will go back to the other fools, see if they have not untangled themselves yet.” she bowed as he walked off. Ranchard was smiling insanely, “Wont you let me go, pretty little girl? Wont you?” Shivana laughed. “Flatter me will you? We are obviously not acquainted well enough!” “I am higher than you, free me!” he demanded. She suddenly saw his mood change swiftly. But she didn’t care one bit. No. She dropped onto her knees in front of him, her head lolled to the side and she stared into his enraged eyes. She drew her dagger and toyed with it in front of him. She then held the dagger blade firmly in her hand again and drew blood once more. As Ranchard saw it drip his eyes lit up. And he watched as blood flowed to the floor. But her eyes were on him. Always on him. Then she spoke. “Don’t talk down to me. Don’t be polite to me. Don’t try to make me feel nice. Don’t relax. I’ll cut the smile off your face. You think I’m afraid to react.” he just laughed at her. Bu the burning in her eyes was red hot. “ The jokes on you. I’m biding my time, looking for the spot. You think no one can reach you, no one can have what you have.” he was not a little taken a back and started to move away from her, squirming. She followed him crawling along the dusted floor. “ I’ve been planning while you were playing. I’ve been saving while your spending. The game is almost over so its time you acknowledged me. Do you want to fall not ever knowing who took you?” he stopped. Her face was just a few inches away from his, she whispered. “Tell me what happened…” He was silent, his mind racing. “Shivana!” the she span round on the floor. “ I asked you to interrogate him! Not seduce him!” She spat on the floor, she was furious at such a causation. “I was not!” “Don’t speak back to me like that girl!” Ekatran’s voice rung the forest. She waited for her punishment
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"...still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message." |
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#128 |
Shadow of Starlight
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Fionel handed each of the women one of the spears Rhunnaro had handed her. They marvelled over them almost, handling them carefully, balancing them up. The slave girl realised that Rhunnaro had made the right choice giving out the long light spears- none of the slaves had had much practise with any sort of weapon, and these were quite easy to handle. Fionel knew a little of weapons of this type, having helped Ekatran and his oldest of two sons practise with ones similar to these. She weighed this one up her right hand, bringing it ever so slightly backwards and forwards very slightly, then jabbed it forward, letting herself drop forward, one leg stretched forward, leaning on the other.
Examining it, she was impressed, and saw Rhunnaro watching them, appraisal in his eyes, although they were far away. She smiled, and he blinked and came back to reality, smiling slightly although his face was still dark. A scream rent the air. A long, drawn out scream, like a man in complete agony, in the direction they had come from. Fionel gasped not able to stop herself, and the others also jumped. The eerie sound was like an animal in pain, and it didnt sound quite human, that was what made the others react. Fionel felt a shiver run down her body for another reason. If they hadnt done it, she might have. "Rhunnaro," She called. He looked up from his thoughts once more. "We are ready, and we should go- we need to go." He nodded. "Aye. Onwards, then."
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#129 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Rhûnnaro mounted his horse quickly and drew Turos up behind him. Again Tenzin took the lead with Fionel mustering the women to get quickly to their feet and follow swiftly.
He pushed their pace as fast he dared, knowing that they were footsore already, and had not had time to eat enough to regain some strength. An hour flew by, and then another, more slowly. And then one more. Tenzin gave a sharp whistle and called a halt at the entrance to a clearing. Rhûnnaro moved forward, reaching down with his hand as he passed the line of women to motion them to gather closely near Tenzin. The women sat down, exhaustion playing on the features of their faces. Turos was let down to hand round the water skins and the small sacks of dried food. ‘What do you think, Rhûnnaro. Would this not be a good place to meet them?’ He pointed to each side of the clearing, hemmed in by low lying thickets. ‘There are places there on each side for the women to hide and harry the riders and their horses.’ ‘And there,’ he pointed just to the side of the great tree at the end of the clearing, ‘there is a small rise of rocks, I can get a clear aim at anyone who enters with my bow.’ Rhûnnaro nodded his head slowly his eyes taking in the positions pointed out. ‘But we will need some way to draw them in. I would be wary were I to approach something like this.’ His eyes fell on Turos as the man limped round the circle of women. ‘We will need to bait the trap.’
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#130 |
Registered User
Join Date: Feb 2002
Location: Sitting in front of my preferred world....
Posts: 254
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“Don’t speak back to me like that girl!”
Ekatran ran quickly forward to them and immediatly pushed Shivana back from Ranchard with some force. She fell hard against the dusty ground but remained silent. "How dare you!" Ekatran continued, "you think I cannot see through my eyes?!" He drew his sword and held it in Shivana's direction. She sat frozen at the sight if this blade so close to her and in the hands of the enraged Ekatran. His eyes narrowed. Ranchard began to chuckle, and it slowly grew into a laugh. Ekatran turned into his direction and Shivana let out a sigh. Ranchard's uncontrolale madness had relieved her, for a while, there was little chance Ekatran was going to forget her actions. "You!" Ekatran crouched next to the still bound Ranchard as his laughter grew louder. "You've no business in this, you are no hunter! You were told to capture slaves, you incompetent excuse for a man!" Ranchard stopped his laughter and stared right into Shivana's eyes. "Look at me when I am talking to you!" Ekatran bellowed as he pushed Ranchard's head away from Shivana, hard. Ranchard fell to his side, his face in the dust. With his hands still bound behind his back he tried to right himself but Ekatran pushed him back down with his heel. Supporting himself Ranchard spoke coarsely, "But my lord," he was almost hissing, "why should I look upon you when a more, capable hunter sits not so far away?" He looked over to Shivana. Ekatran's temper took a new level, "How dare you!" He thrust his blade into Ranchard's side causing him obvious pain but Ranchard refused to let it show and rather a wide grin covered his face. "Come Shivana" he spluttered out, "even a woman as you would be able to do better than this?" Ekatran pushed the icy blade further into Ranchard's side. He gasped for a large breath and then winced in pain. "even a woman as you?" thought Shivana, a woman as her? "Come now Shivana" Ranchard taunted her. She stood up and made her way quickly to the suffering hunter and took her dagger from her boot and held it at arms length from him. At this point the other two remaining hunters found the scene; Ranchard on the floor breathing heavily with Ekatran stood over him with his blade firmly in his side and now Shivana at his throat with the blade though she had yet to draw blood... |
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#131 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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She held her blade and she smiled. She pressed the blunt side of her blade against his rough neck.
"Come on little girl!" he spoke again this time with blood spewing from his mouth, “Such a hunter as you, I mean for a woman…..” Her temper rose, she knew he was taunting her and her blade pressed even more against his gullet. She looked up to Ekatran, who’s blade was still in Ranchard’s side. His face was as hard as stone and anger flared in his eyes. She looked to the other two behind Ekatran, they stood their watching the spectacle. Suddenly she felt a warm hand upon her face. It was Ranchards. It caressed her face slowly. “A woman as you, so beautiful, so dangerous…”, his eyes rolled, but his hand stayed firm on her soft cheek. She pushed her dagger further so it cut his breathing. “….or are you too scared?” he gagged . That was it, now he had done it. She pulled her dagger in one clean sweep across his neck. His hand fell and his body fell limp to the floor. Ekatran withdrew his sword. But she was not finished. She knelt beside him and continued to plunge her dagger into his body. Blood started to spray from everywhere. She was getting out of breath but she kept thrusting her dagger into his body. She did not care what the others thought, it gave her joy. Blood sprayed onto her face and she was covered in it. And finally as she drew her blade up high she stopped and dropped it. She looked into the eyes of the dead Ranchard and put her hand on his cold, bloody cheek. “A man as you, so evil, so repulsive…” the others at them, two blood soaked bodies. But she did not care, she felt alive again. She brought her head close to his face. And then kissed his lifeless lips, she tasted the blood in her mouth and laughed, “Shame I wasn’t too scared…….” she picked her dagger up and stood up. Everything was covered in his blood and there was silence between the four.
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"...still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message." |
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#132 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Kherug
Kherug, spear grasped firmly in his hand, came panting up the small rise just in time to see the scene of carnage unfolding below. He had been out scouting for the slaves’ trail, and heard the screams coming from just beyond his position. ‘Good!’ he thought as he picked up the pace. ‘They have found some of the miserable vermin at last.’ His hands itched to hold his sword in hand and cut the life from those creatures. ‘Especially that Elf!’ he hissed, his hand straying to his cheek to rub the scar there where an Elven blade had cut him in one of the unsuccessful raids to bring more slaves in. Dorlas joined him in the sprint up the hill. He had apparently been sent to scout along a different direction. Kherug’s eyes narrowed when he saw only one victim at the bladed mercy of Ekatran and Shivana. He spat on the ground at Dorlas’ feet as they stood some distance away, watching Ekatran push his sword into the bound man. ‘That is no slave!’ he growled, pounding his spear hard on the rocky rise he stood on. ‘That is Ranchard!’ He spat again on the ground, angry that there would be no work for his own blade. Motioning the other Easterling, he sprinted quickly to the perimeter of the slaughter. Ekatran has drawn blood, and Ranchard, even as his doom was upon him, taunted the other there. ‘Shivana,’ thought Kherug to himself, might as well taunt Him.’ He shivered, and looked quickly over his left shoulder, not wanting to draw the attention of the Dark Lord to himself, even in passing thought. The bloody deed was soon finished, and Shivana stood, covered in blood. Kehrug stood mesmerized by the sight. The smell of blood was overwhelming, he could almost taste it in his own mouth, and feel it on his hands. He fought down the urge to strike at the nearest one to him, just to see blood flow from his own strike, and feel it as it cooled, running out of the body to death. Kherug shuddered, and drew a deep breath, his grip on the now raised sword loosening, as he brought it down. Point now resting in the bloodied dirt, he forced his thoughts to refocus. ‘My Lord,’ he said, his voice ragged with lust for the kill. He bowed his head to Ekatran, then raised his chin and nodded in a southwesterly direction. Another breath, and then his voice was under control. ‘I have found their trail. It leads that way . . .’ [ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#133 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Rhûnnaro
When he had come full circle, it was in front of Rhûnnaro that he stood. Turos held out the last skin of water to the Easterling and offered him a small portion of the dried meat and fruits. As they left his hands, he started to nod his head downward, averting his eyes from the overseer as a slave was required to do. ‘Turos, raise your face to mine. I would speak with you.’ Rhûnnaro spoke in a low voice, his words reaching only to the ears of the man who stood before him. Turos head came up slowly, his clear hazel eyes meeting those of the Easterling. The hint of a smile played on the lips of the older man as he watched the young man regard with him with a quiet confidence. He is only a little older than my oldest son. he thought to himself. The smile left his face, replaced by a grave expression. ‘Fortune has not been kind to you,’ he said, his eyes sweeping over the bent and scarred body. ‘Yet I see that your spirit has not been killed by the circumstances of your life.’ His brow creased as he considered his next words. ‘As a slave all your choices were made for you, even the last choice of when you would meet your death. I wonder - can you make such a choice for yourself now. Face the possibility of your death as a free man. Turos stood mute before him, saying neither ‘yes’ or ‘no’. His gaze stayed steady on Rhûnnaro’s face as he waited for the man to go on. Rhûnnaro motioned him away from the group and sat down on the ground at the opening to the clearing. He bade the young man sit next to him, offering him the water and the remainder of the food. As he ate, Rhûnnaro spoke quietly to him of his plan, pointing out the area near the head of the clearing where he wished Turos to lie, drawing in the Hunters for what would seem an easy kill. ‘They will come for you, taunting and boasting as is their way. You must have the courage to cower before them like a wounded deer awaiting the touch of the blade that will end its life. We will fall on them then, and make what end we can of them.’ He brought his eyes back from the envisioned scene in the clearing to Turos, whose face bore a mixture of emotions and possibilities. ‘I cannot guarantee that you will not die. Not anymore than I can guarantee such for the rest of this little group.’ He made to get up, saying as he rose, ‘I will leave it to you to decide if you will do this. If you cannot, then we will find another way.’ He was only half-way up when his wrist was grasped in the strong grip of Turos’ left hand. Surprised at the temerity of the touch, he crouched down on a level with the younger man. ‘I heard you ask the woman, Haven, a question, just a short while ago. It is a long journey from here to the high, green plains of Rhûn, you said, and many green places lie scattered along the way. How far do you wish to come?’ Turos looked into the distance, his eyes narrowing at something just outside his range of sight. ‘I have thought about that as we traveled here. And I have my answer for you – to both your questions that you have asked this day.’ Rhûnnaro watched him as he sought to make himself clearly understood. ‘I will be the bait, my own free choice to do so. It is a small thing I can do, since I have no other way to battle the Hunters.’ Turos left hand strayed to his right arm, rubbing unconsciously the crippled useless limb which hung there. ‘And this is my other answer.’ He looked carefully at the man crouched before him. ‘I have no place to call my own. I wish to go all the way, to that last green place, with you – to your homeland, if you would have me.’ Turos looked away, then, not wanting to see the look of amusement that he feared might come from this request. A silence fell between them, and then the clipped answer of the man from Rhûn. ‘No small thing, Turos. And yes, I will find a place for you.’ ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ Tenzin remounted his horse only a short time after they had arrived at the clearing. The women were taking what rest they could, and Rhûnnarro and he had discussed briefly their strategy. They could not keep pushing the women forward. The Hunters would soon draw near and it would be better to have their little band be rested and ready for battle than to spend futile time in trying to outrun them. He headed back down the trail they had come. Moving like a shadow through the thickly grown trees and underbrush, several paces to the north of their actual path. The sun had moved a little more than a finger’s width in its arc when he heard them. He reined in his mount, and shading his eyes with his hand peered through the spaces in the limbs of the trees that hid him. Four horses were what he counted as they picked their way closer, and one of the riders was covered in blood. He saw the dark gore covering her like some grotesque paint as she passed through the bands of sunlight that filtered through the trees. Carefully he turned his horse and headed back toward the clearing as quickly as he could . . . [ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#134 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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Haven and the other women had been told to get some rest, and get as much sleep as they could in what little time they had. Haven’s eyes were bloodshot and her hair was tousled and messy, but she could not bring herself to sleep. Some of the other women did, she knew, but she didn’t bother to keep track of who slept and who didn’t. Haven watched as Rhûnnaro began to speak with Turos, his hands moving occasionally to add extra emphasis to his words. When the two were finished talking, Rhûnnaro stood, and Turos stayed seated at the entrance to the clearing
Haven blinked confusedly at this, but was too exhausted to pursue an answer. Rhûnnaro left Turos and continued over to speak with Tenzin in hushed whispers so no ears could overhear. Tenzin soon remounted his horse after the conference and had gone off and out of the clearing. Haven stood, unable to sleep and wanting something to occupy herself. She felt nervous and tense, for she knew that something was coming, presumably the hunters and the death of the slaves. The dry, short grass under Haven’s feet crunched as she walked over to Rhûnnaro, her eyes watering from exhaust. “You should sleep while you can,” Rhûnnaro said simply. Haven shook her head slowly. Rhûnnaro had begun to prepare his sword and a long knife, and Haven squinted at the weapons. “I can’t sleep. What is going on? How long before they find us?” Haven asked, blurting out everything she could before she had to take another breath. Rhûnnaro looked out towards the trail that Tenzin had taken away from the clearing, then turned back to Haven. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, the sound of hoof beats became an echo among the clearing. Some of the women woke up at the sounds, and groped for their newly given spears. Tenzin’s horse galloped into the clearing, and the Easterling was slumped over. As he came closer, Haven could see that a sickly dark red liquid was trickling down from his shoulder, near the crook of his arm. When he was close enough, Tenzin leapt from his horse a bit clumsily, as though he were drowsy. The women who had woken up rushed over to join the group, and soon found the shaft of an arrow protruding from Tenzin’s back, just above his shoulder blade. Almost all the women volunteered to help Tenzin, and as they began dress the wound Rhûnnaro cleared his throat to get the attention of the women. They acknowledged the Easterling, but continued to work on Tenzin, who seemed to be wounded harshly, but would be fine in the end. “We need to move quickly,” said Rhûnnaro solemnly. He gestured to places around the clearing as he spoke. “I will position you around the clearing with your spears. Fionel, you can use a sword if you think you can handle one. This is it. We can’t keep running.” [ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]
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...Come down now, they'll say. But everything looks perfect from far away - Come down now! But we'll stay. |
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#135 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Tenzin’s face was pale as he directed one of the women to bring his medicine kit to him. ‘Open it if you would,’ he said in a hurried, ragged voice. ‘There in the center – that green vial. Open it for me.’ Fionel pulled the tight cork stopper from the bottle, and handed it to him, watching as he drank sparingly of the honey scented liquid. The odor of poppies perfumed the air and then passed on as he handed it back to her, and she sealed it once again. After a few moments he moved his right arm gingerly, flexing his fingers to see that they could meet his needs.
From a small parchment packet he took several large leaves, and placing them in his mouth, he chewed them carefully into a moist fibrous wad. This he slipped beneath the bandage they had bound on him, pushing it firmly over the still bleeding puncture wound. He moved with more ease now, the tincture of poppies masking the pain. Bind the bandage on a little tighter, please’ he asked, his eyes flicking up to meet her grey ones. ‘The leaves should stop the bleeding for now, and the other will hold back the pain.’ As a last thought he took two small, ovoid leaves and chewed them slowly, then tucked the mass between his cheek and gum. ‘And these will give me the energy I do not have for the battle. I only hope it will be brief. The stimulant effects will not last a long time, and when they have gone, I will be at the mercy of any who approach.’ She offered him a skin of water, and he drank it thirstily, thanking her as she took it from him. Rhûnnaro was approaching, having shown the women where they were to hide in waiting, and Turos where he was to lie, looking helpless, and abandoned. Fionel stood, thinking to go back to her own assigned position. Tenzin's left hand reached up for hers, drawing her into a low crouch before him. ‘Wait,’ he said, taking the small carved green wind-horse on its slender cord from round his neck. He drew her nearer and placed it over her head. ‘For luck,’ he said, as she frowned at him, protesting, and made as if to give it back. His hand closed over hers which grasped the tiny charm, and pushed it gently down against her. His fingers freed the cord from her hand, the green horse falling against her heart. ‘When the battle is done, return it to me then, if you wish.’ ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ Rhûnnaro approached, his sword in hand. ‘Fionel, hurry! Take your position out of sight with the others.’ He bent down and looked closely at the young man. His eyes were a little glassy, the pupils large. His skin pale, with a thin sheen of fevered sweat. ‘Can you stand?’ he asked, putting his hand on Tenzin’s shoulder. The young man shook his head yes, letting the older man stand and pull him to his feet. Tenzin flexed his fingers and raised his right arm gently to take the bow Rhûhnnaro had brought him. The older man secured the quiver of arrows in easy access of Tenzin’s left hand, then walked with him to the small rocky rise where the young man would take up his position. Slipping quietly beneath the trees, Rhûnnaro stood still among the shadows, waiting . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#136 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: Set adrift on the Great Sea
Posts: 373
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The slaves rushed to find their hiding places among the trees and bushes. Santiara pushed through the vegetation as quietly and fast as possible. She found a bush which was about three quarters of her height and stooped behind it. She was in the shadows and the trees above blocked most of the moonlight but as the wind blew, the trees would sway and a sliver of light would land on her. She looked up and whispered to no one in particular please help me. Help us all..
Through some gaps in the dark leaves she was able to see the clearing and if she stood up would have a clear shot at anything that was down there. She could hear the others scurrying around on the ground getting into place. All they had to do now was wait. Her heart was beating faster and faster, now this time they would confront the hunters straight on. Not like before when they could run away. If they didn't beat them, it would be over. She shuddered at the thought of how it would end. The wood was silent now, everyone was crouching and waiting. Santiara breathed in deeply but even that seemed to be too loud. She peeked through the leaves again, still nothing was happening. Only Turos was visible, he was lying on the ground, pretending to be helpless but in their situation Santiara didn't really think he needed to pretend. Turos was going to be the bait for the hunters. It pained Santiara to see him all alone, simply waiting for the hunters to come. She knew if anyone, he was the most likely to die. She looked away, unable to look at the man who was basically sacrifing himself for all of them.
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~I am not young enough to know everything~ Oscar Wilde |
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#137 |
Shadow of Starlight
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As his hand closed over hers, Fionel decided in that instant that she would take the necklace, wouldn’t dream of refusing. Tenzin’s earnest brown eyes held hers for a moment more then his hand dropped, letting the horse fall to Fionel's chest.
"When the battle is done, return it to me then, if you wish." He said with a wan smile. Fionel smiled at him, about to question him, then Rhunnaro called to her, hurrying her into position. She scurried away obligingly, but not completely sedately- as she moved she had seen the sword which she had had earlier lying on top of the sack. Sending a glance at Rhunnaro to check he was occupied, she darted across and took the sword. Perhaps this time she would get to use it. A sudden flicker of fear and excitement ran down her spine, making her shiver, and it was, she had to admit, more excitement. As she ducked into the shadows beneath a tree, with Santiara but a few metres away, Fionel saw the other, clutching the unfamiliar spear desperately, move her lips as she stared up to the sky. Fionel did not try to decipher her words, leaving her alone to her moment of privacy. She had never really believed in the Valar, in this life as a slave or her previous one, but was there something up there to pray to? Was there someone that might look on them and help them? Maybe better to trust the moment. Fionel glanced across at where Tenzin half-crouched, behind a rocky rise, bow in his now steady hands and a look of steely determination on his face, despite the sweat which still beaded his brow. He caught her looking, but Fionel did not look away immediately, but smiled briefly at him before turning back to watch the place beyond where Turos waited, a lone, bent figure. She fingered the little horse around her neck, turning it over between the slim fingers of her left hand. For luck. Better to trust the moment. The sounds of the hunters floated towards them. They had evidently been closer than Fionel had thought, or than Rhunnaro had expected, but Tenzin must have given them a new want to follow, and quickly. The sounds of the horses hooves made the air quiver and the ground beneath Fionel soon seemed to shake. She could feel the beat beneath her, the beat that the slaves who heard of the hunt said was the very beat of death in this instance. Calls between them, jeering, mocking voices split the previously calm and peaceful air, and Fionel, glancing across, saw Beruthiel's lips still moving, faster now. Fionel looked across to Turos where he sat, her mouth dry and her hands shaking, but the man just waited, like a man awaiting an execution, a sort of resigned, sad, quietness in his eyes. Fionel raised the horse to her suddenly dry lips and kissed it- why, she was not sure, but in some way, it made her feel better. For luck. She was going to need it, it would seem. This plan...how could this work? Trained fighters, with horses, who hadn't walked all day, who weren't scared but intoxicated instead with the thrill of the Hunt. How could Rhunnaro have possibly thought it would work? For a moment, Fionel wondered, in an abstract way, how far she would get if she ran now. But she would never abandon those who had become her companions. Her faith in Rhunnaro held. "Woah...well would you look at that. 'Tis our lucky day, Shivana, a second to take, and so soon afterwards." Ekatran's mocking voice made Fionel's skin crawl, even after all this time. She pressed herself closer to the earth hoping fervently that they couldn't see her, although she knew that his soul searching, piercing eyes would already be searching the clearing for anyone else. A laugh, an arrogant, cruel laugh followed his words as Shivana too took in Turos and his lonesomeness. Fionel heard the soft thump of her leather boots on the ground as she dismounted, and walked forward. Try as she might, a kind of morbid fascination drew Fionel's eyes towards the spot where Turos was still. She had to see. In years to come, if they got through thi- when they got through this, she fiercely corrected herself, she would tell others of this, of what happened before the might easterling leader Ekatran was brought low by a band of ragged slaves. Shivana leant down towards Turos, who tried to get up, tried to shuffle away, his eyes fixed on Shivana. Fear was in his voice when he spoke, but whether genuine or fake Fionel could not tell. "They left me. I have no alliegance to them, no, none. I-I will h-help you!" His voice quivered, and now Fionel could tell that it was indeed fake, the fear in his voice, but Shivana, in her state of mad blood lust, would not notice. Turos' eyes never once flickered back to where the others waited, never once gave any indication his story was true, never once let on that his companions were mere metres behind him. His courage was incredible. Once again, that cruel, mocking laugh, then others joining it, and the thump of more boots on the sand. Fionel's grip on her sword became tighter. Everything seemed so sharp and clear now, so brilliantly cut against the earth and sky. "This is it. We cannot keep running." "You, help us? I can kill you now, any one of us could, alone." Shivana breathed in deeply. "I have already tasted blood this day. I would be glad to satisfy my hunger further." Fionel turned to Tenzin, whose eyes were on Rhunnaro, while Santiara watched her. The signal would come in a chain, as fast as lightening. Where he stood, Fionel saw Tenzin ready the bow, although his hand on the hold left his fingers free to give the signal. Rhunnaro must have nodded to him, for his looked back at Fionel, who half nodded to Santiara to ready herself, who in turn nodded at Haven and so on. One finger stretched out.... "Please...I can help you?" A second... "I grow tired of your pathetic, weak words, slave." The sound of a blade being drawn. The last finger shot out quickly, and half a milimoment later an arrow embedded itself close to Shivana's feet. Tenzin swore under his breath- his arms weren't entirely steady yet. But the Hunters had frozen into a still tableau, staring at the arrow, Shivana still holding her sword aloft. That was enough. In that moment, Fionel rallied every nerve in her body, every inch of strength and more than she possessed, and with a cry, she charged out, wielding her sword. She didn't think, just headed straight towards Shivana, sword held aloft... [ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#138 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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This is a few moment before Amans post
Ekatran lead the way again, through the dim forest. Shivana was behind him still covered in the blood of Ranchard. She had done her best to clean herself, but she was not going to waste a precious water supply on her vanity. The other two followed behind. It was all silent, no one had said anything, at least not to her. Ekatran had not punished her for her waywardness, she smiled, maybe he was scared? What had Ranchard ment when h said a woman as her? She did not muse over that contemplation long. She started to think about the kill. Killing Ranchard had been exciting, exhilarating and she wanted to it again. She admitted that she would get more thrill from actually hunting and catching her kill, but she had not done it in so many days she was hungry for it and would take any thing. They were coming closer to a clearing and she could see a shape on the floor, one of the slaves the old man. They had left him! How disloyal! Then she thought, why would they leave him? Surely they would not, they would not. Her mind raced and she slowly fell to the back of the company behind Dorlas. No, there was something wrong here, it was too perfect. However she did not speak up, she just halted her horse. The others continued… [ June 13, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]
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"...still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message." |
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#139 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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Lanbriel waited in her little spot, behind a giant fallen tree, surrounded by many wild and thick bushes. She looked around, saw the slaves positioned.
Would she die? She could. Somehow, something told her she would last through this. But still, the frightening chance made her want to stand up and run. But no, that would make far too much noise. She was cornered. She could not run, and there was no one to fight yet. She just had to crouch there, rock back and forth, hoping against hope that everyone on her side would survive. Suddenly she heared hooves. She immediately understood - the hunters were near! She looked at their bate, Turos, knowing how he must be feeling. He was doing an incredibly brave deed, something many times braver than anything she would have done. She held her spear tightly, so tightly that if she squeezed just a bit more blood would break through her skin. Then it happened. Ekatran, that terrible man rode on his horse into the clearing. A few other hunters rode in beside him. They started talking, very loudly, but Lanbriel was so nervous she couldn't decipher a single word. She looked around, and saw nodds passing throughout the hidden slaves. It was time. An arrow first escaped Tenzin's bow. Fionel suddenly shot forward, sword at ready. She ran towards the woman, the hunter nearest to Turos. A fierce, piercing cry escaped her lips. Lanbriel suddenly felt what most people suddenly feel at the start of a battle. Courage. Mad, fierce, terrible courage running through her. Her battle cry. She popped up, and jumping over the fallen tree, she surged through the bushes into the clearing, heading for one of the hunters.
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The world was young, the mountains green. No stain yet on the moon was seen. No words were laid on stream or stone, When Durin woke and walked alone... |
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#140 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Turos lay half turned on his stomach as the hunters approached. Ekatran, a cautious man, had stopped just inside the clearing, sending Kherug in to see to the fallen slave. Turos moaned, moving the nearly useless finger of his right hand at the approaching Easterlings. ‘Masters! I will tell you where they’ve gone.’ He whispered. ‘Only take me back with you.’
His voice, barely audible, drew the sneering hunter closer. Kherug kicked at the downed man, and crouched down close to him, spitting on Turos’ face. ‘You will tell us everything, carrion! And then you will die.’ Kherug pulled his sharp point knife from the sheath at his belt and bent very close to Turos’, his mail shirt clanking as he did so. The point of his knife touched the slave just beneath his chin, and he grinned maliciously as he did so. With a quick motion Turos rolled up on his right side, freeing his left hand which had been hidden beneath him. The glint of his knife caught the tree filtered sun, flashing as he drove it deeply into the surprised Easterling’s neck. A gurgling gasp and Kherug’s hands flew to his wound, his eyes wide with wonder at Turos. Blood ran in rivulets between his fingers, and his eyes clouded, staring fixedly at nothingness. His lifeless body keeled over, the life’s blood slowing to a trickle. Several of the women rushed out now to surround Turos as Dorlas charged forth, his sword drawn. Faces set with grim determination, they held their spears ready, and challenged him from three sides – like a wild boar, he was, caught in a trap of determined hunters. Turos, grasping his ribs where Kherug had kicked him, retreated from the battle arena, knowing he would only be an impediment. His arms bled from little knicks Dorlas' blade had given him before the women had driven him off. Taking the club from Rhûnnaro's nearby horse, he stood well away from the action, his eyes sweeping the small battle, looking for the opportunity to strike a blow if needed. Rhûnnaro could see that Fionel had challenged Shivana and for the moment was holding her own against the ghastly apparition. His eyes darted to the rocky rise where Tenzing now stood, his bow drawn trying to make a shot. He could not afford to be careless with the arrow he had nocked, and waited until he had a clear shot of an Easterling. Ekatran had remounted his horse, thinking to charge the slaves, his long sword flying in deadly arcs. Rhûnnaro ran out from behind the bushy cover, coming quickly up behind the back legs of the rearing stallion. He swung his arms in a short, powerful motion, bringing the edge of his blade powerfully against the hocks, severing the tendons. The horse screamed and fell heavily to his side, Ekatran, rolling off him, weapon in hand. Scrambling up, the Easterling Lord brought up his sword in a defensive posture, facing the man from Rhûn. The world narrowed in - to just these two, the sounds of the other combatants fading in the ring of steel against steel . . . [ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#141 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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At first Haven couldn’t bring herself to do it…to kill one of the hunters or even harm one of them would be to kill or harm one of Jamilah’s and Jovanna’s kin. But just as quickly as that thought fluttered through her brain, another took its place. The thought and knowledge that the slaves were her kin, her family. And at that moment, the hunters were not out to save or to protect Haven’s friends; they were out to kill her fellow slaves. Despite her years in the palace, despite her slight connection with the people trying to kill the slaves, only Fionel and the group of extremely courageous slaves knew what Haven had gone through since she was a toddler.
Haven had nothing to loose. She had nowhere to return to, and likewise had no place to look forward to if she did survive this last stand. But Fionel…and Lanbriel…Santiara, Doranna, Desolyn, and even Turos…they all had something inside them that gave them the will to fight for the right to go on. Haven didn’t think she had that, but she did have nothing to loose. She knew it was better to help her newfound friends towards their goals than waddle in her own self-pity. Suddenly filled with a newly found reason and cause, Haven was swept with a ferocity of spirit that could not be matched by anything she had ever done before. She half-tumbled down her hill in a sprint that kicked up dust and grass with clumsiness. Several of the women had turned to surround an Easterling that had gone after Turos. Haven avoided the Easterling, for the other women had him taken care of. The caretaker darted towards Turos, and helped him half-crawl, half-limp away from the battle with Dorlas. Turos had taken to staring wide-eyed at his hands, which were warm and dripping with the deep red blood of Kherug. Haven put a hand on his shoulder, and tried her best to comfort him, “You were extremely brave. I would never have been able to do that.” “It is true that fate has not been kind to me…but I will not let the past control my future,” Turos breathed as he began to wipe the blood over his tunic. Haven nodded, for the Easterlings of Nurn truly were a cruel sort.
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...Come down now, they'll say. But everything looks perfect from far away - Come down now! But we'll stay. |
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#142 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: Set adrift on the Great Sea
Posts: 373
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Santiara's heart was beating faster and faster as the sound of the hunters approached. She was watching Fionel carefully, waiting for any signal to attack. The hunters entered the clearing, their horses stamping on the ground. Every move they seemed to make echoed in her ears. She was so scared that they would hear her breathing. Santiara didn’t dare look at the clearing, she didn’t want to know what they might be doing to Turos. Finally Fionel looked at Santiara, their eyes connected and Santiara knew.
It was time. There was no turning back. A great surge of fear and adrenaline rushed through her body at the same time she knew what she had to do. She stood up and ran down the hill as fast as she could with her spear held high. The other slaves had also jumped up to attack, Fionel with her sword in hand. Turos stabbed the hunter nearest to him and Santiara suddenly froze as she saw the pool of blood collecting on the ground. She looked up into Turos’ eyes quickly before turning back to the hunters. Another Easterling had rushed over to where the dead one lay trying to pick him up off the ground. Santiara tightened her grip on her spear and rushed over to him. As she drew closer she threw the spear as hard as she could at him. She watched as the spear flew threw the air and to her dismay it missed. The Easterling turned to her with rage and grabbed his sword off the ground and began to come towards her. Santiara was unarmed and filled with fear, ‘What am I going to do! Is this the end? Oh please someone help!’ She was only able to whisper these things and none of the other slaves could hear her. She stumbled back to edge of the clearing when she suddenly realized, she was armed, her knife. She drew it out and watched the light reflect off it. Before the hunter knew what was happening, Santiara ran as fast as she could towards him the long knife in front of her and she charged straight into him. The knife penetrated his left arm and he screamed with pain. Santiara tried to move out of the way but his sword was in his right arm and he swung it round, cutting her across the stomach. The wound seemed to burn and Santiara could see a line of blood soaking into her clothes. She cried in pain and walked backwards, away from him. The hunter staggered back wards, grasping his arm while the blood spilled from it. He looked up in amazement at the slave girl who had done this to him. In all his life, he had never thought it possible that a simple slave could actually hurt him. Santiara had dropped to the floor, the pain searing through her. She watched as the blood spread through the cloth slowly. She lifted up her shirt to see the wound clearly, it wasn’t too deep but the pain was incredible. She leaned back against a log when she saw all the others fighting the hunters. She couldn’t just stay here and wait to die, if she was going to she’d rather die fighting. “Get up, just get up!” She whispered to herself and with a huge effort she picked herself off the ground, her knife still in hand.
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~I am not young enough to know everything~ Oscar Wilde |
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#143 |
Shadow of Starlight
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Fionel had made straight towards Shivana, her right hand gripping her sword tightly. As she came near, the Huntress still seemed shocked, frozen in a moment of horror that slaves could attack her, and taking advantage of this, Fionel whirled the sword around at the neck level of the Huntress.
But Shivana was fast. In a second her own sword, which had been unsheathed, was up, not completely countering Fionel's, but deflecting it, so it still caught the Huntress a blow on the shoulder with its flat. Shivana yelled, in anger more than pain. "How dare you, slave?" "I am not a slave any more." Fionel somehow managed to control her voice so it was not much more than a whisper, but Shivana heard. Her mocking laugh made Fionel's blood suddenly run cold. "'I'm not a slave anymore', she says," Shivana mocked Fionel's own voice in a high, squeaky one, then returned to her own. "What do you mean by that? You have been a slave most of your life, no doubt, haven't you?" "My past will not destroy my future." Fionel replied evenly. The pair of them were circling now, and Fionel was trying to weigh up the odds between them. She knew Shivana to have at least two long daggers concealed about her person at some time, and the one she was holding in her hand was only one of these. Fionel let her eyes flicker away from her opponent's for a second, searching her body for the other weapon. Mistake. In that second, Shivana's weapon shot straight forward at Fionel's chest. Fionel hadn't had any idea that she was about to move- wasn't one of the more basic rules of combat to make sure you always knew what your opponent was about to do? She gasped in shot and parried the blade ammateurly, simply whacking it with her own as she jumped backwards. Shivana smiled her predatory grin and Fionel cursed inwardly- now the easterling knew she was an ammateur. That shot hadn't really been designed to kill, more simply to test Fionel's skills with her blade. And Fionel had failed spectacularly. She backed away uncertainly, and Shivana walked forward further, still smiling wickedly. I need an element of surprise... Fionel strove desperately to come up with such a thing, before she thought of one. She couldn't let the smile flicker onto her own face for a moment. Shivana saw it and stopped approaching so fast- she was uncertain as to what had caused the slave to smile. Realising she had to put her back at her ease, Fionel moved back onto a ground where she knew the easterling would be happy. She gulped, her eyes seeming to beg with Shivana, and allowed a small, pleading smile to flicker onto her face, as if trying to appease the easterling, like a submissive dog who has been naughty. Shivana saw this and, in her arrogance, was fooled. She began to prepare for another strike. Fionel gasped aloud, moving back. For a fleeting milisecond, she allowed her eyes to flicker down about a metre behind her, and she saw the perfect excuse. She made sure she was always alert, but still Shivana struck, and Fionel, unpractised in sword fighting, despite her alertness, was caught off guard. She tried to move to the side, but the sword caught her in the arm. She cried out, and pulled back, causing the curved end of the blade to rip through her skin, inflicting even further pain and damage. Fionel bit her lip hard to stop herself crying out again and moved back a little, facing Shivana almost sidewards now, her head turned, her injured arm behind her and her torso protected her her right arm and sword. But what she had thought of as a plan was tuning against her. The obstruction- a small rocky lump in the ground- which she had been going to use as an excuse to fall and use in her plan- which seemed to be falling to pieces- now turned against her. She stumbled and fell to the ground, her left arm crushed under her, inflicting yet more pain. Shivana laughed once more, her grin as wide as the range of the mountains of Mordor. To Fionel's surprise, the easterling did not strike immediately. She plunged her sword down right beside Fionel, making the slave roll to the side, then plunged it down to the other side, but didn't aim straight at her immediately. This surprised Fionel, then horrified her. The easterling was playing with her. But inside her tunic, Fionel allowed her hand to grasp the little piece of hope- a small, bone pen knife, the one Rhunnaro had thrown to her as they first ran from Nurn. She still had a plan...
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#144 |
Reflection of Darkness
Join Date: Jun 2002
Location: Polishing the stars. Well, somebody has to do it; they're looking a little bit dull.
Posts: 2,983
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Desolyn's knuckles turned white as she gripped her spear. She stood watching the battle, unable to find the courage to take part in it herself.
All her life, Des had waited for this moment. She had always wanted revenge on the Easterlings for the cruelties they had done to her. And now, when she finally had the chance to kill one of them, she was too scared. Desolyn loosened her grip on the spear. The object felt awkward in her hands, for it was the first weapon she had ever held. Des had no idea how to use the spear; it felt so heavy and foreign. She figured that thrusting it into the belly of an Easterling would be easy. But what about defending herself? Desolyn lacked the skill in blocking attacks. For her, an injury would be considered lucky. In the distance, Desolyn could see the slave Santiara battling with a hunter whom she recognized as Dorlas. She watched as the Easterling sliced his sword across the girl's stomach. This is impossible,Des thought to herself as she watched Santiara collapse in pain. How are we supposed to defeat them? It was then she noticed Dorlas stagger back in pain, his arm bleeding. Santiara had managed to wound him. Desolyn suddenly saw things differently. She allowed memories pain and terror to flood her mind and she again thought of what she had missed out on life. A fury grew inside her stronger than ever before. Fear had escaped, and all Des felt now was her hunger for revenge. Death no longer mattered to the girl; as long as she managed to kill. And as Dorlas stood there holding his arm, she saw her opportunity. Crying out in her own rage, Desolyn charged towards the Easterling.
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Nolite te bastardes carborundorum |
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#145 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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Stupid slaves, who were they to challenge them? Insolence! Her knife was gripped firm in her hand, her heart pounding against her chest because of the excitement….fear. Fear? Fear of what, they were slaves. She cursed her self for such a thought. She slowly walked forward towards the slave. As she stared into her frightened face she realised it was the one that had dared to look at her when Ekatran had called her forward. Yes, yes this was meant to happen, this girl was meant to die, to die be the hands of Shivana.
The girl kept backing away, as she did so Shivana bent delicately down and grasped her daggers and pulled them from the soft, all the while her eyes firmly placed upon the girl. “You know, I could kill you right now,” she said placing both in her right hand, “Like that!” she clicked her hands, “But…but that wouldn’t be fun, would it?” Fionel did not say anything , but stared up into her eyes. “Answer me!” she shouted, shaking her hair out of her face. “No…no it wouldn’t..” she shuddered. “Really?” she laughed. Throwing her dagger, it landed right next to her hand, so close. “Good aim you have?” Fionel said, obvious in her eyes as sucking up. “No its not, if it was your hand would be pinned to the ground….” She proceeded to play with the girl taunting her, despite the things around here. She would kill this girl.
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"...still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message." |
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#146 |
Speaker of the Dead
Join Date: Oct 2002
Location: Superbia
Posts: 868
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Dôranna's ears rang with the clashing of steel, and the familiar taste of blood was in her mouth. Her head felt light, though her limbs were heavy; her dagger was an extension of her hand. She had tasted blood before, many times, after beatings and the like, but it had not been the same. It had not been in battle.
She wiped it away with her sleeve, and reveled at the crimson stain that appeared on the light-coloured fabric. Such a rush! How could her father ever have stopped? From where did his reluctance to use violence come, since he had experienced battle? Why did he leave it behind? She could feel her dagger meeting flesh, and could hear the cries, but it was all part of a dance, it was all choreography, it was all beautiful. Her tawny hair fell around her and framed her face like a helm, and her icy eyes sparkled with a fury like she had never known before. It was too close to insanity for comfort, but she could not stop it. Her thin-soled shoes allowed for a lot of maneuvering, and she flitted around the field like a grotesque butterfly. She stabbed and stabbed, and did not always hit, but did often enough to please her. She looked down at her blade, and it was red. She grinned, and then gasped. Time slowed. Slice. Like most wounds, she did not feel it immediately when the blade ripped through her calf. She could feel the fury draining out of her eyes, and the muscles in her face went slack. Her jaw hung open as she took ragged breaths. Then the pain came, and she screamed in agony. She collapsed into a heap at the feet of whoever had done this to her. She could hear footsteps walking away from her--oh, so she was to die of blood loss, that was it--until all that remained was pain and the sounds of battle. She touched her leg, her chest heaving with her torn gasps for air, punctuated with a sobbing she could not control, and she winced. The back of her calf was hot with blood, and she could not stand to go any higher, for fear of actually touching her wound. The muscles were torn, but she could tell that the bone was not broken. Maybe she could walk. She staggered to her feet and fell down again. Up, down. Up, down. She repeated this several times until finally she found her balance, leaning heavily on her left leg. She limped back into battle, her dagger raised, screaming threats that she knew she could not carry out.
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"Oh, my god! I care so little, I almost passed out!" --Dr. Cox, "Scrubs" |
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#147 |
Shadow of Starlight
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Fionel kept talking in her submissive, pleading way, and the Huntress was swallowing it all. She was so close to Fionel now, bent close to her. Fionel scrambled backwards.
"Good aim you have." "No it's not, if it was your hand would be pinned to the ground..." Shivana laughed wickedly. Fionel couldn't help the real fear she was beginning to feel, but in her hand the knife still was clutched in her right hand. But Shivana was not finished. "If I was a good aim it would have done something like...this!" With the last word she stabbed down with her dagger. The blade shot straight through, pinning Fionel's left hand to the ground. In shock and pain, Fionel cried out. Shivana laughed and ripped the blade back out. She held the blood stained tip in front of Fionel's scared eyes, and a drop of blood dropped from the end of it. Shivana's head snaked forward and she caught the drop on the tip of her tongue. She smiled and licked her lips, but Fionel didn't take time to let the shudder she felt course through her, instead putting her plan into action. Despite her pain, everything was very clear now, and she whipped her hand straight up, straight towards Shivana's neck. But luck was against Fionel. The easterling rose slightly, obviously about to stand, and the little knife in Fionel's hand only got her in the arm. Not a fatal blow, as intended, but a satisfying one- the pen knife went deep into Shivana's forearm. The blood coursed down, soaking through the fabric in her tunic, mirroring the blood on Fionel's own arm. The easterling cried out in agony, and Fionel couldn't help smiling herself. She scrambled to her feet, letting. Holding her sword loosely in her aching left hand, she held the little knife tightly in her left. Swooping down on the still surprised easterling, she sliced across the wound, cutting the fabric more cleanly off it. The blood flowed more strongly and Fionel laughed herself wildly. A strong exhileration flowed over her, the same as when she had stood in front of Ranchard, but this time she did not check it back. "Who's playing with who now, Shivana?" The Huntress was on her feet in a second though, and her dagger swung towards Fionel to be clumsily countered by the pen knife, knocking it flying from her hand. The slave had the sword in her right, good hand immediately though and once more they faced once another, circling, clutching each their injured arms, fueled by anger and adrenaline...
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#148 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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They had been at it for a fair space of time. Sweat glistened on their faces, and the muscles of their arms ached with the prolonged effort. Still, Rhûnnaro danced lightly on the balls of his feet, keeping his eyes on the slim figure before him.
Ekatran was twenty years younger than he, and taller, his reach with his longsword extending out in a greater arc than the man from Rhûn. The older man felt himself to be as skilled with his blade as the younger, but those advantages of youth and size did tip the scales in Ekatran’s favor, and he felt his best chance would be simply to stay alert and press his advantage when it came to him. Added to that was the fact the beneath his dark tunic, Ekatran was known to wear full armour. Rhûnnaro’s blows glanced off the metal, bruising the younger man with their force, but not cutting him. Ekatran advanced, his blade singing in a zig-zag pattern as he pressed forward, the tip of his longsword cutting a shallow gash in Rhûnnaro’s cheek. The older man’s blade came up deflecting a second blow meant for his neck. Ekatran’s blade slid down the other, glancing off it slightly to land firmly on Rhûnnaro’s vambrace. The solid blow to his arm caused Rhûnnaro to stagger, leaving Ekatran a clear strike at his chest. With the weight of his body behind it, he drove the tip of his blade at the older man’s torso, Rhûnnaro’s chain mail shirt caught the blow squarely, and the force of it knocked him to the ground, his sword clattering to the ground and sliding away from him. Ekatran, his eyes never leaving his quarry’s face, moved in for the kill, savoring the moment slowly. He raised his arms high, the longsword clasped tight in his hands, thinking to bring it down on the man before him. Two things, then, conspired to throw his plan awry. Tenzin, seeing a clear shot at Rhûnnaro’s would be slayer, drew back his bow and let fly one of the black fletched arrows. And one of the women, seeing Rhûnnaro downed, ran spear in hand to his aid. Ekatran, his arms raised high to strike, was focused fully on the other Easterling, and took no notice as he called in a clipped fashion to the approaching woman. ‘His arm pit! Unprotected! Strike hard!!’
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#149 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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“His arm pit! Unprotected! Strike hard!!” someone cried. In a second she threw har dagger at Fionel and pinned her already injured arm to a thick tree trunk behind her. The girl screamed in pain, but the dagger was in bedded deep into the tree through her arm and it would be a job getting it out. Now she could concentrate on the voice. She saw that Ekatran was vulnerable and one of the women was heading towards it with a useless spear. As quick as she could run Shivana bolted behind the girl, who was now just meters away from Ekatran.
“Haven!” Fionel screamed from behind her, the girl turned distracted by her friends cries. But only turned to see Shivana with her dagger held up high. She drove it down, deep into the girls chest, and withdrew it. The girl fell to the ground, blood poured out, she was still alive but no for long. Better she suffer than she kill her quickly. “That will teach you!” she laughed, wildly and turned back to Fionel who was still stuck on the tree. “Was that one of you little friends?….Awww, shes dying…and you cant help her,” Shivana pointed at the girl who lay spluttering blood, crying on the floor. She laughed once more and turned her attention back to Fionel.
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"...still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message." |
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#150 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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Haven realized her mistake all too late. The nanny had not even bothered to look for someone sneaking up behind her. Haven had blindly sprinted after Ekatran to strike, and after all that, her spear had only slightly glanced off his lower shoulder. Haven had turned as her name was called by Fionel, only in time to see a female Easterling send her dagger into Haven's chest cavity.
The realization hit her much, much quicker once the dagger was withdrawn. Haven crumpled to the ground, coughing in fits of blood as more of the red liquid spilled from her chest area. It was all over. Haven's vision blurred with every crazed blink. It scared her more than anything to see her own blood pooling around her. After one blink, Haven caught sight of Lanbriel through her fuzzy vision. The girl grabbed Haven's spear with a somber look on her face before turning away. Haven could not blame her, for it was far too late to save the caretaker. Haven's hearing was sharper in her last moments than she thought it ever had been. The sounds of weapons clashing, the sound of arrows whistling through the air, and the sound of painful cries. All of those sounds rang all too clearly through Haven's ears, causing the already convulsing girl to cringe. Haven, frantic for air in her last moments, breathed deeply and tried to block out the sounds of battle. The sounds of children laughing and wailing came to Haven's mind first, voices instantly recognizeable as Jamilah and Jovanna. Haven smiled, and with every ounce of strength left in her, cried out "Good luck, Fionel!" until her call turned into a gurgling sound as blood spewed out in a cough. In that moment, Haven could swear she felt something beside her, but she was numb by that time, and it mattered not. Death seemed so much colder to Haven than ever imaginable, but so comfortable after her long efforts to escape from Nurn. [ June 17, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]
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...Come down now, they'll say. But everything looks perfect from far away - Come down now! But we'll stay. |
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#151 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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The fight had been going on for quite a while, with Lanbriel injuring the Easterlings here and there slightly. She had never really gotten a chance to face off with anyone, because everyone was always taken. She wouldn't just barge into someone's battle, as it would be too dangerous.
Then she saw her chance. Haven, running for Ekatran, had been stabbed by the female Easterling, Shivana. Haven was too far away, so Lanbriel could not help her. No. But she could easily harm Shivana, who hadn't noticed her hiding behind a small bush. She was heading for Fionel, who's left arm had been pinned to a tree with Shivana's dagger. While Shivana went off to stab Haven, Fionel crept on a side of the tree where the now-returning Easterling could not see her. Saying a few taunting things to Fionel, Shivana came nearer and nearer. Lanbriel saw her chance and drew her dagger. She was first about to draw her spear, but then she realized. If she used the spear, it would make a lot of noise hitting the tree and leaves, and the skilled Easterling would dodge such a clumsy blow. But her dagger, Lanbriel knew she could control that easily. She saw her chance, and as Shivana was about to stab Fionel again with her dagger, Lanbriel threw out her dagger and hit Shivana straight in her torso. The blow was heavy, and sank deep into Shivana's hips. The hunter cried out, and staggered backwards away from Fionel. Lanbriel quickly ran over to the pinned slave, and with all her might managed to tear the dagger from the girl's arm and from the tree. Fionel cried out, but the pain was soon gone from her arm and so was the dagger. Lucky for me, Lanbriel thought, that I wasn't wounded, or I would never have succeeded in freeing Fionel's arm, or stabbing Shivana with such force. That was definately a BIG mistake. Lanbriel didn't even notice that she took a long break to think this thought, panting from the amount of force she had to use to free Fionel. At the end of her thought, as if to counteract it, a blow met with Lanbriel's right arm. It didn't go far, as the blow's owner happened to be the weakened Shivana. Lanbriel gasped, but didn't cry out. She had learned from watching that crying out meant to be the sign of weakness to the opponent. She just let herself inwardly wince, and keeping her face expresionless and rock-hard, brought a blow, what she thought was her last, to Shivana's right arm. Since her hips and feet were still able to function flawlessly unlike Shivana's, she turned and ran away without being pursued. Ignoring the pain rising in waves through her arm, she concentrated on helping Haven now. Fionel could deal with Shivana on her own, she hoped. Lanbriel approached the fallen girl. She was lying in pools of her own blood, spitting it out constantly. Lanbriel, luckily, had heard what Rhunnaro had said earlier. She had happened to loose her dagger on her way to Haven, so she picked up the other slave's with a soft, 'hope you don't mind' look on her face. But before she could strike, someone managed to strike her own left shoulder. It had been Ekatran.
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The world was young, the mountains green. No stain yet on the moon was seen. No words were laid on stream or stone, When Durin woke and walked alone... |
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#152 |
Shadow of Starlight
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The pain in Fionel's arm was unbearable. She turned her head slowly to see the long curved blade that had actually gone through her arm- it was so surreal. Had it gone through the bone? She felt herself wondering. Her thoughts were more abstract, and as the pain surrounded her, it seemed it would be easier and easier to sink into unconciousness...
But Haven's cries now rung in her ears. She forced her eyes back open to see the young, black haired girl lying, curled up, on the floor. Shivana laughed wickedly and nudged Haven with her foot. The girl rolled over slightly and coughed and Fionel realised that the pretty red liquid which was trickling out of her mouth was indeed blood. But there was so much... Shivana turned back to where Ekatran stood, distracted by the commotion and Shivana's brutality. In this pause, Rhunnaro had managed to roll to the side, and had gone quickly to Haven's side, kneeling beside her and trying to staunch the bleeding. Shivana sneered, and exchanged a look with Ekatran. "A heartwarming sight, isn't it, Ekatran?" She said, her voice bitter sweet. He smiled back and, very slowly, twirling his blade in his hand, began to walk towards Rhunnaro and the dying Haven. But Fionel had other plans for them. Beside her another had appeared and, after hearing a murmered apology, she felt the dagger pulled from her arm in a desperate wrench, releasing her from the tree. Almost overwhelmed by the total white hot pain which seared through from her fingertips to her collar bone, Fionel forced herself to stay upright. Lanbriel steadied her, then she herself was pulled away by another- Shivana again. Fionel felt her mind growing fuzzy and unfocused, but made herself stay concious. Ekatran and Shivana were paying no heed to her now, the former menacingly circling Rhunnaro and Haven, the latter, who had been attempting to deal with Lanbriel, now coming back to where Haven lay. Fionel glanced around, her mind coated in cotton wool, and saw the fuzzy figure of Tenzin not far away. He saw what she meant to do, and began to raise his bow, an arrow fixed in it, drawing back the bowstring to fix his sights on the mighty Lord Ekatran as he began to taunt his pray. As for Fionel, she could no longer hear the words Ekatran or Shivana said. There were suddenly only a very few things in her world. She balanced the long, curved dagger in her hand, feeling the weight of it, measuring the distance between herself and Shivana, and all the while felt her strength draining away. Her eyes were fixed upon the spot just between Shivana's shoulder blades as she drew back the dagger. She stepped backwards, then took two quick steps forwards, to get into the motion and, with a last surge of strength, she hurled the dagger at the Hunter. She slipped as she threw it though and as the long dagger sliced through the air, Fionel fell to the ground. The blade did indeed find its target, but Fionel did not see it as she stumbled to the floor, falling to her knees, then onto her hands. Her left arm collapsed under her and she rolled to the side. The darkness of unconciousness was coming closer and closer, and she didn't see the rest of the scene unfold. She didn't see Shivana scream and spin around, clawing at the dagger, didn't see Rhunnarp reach up and wrench it out, making Shivana fall to the ground in pain. She didn't see Shivana stop writhing, whether unconcious from pain and shock or dead she did not know, as both her wounds caused her pain and agony on the same level as Fionel- Fionel had not even noticed, in her strange, fuzzy state that Lanbriel had managed to wound her already. Nor did Fionel see said Lanbriel run towards the spot where Haven still lay, convulsing gently, her breathing shallow. If she had seen, she would have seen Ekatran try to shove the slave away from her dying companion spitefully, before his sword was knocked out of his hand by Rhunnaro, who stood like an image of vengeance solidified, forcing the Lord of Nurn to drop his weapon and step away. But she did see Tenzin as he ran to her side, kneeling down beside her. As the darkness closed around Fionel, she reached up, her left arm trembling and burning, reaching into her tunic. With a quick wrench she pulled the knot on the cord free, her hand closed over the little green wind horse and, as Tenzin began to fumble over the wound in her arm, she held the horse out to him. Both his hands closed over her small, trembling fingers and hand, and as they did so, the darkness closed over her mind, allowing her to slip into blessed unconciousness. [ June 17, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#153 |
Reflection of Darkness
Join Date: Jun 2002
Location: Polishing the stars. Well, somebody has to do it; they're looking a little bit dull.
Posts: 2,983
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Desolyn charged toward Dorlas expecting to catch him by surprise, but she realized she was mistaken when the Easterling brought up his sword, ready to block her attack. But Desolyn did not slow. Instead, she picked up her speed and when she reached him, her spear met his sword.
As their weapons clashed, Des could feel the man's strong arms push against her frail ones. Dorlas was no match for her. For a second Desolyn hesitated, an action she immediately regretted. Dorlas took advantage of this situation and swung his sword at her, slashing the girl's face. Blood ran freely down the right side of Desolyn's face, blinding one eye. Dorlas swung his sword at her again, but this time Des was able to dodge the blow. Remembering the spear in her hand, the girl thrust it at the man, this time hitting his upper leg. Dorlas winced in pain, but Desolyn could see that the wound was not deep. The Easterling lifted up his sword again and Des raised her own weapon in defense, but she soon discovered that this time neither her nor the spear were strong enough. The hunter charged forth, his sword splintering the spear as Desolyn was thrown back into a tree. Before she was able to recover herself, Dorlas had reached her. He thrust his sword into the girl's shoulder, pinning her to the tree. The Easterling smiled as she gasped in pain, pleased to see her suffer. Chuckling, he released blade and pierced Desolyn's other shoulder. The hunter gazed at the girl, his eyes fierce, showing no signs of relent. Unable to hold his stare, Des glanced down at the ground only to discover a shiny object hidden in the dirt. A dagger. Desolyn knew it would not be much against the sword Dorlas held, but she knew she should try. Her life no longer mattered. To Desolyn, it was already over. As Dorlas released his sword, Des dropped to the ground, snatching up the dagger. Ignoring the blow to her back, she shoved the dagger into the man's stomach. The Easterling gasped in surprise and took a step backwards, but Des did not let go of her weapon. Dorlas dropped his sword and pulled out his own dagger. He thrust the weapon into Desolyn's chest several times over in an attempt to free her, but Des only plunged her dagger into him further. Finally, the hunter stumbled and fell, bringing the girl down with him. Dorlas then dropped his dagger and Des released her's. Weakly, she stood up and grabbed the Easterling's fallen sword. Turning back to Dorlas, she raised the sword above her head and stared down at the hunter. His eyes were marked with surprise and fear, but he no longer resisted her as he clutched his bloodied stomach in anguish. Crying out, she brought the sword down into her victim. Covered in blood and only barely alive, Dorlas twitched in his anguish. Frightened at the movement, Desolyn raised the sword and plunged it into his body again. And then again. Wild with fear and madness, she continued to hack at his now lifeless body until she could raise her arms no more. It wasn't until Desolyn finally did stop when the agony of her wounds returned. The girl glanced down at her chest only to discover a mass of torn flesh. Clutching her ruined body, Desolyn cried out in distress. Her head began to swirl and she collapsed on top of Dorlas's corpse. Moaning, Des lay motionless as she waited for Death to claim her. I do not want to die, she realized. But it was too late for that. Darkness swept over her and Desolyn saw no more. [ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: Brinniel ]
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Nolite te bastardes carborundorum |
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#154 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Tenzin’s wound had begun to bleed again. He could feel the warm, sticky fluid seep out from beneath the dressing as he used his arm, dropping in thick gouts of dark red on the rock on which he crouched. He wiped his arm across his face, thinking to wipe the haze which shadowed his sight. The herbs he had chewed earlier had worn off, and the pain from his wound was a constant drain on what little strength he had left.
He had already loosed one arrow, but his muscles had protested at the strain of drawing back the bow, and the shaft had landed harmlessly in the dirt at Ekatran’s feet. The man had not even noticed the arrow as it hit the ground, so intent was he on his intended victim, Rhûnnaro. A groan issued unconsciously from Tenzin’s throat as he struggled to his feet, His eyes took in the bloody tableau that lay below him. Two of the hunters were dead, one by Turos’ hand, and one by the woman, Desolyn, who now lay close to death herself, he thought, seeing her face grow pale and the blood puddle on the ground beneath her. Another of the women, Haven, had already met her death at the hands of Shivana. Shivana he saw stagger, and fall as Rhûnnaro wrenched the dagger from her back. Then Ekatran alone stood, his attention drawn to Lanbriel who stooped near Haven, giving her comfort. It was to Ekatrans’ great misfortune that he did so. Rhûnnaro picked up his blade from dirt where it had fallen and advanced on Ekatran. A hard blow to Ekatran’s arm knocked the sword from his grip, and it fell clattering onto the rocks and dirt at his feet. He dared not bend to pick it up, as Rhûnnaro’s eyes were on him, a cold and calculating light shining from them. ‘Surely your sense of honor will not let you kill an unarmed man.’ Ekatran’s face held an expression of contempt for the older man, and his oily voice insinuated itself into the lessening space between them. ‘My sense of honor! How thoughtful of you, my Lord, to care so much about my welfare.’ Rhûnnaro advanced to within inches of Ekatran’s torso. He could see the pulsing beat of the younger man’s heart against the tight skin of his chest. ‘No, Ekatran, I had not planned to take the life of someone whose spirit is already dead. I will leave you instead to the good graces of those you tormented for so long.’ Rhûnnaro looked impassively at the perplexed face of the young Lord and pressed the tip of his blade lightly against the man’s chest. Turos, with Dôranna limping clumsily beside him, had come up behind Ekatran in the melee, and now stood silently behind him. Turos held a stout club he had wrenched from the saddle on Rhûnnaro’s mount, and now he brought it up in his good hand with a mighty arc. Ekatran felt the rush of air as the club was raised, and turning slightly, a look of surprise on his face, he raised his arms in defense. They deflected the blow somewhat, but the force of it against his forearms caused him to stagger and drop his arms in pain. Dôranna reached out with a powerful swing and hit him squarely in the back of the head with the thick wooden shaft of her spear. He fell limply to the ground - his muscled body crumpling from the blow. They were on him, then, with all the quickness they could muster. Lanbriel and Turos forced him down flat, bringing his arms up behind him. Dôranna, her knee planted squarely on the small of his back tore long strips from the hem of her shirt to bind his wrists and ankles tightly. Once done, they tackled the fallen Shivana, held down by Santiara, her knife to the Hunter’s throat. Handling her roughly as they turned her to her stomach, the women bound her securely with the rope Rhûnnaro fetched for them. Rhûnnaro took a deep breath and sat down wearily on a rock as the others finished binding the two Hunters. His muscles ached, and his chest heaved as he sought to regain his breath. ‘We are done,’ he said, letting the breeze carry his words upward as it cooled his drenched torso. A grief stricken cry brought his head up sharply, and he turned to see Tenzin bent over the fallen Fionel, cradling her head and shoulders in his arms. He saw the tears run down the young man’s face and fall on her pale cheeks. Tenzin’s hand cupped hers gently, as he bent close to her ear, speaking softly to her. Her eyes were shut, and the rise and fall of her breathing was barely perceptible. Rhûnnaro rose to his feet and hastened to Tenzin’s side. ‘You cannot leave me now,’ he heard the young man say to her, as he drew near. Tenzin’s finger pushed back a strand of hair from Fionel’s cheek, tucking it gently behind the shell of her ear. ‘You are free now, to choose as you wish.’ He bent close to her and kissed her on the brow tenderly. ‘Do not choose death . . .’ Rhûnnaro knelt down and gently took Fionel from Tenzin’s arms, laying her down on the ground. ‘You must pull yourself together, Tenzin.’ He turned to Turos who had come up beside them. ‘Fetch the medicine kit, Turos. You and Dôranna see to the others as best you can.’ Returning his attention to Fionel, he spoke in a blunt manner. ‘She lives still, Tenzin. Help me get her wounds cleaned and dressed, and give her some of that leaf to ease the pain . . .’
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#155 |
Shade of Carn Dûm
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Once they had finished tying up the hunters that were still, but barely alive, Lanbriel helped the others. Desolyn was fading more and more to the shadows of death. Haven was already gone. Lanbriel couldn't bare to look at their faces. They had given up their lives, all their chances of being free so that the rest of the slaves may have had those chances.
"It's not fair!" Lanbriel stamped her foot, crying loudly. Then she dropped on the ground and sobbed. Rhunnaro approached her, telling her softly to do what she could now, and not think about what was already done. So Lanbriel dug two holes by the side of a patch of flowers, each hole on either side of the flower patch. While the other slaves attended their living companions, Lanbriel placed the body of Haven in one of the holes. The second was for Desolyn, but somewhere, deep inside, she hoped that she could soon be able to close it up while it was empty. She knew that that hope was a false one. She came over to Desolyn. The girl lay unconscious, surrounded by pools of blood growing larger by the minute. She called over to Turos and Doranna (as the two others tended to Fionel), wanting to hear their opinions before she certainly knew to bury the slave. [ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]
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The world was young, the mountains green. No stain yet on the moon was seen. No words were laid on stream or stone, When Durin woke and walked alone... |
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#156 |
Speaker of the Dead
Join Date: Oct 2002
Location: Superbia
Posts: 868
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Dôranna hung at the outside of the activity, fingering the torn hem of her shirt and whispering softly to herself. She knew that she must look mad, standing around with her mouth moving and no one else about, but she really didn't care just then. She was talking to her father. Apologizing for not understanding. She understood now.
Her leg felt like it was on fire, and the ache spread everywhere in her body. Her very hair seemed to hurt. But worst of all was the tightness in her chest, and that did not come from any physical wounds she had taken. She knelt by Haven's body, stroking the girl's blood-matted hair. Eru, but it wasn't fair. She had been a child. The Elf's eyes filled with tears, which dropped onto Haven's face, cold but strangely peaceful in death. Her breath started to come unevenly, until finally she fell forward on her face and wept until there were no more tears. Wiping her face with her filthy hands, and realizing that nothing was coming of it but mud, she glanced at the other wounded, dying. Her face contorted with pain, until she was able to control herself, and she whispered, "Hiruvalyë hîdh ab 'wanath." They all deserved peace for what they had given. Dôranna wandered off to try and collect herself when she heard Lanbriel calling for her and Turos. She walked slowly over to the girl, who was by Desolyn. Bleeding her life away. Tears sprang afresh into Dôranna's eyes, but she forced them down. Kneeling beside Lanbriel, she put an arm around the girl's shoulders, more to comfort herself than from any indication that Lanbriel needed it. She said nothing, but felt better for the girl's presence.
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"Oh, my god! I care so little, I almost passed out!" --Dr. Cox, "Scrubs" |
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#157 |
Shadow of Starlight
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Amanaduial's post
Fionel felt the sunlight playing lightly on her eyelids, and the sensation seemed so pure and beautiful. Yet she did not yet open her eyes, but struggled up slightly…and the pain hit her. Pain seared through her arm, and, gasping, she opened her eyes. She heard another gasp, not her own this time, and then an exclamation. “She wakes!” “Yes, Tenzin, as I told you she would.” The older voice was rather more sober, although there was a smile in it. Fionel’s eyes adjusted, and as she fully regained consciousness, she coughed a few times, leaning over to one side as she felt something come up from in her throat. A concerned arm was placed around her, and she turned, wiping her mouth. Tenzin smiled down at her and quickly kissed her on the forehead, then blushed and regained his composure, allowing her to prop herself up on one elbow. Fionel was so surprised that she didn’t even notice the red on her hand where she had wiped it, and didn’t immediately notice that her arm was indeed less painful than before, although it still burned quietly. She simply stared at Tenzin, who blushed again and, in a rather uncharacteristic manner, began trying to 'explain himself' with haste. "Forgive me, I was simply worried, I shouldn't have done it, silly of me-" Fionel smiled, shaking her head, and he stopped. Leaning forward, she kissed him very lightly...on the cheek. She was still cautious of any easterling, but this young man... As she leant forward, Fionel felt something swing from her chest then back again, something small and relatively light. Her left hand came up to it and she looked at it, surprised, before turning her eyes back up to Tenzin. "I gave this back to you." He smiled. "And I didn't take it." "But its-" "Its a gift from me." He finished firmly. She returned the smile, then tried to get to her feet, only to be hindered by her arm as she leant on it, collapsing beneath her. She breathed in sharply, her breath hissing through her teeth, then got up more carefully. Rhunnaro tsked in an almost matronly manner from where he stood nearby, watching everything. "Careful with that- the dressing is new, and is only held on with some of Lanbriel's leaves." He gave a satisfied nod though as he came and examined it carefully and gently. "It will suffice though." As he stood back, Fionel saw in his expression the half smile she had heard in his voice when her eyes were still closed. She returned it rather shakily, as her arm was still aching, but more strongly than she may have done before, for she was supported by Tenzin, his arm around her shoulders so she did not fall, for she was weaker after being unconscious. But his support suddenly seemed to go much deeper than it had before, and she felt warm inside. He had kissed her... Such thoughts were more quickly dispelled though when she saw, lying on the ground, a pair of bodies, all too painfully familiar. One was Haven. The young nursemaid was already dead- she couldn't have survived the wound. Fionel remembered the scene, Shivana's laughter still ringing in her ears as Haven fell to the ground. She looked to the side, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to dispell the image, then looked back. Doranna still knelt by the girl, her eyes shining with tears, and Fionel guessed that it was her who had closed Haven's eyes, and cleaned the blood from around her mouth. Those last few moments in which Haven had still been on This Side came back to Fionel, her last words. "Good luck, Fionel!" Fionel smiled and knelt on one knee before the dead girl, raising a hand to her lips and gently kissing the forefinger, a sign of respect and admiration, and sorrow. She thought of when she had first seen the girl, in the audience at the Selection, a pair of smiling, cheeky faced children on her lap and pulling at her skirt hem, and her flustered, but happy, face as she tried to sort them into some sort of order. As Fionel looked at Haven's face once more, eyes closed and peaceful face free of blood, she knew that she had indeed gone back to Jamilah and Jovanna; but she would have made a wonderful mother. Another wasted life. As Fionel identified the second body, her eyes widened in shock. Moving swiftly to her side and gently she pushed a strand of hair from the girl's face, she realised to her horror that she had been right- it was Desolyn. Such a fiery spirit killed...but there was indeed still hope. In the slight wind which blew across the plains, a broken strand of dry, brown grass, more like hay, blew onto Desolyn's face, just below her nose. Fionel was about to brush it off, when it was blown off by another, fainter wind, and in another direction. Fionel was startled for a moment at the wind's apparent change in direction so fast, then smiled in realisation- Desolyn breathed still, however faintly. But Fionel was no fool- Desolyn's chest had been covered by Rhunnaro's cloak, and Fionel could guess how bad her wounds were. She had taken down Dorlas, but had by no means come out unscathed. Desolyn's breathing became slightly irregular for a moment, and she gave a small half cough, but did not open her eyes. Fionel moved closer, and as Desolyn coughed again, she turned her head gently to one side so the latter could cough more freely. As she did so, a thin trickle of blood escaped Desolyn's lips, and Fionel knew that she was going. She opened her eyes, but only very slightly, so all Fionel could see was a thin, shining slit. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Brinniel's post As she returned to consciousness, Desolyn could feel reality hit her. Pain swarmed throughout her body, like a parasite feasting on her. Every breath she took was a struggle to hang onto life a moment longer. Choking on her own saliva, Des gave a small cough. She tasted blood. As she coughed again, she could feel another turn her head to the side. In response, Desolyn allowed a small trickle of blood to escape her mouth. She then opened her eyes very slightly only to find Fionel at her side. “Fionel,” she said softly. “You are still alive.” “So are you,” Fionel responded, giving a small smile. “Only barely,” Des whispered, coughing again. “Is it over then?” “Yes,” Fionel nodded. “We have defeated them.” “No more fighting?” “No more fighting.” “Good. Then it was worth my efforts.” In an attempt to ignore her pain, Desolyn closed her eyes, feeling the wind blow across her face. She then opened them again, her vision blurred from the tears that had begun to form. “I wish I didn’t have to die,” the girl spoke, her voice barely audible. “Don’t say that, Des,” Fionel pleaded. “You can’t give up on life, yet. You are free now. There’s still a chance you could-“ “If the wounds don’t take me, the fever that will come will,” Desolyn interrupted. “It is too late for me. I cannot be saved.” “But you are free,” Fionel repeated. “Sometimes freedom has its price,” Des gave a rueful smile. “And I have paid.” The girl paused before continuing. “There was never much in store for me, anyways. I was born as a slave, and therefore I was meant to be a slave. I only wish I could’ve seen the lands beyond the Shadow Mountains. And perhaps visit the place my mother was from. Edoras, I think it is called. It is in Rohan, I know.” Desolyn could see the other girl smile, her eyes wet as she tried to hold back tears. Des then shuddered, grimacing as pain lanced through her body once more. Fionel’s smile faded. “It hurts so much,” Desolyn whispered. Fionel took her hand and held it gently. Slowly, Desolyn turned back her head and gazed into the sky, absorbing the brightness of it. For so long she had hated the sun, having to work under the heat of it day by day. But now, as she absorbed its warmth, Des adored the sun like no other. Giving one last smile, Desolyn let out a sigh and all feeling left her. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Amanaduial's post Desolyn tried to smile again, then sighed deeply, the rest of the breath left in her going out at once, and with its breeze extinguishing the flame of her life and as she went, a proper, peaceful expression was left on Desolyn's usually so fierce face. The tear which Fionel had been holding back for Desolyn's sake overflowed now, and she held back a sob. Tenzin's strong arm encircled her shoulder once more, and she put up her hand to link with her fingers which lay over her shoulder. Lanbriel, who had also been suppressing a sob, let it out, and Doranna, now kneeling beside her, squeezed her shoulders comfortingly. Fionel stood, feeling suddenly purposeful. Tenzin withdrew his arm from her shoulders, and she looked at him, her face devoid of emotion. "Where is he?" "Who?" "Ekatran, dammit! Where is he? You said he was not dead, so tell me where he is." Her voice was angrier now. Tenzin stood in front of her, trying to calm her down. "Fionel, don't. Rhunnaro, spared his life, so leave him be-" "He. Killed. Her." Fionel said each word individually, emphasising them. "I. Will kill. Him." She stepped around Tenzin, moving faster now; as she had turned she had seen where two figures sat, bound and gagged, away from the camp, but both struggling, awake. Fionel picked up speed now, beginning to run, as she did, snatching her sword from where it lay on Tenzin's pack where he had placed it, making towards the figures, the rage now showing on her face. The weakness which had been over her before was nothing now, or she seemed to have put it to one side, ignoring it. This she would do. He would pay for what his easterlings had done... Just a few feet from Ekatran now, who was sideways on to her, she could see the fear in his eyes. He wasn't big and almighty now, lording over them, playing his little games and organising the Hunts. He was helpless now, at her mercy. The ruthless streak which had been glimpsed when Fionel was with Ranchard was no longer just a glimmer, it was coming right to the surface now. She raised her blade high with both hands and, gritting her teeth, began to bring it down- -befor her hand was stayed. Tenzin's strong, muscled right hand clutched her left one, and his touch ignited once more the burning which had been there before, from Shivana's blades. With a yelp, Fionel dropped the sword and it fell with a clang but an inch away from Ekatran's feet. Rhunnaro had also appeared behind her, and the other slaves were also gathering, surprised at Fionel's swift, mad anger. The slave girl was breathing deeply and, slowly, she turned to face them. The beast inside her was under control now, and she would not let it resurface, but her anger was still real, and her sorrow. She took another deep breath, before addressing them all, her voice calm, but not without a little venom. "What is it that we do with them now?" [ June 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#158 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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Her voice was edged with hatred, and made ragged by exhaustion. ‘What is it that we do with them now?’
Rhûnnaro leaned on his sword, a glint of amusement in his eyes. She caught the look and he could see her anger flare up again. He walked close to where Shivana and Ekatran sat, bound and propped against each other. Holding the flat of his sword against Ekatran’s cheek, he turned the young man’s face to one side and then to the other. Coming round to stand before Shivana, he did the same. His narrowed as he studied them. ‘Yes, this will do,’ he said quietly, holding his hand out to Tenzin. Tenzin’s hand dropped to his belt, undoing the dagger that was sheathed there. He came forward and kneeling next to Shivana, grabbed her long dark hair in his fist, twisting it tight about his right hand, holding it securely above her head. His left arm went round her neck and he held her tightly, pinioning her head in his grip. She struggled against him, and pain shot through his wounded shoulder. He choked her even tighter and she held still. Rhûnnaro crouched down before her, looking into her dark eyes. Even in defeat she would not surrender. He put the palm of his left hand against her forehead and pushed her firmly against Tenzin’s chest. The tip of the dagger carved three, deep wide gashes on each of her cheeks. They ran from chin to temple, the blood from them running freely to join the old blood of the women she had tried to kill. Rhûnnaro carved a last one on her forehead, then scooped some dirt from the ground beside him into his hand, rubbing it deeply into the open cuts to stanch the blood. ‘Seven unworthy slaves defeated you, Huntress. Now each time you see your reflection you will be reminded of the battle. And others, too, will read the story of your defeat in your face, and they will laugh as you pass, whispering loudly to their companions how you were bested in the Hunt.’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘We will take this, I think, as a sign of victory. It is an old custom in Rhûn, not often practiced now, but for this battle I will claim my right to it.” He took up his sword, and with the sharp edge chopped her hair close to her head, between Tenzin’s fist and her scalp. Tenzin laid the length of hair to one side as it came free, and pushed Shivana roughly to one side. It was Ekatran’s turn now, and he struggled mightily at his bonds, hatred burning in his eyes. Tenzin grasped him firmly against him as Turos wrapped the fingers of his good hand round the slavemaster’s hair and yanked it up firmly. The process was repeated, with the same precision and economy of movement as before. Rhûnnaro spoke not a word to Ekatran as he branded him and cut off his dark hair. For his part, Ekatran too was silent, and made no sounds to show he was pained in any way. He too was shoved roughly to the ground when it was done . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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#159 |
Shadow of Starlight
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Fionel heard the others gasp around her and Doranna for one looked away. As they marked Shivana, Fionel looked on, and it was indeed just, after all that she had done, after she had become that twisted, sadistic individual. But as Ekatran was marked...
Fionel couldn't look. She would have killed him, but just killed him, not scarred him badly for life, thereby destroying his. He was cruel, aye, and had hurt and destroyed the lives of so many...but for a short while in the city of Nurn he had shown kindness to her. She remembered how that time had been, maybe with rose tinted glasses now. She had spent four years in the House of Ekatran for two days a week, serving first simply as a low servant, scrubbing floors and making attempts to clean out the old rooms which had lain long neglected, but she had risen, in a way that was most unusual, soon serving at meals, and helping Ekatran and his son with their sword practise, although that was not exactly a treat; it was a priveledge though. She gained herself extra free time in this way and the years from when she was 16 to 17 were as happy as she could have been in slavery. But things changed then. Ekatran's daughter, Malha, was growing up, and she possessed all the cruelty of her father, and the vanity and *****y sadisticness of her mother. Ekatran spent large amounts of time away from his only daughter, although he evidently doted on her, lavishing gifts and jewels on her so she became horribly spoilt, but she resented the way others could spend time with him. She didn't see the way Fionel was not taking pleasure in having to do sword practise with her brother and father, where the shield Fionel would hold, or the wooden sword, had a tendency to break, how she did sustain many, if not very serious, cuts from it; she only saw that this slave, this scum, was spending more time in her father's prescence than she was. And so she set out to make Fionel's life hell. Malha was clever though. She would just do little things- in the one night that Fionel was now allowed to spend in the palace, so she could be up and at her chores without having to wait for the slave pens to be unlocked, Malha would put pins in her bed. She would find the scorpions that lived in some parts of the fields, and would put them into the cheap shoes that Fionel wore when in the palace, and in the early morning, when not fully awake, Fionel would put her feet right onto them. She would litter the floor of Fionel's room with pins- it did not have a lock, obviously- at night, would find out where she was working the next day and stand by, taunting her. Eventually, Fionel snapped. This little brat of a child, about 10 years younger than her, was daring to do all these things to an older child, well, an adult really, something that would be unheard of in Gondor, and no one would reprimand her- Fionel herself was not allowed to even tell her off. But one day, she could not bear in any longer. As Malha stood, taunting her, mocking her, she brought up Fionel's family; the people Fionel loved most who had been torn away from her. In a second, Fionel had been down from the attic she was cleaning, and slapped Malha soundly around the face. As the girl turned to look at her, shocked, hand on her right cheek, Fionel had slapped the other one, then slapped Malha right across her thighs, as she had seen the nursemaids do with unruly children. THe shock was gone now, and Malha ran, screaming, her yells echoing throughout the palace. They had disgusted Fionel then, and they still disgusted her now- even after a whipping, no slave would yell like that. But Ekatran would not see it like that. Roused from his bed, for it was early morning, he stormed up to where Malha led him, still sobbing fakely to hide her wicked smile, and confronted Fionel. And despite all she had done in the past few years, and the way she had been a faithful servant to him, he would only believe Malha's side of the story ("She jumped on me for no reason, when I was just helping her tidy up the attic, and she pulled my hair and slapped me, telling me I was horrible...."). Seizing a long piece of quite rounded wood, he had beaten Fionel, harder than she had been beaten since she first came to Nurn, and when he was done and her back bled and ached and felt like it would break, he had thrown her out into the fields again. What Malha had done and how she had reacted had caused Fionel to be put into the Hunt. Her back had taken a week to heal, the only week she would have been allowed to take time off working; but Ekatran still burned with anger, and told the overseers she could rest for one day, then she must work again. He had been cruel to her then, and it had torn apart Fionel's ideas of what was right and wrong, at the time anyway, as she had worked hard and well for Ekatran, not believing everything the others told her of his personal cruelties to others...then he had done this to her. "Come, we will move again. All have rested and we need to get moving once more." Rhunnaro's voice only half brought Fionel back to the present. She stood, sword by her feet, contemplating Ekatran, but she no longer felt anger, just an odd emptiness. The young man regarded her, chin up, still keeping his dignity despite what he had just suffered, as she always had after a beating, apart from that one beating that day. Tenzin was watching her from a few metres behind, remembering how she had run at him before, but she did not want to attack any more. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the sword, and Tenzin tensed...but all she did was cut off a length of her loose, worn tunic. It was stained with her own blood, but no matter. She stepped to the side of Ekatran and, carefully, wiped the dirt and excess blood from his face then, as a final kindness, tied the cloth around his face, she only his eyes could be seen, and most of the cuts were covered. If anyone came, they would not see the Lord humbled so. She owed him nothing now: his kindness over that short while was now repaid. Standing, without a backward glance, she walked back to the others. Tenzin didn't say anything, but nodded to her- he didn't understand why she had done this, but he could see there must have been a good reason. Fionel smiled at him and, with his arm around her once more, they walked to where the others were preparing to leave, leaving Shivana and the great Lord Ekatran of Nurn alone.
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I am what I was, a harmless little devil |
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#160 |
Quill Revenant
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Wandering through the Downs.....
Posts: 849
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kittiewhirl's post
Sobbing, Lanbriel made her way to the now lifeless body of Desolyn. Slowly and gently, she pulled the fallen slave to her grave. She carefully put her in the pit. Once few words were said over her grave, she covered her up and put stones and flowers on top. Soon they were ready to leave. Lanbriel mounted her horse and soon they were off. Feelings of anger, relief, sadness, and happiness all pulsed through her in unsion. Her anger was still at Nurn, all of its merciless inhabitants, and the need to come back and kill them all. Her relief and happiness came from the thought of freedom. She would never be enslaved and tortured like that again! Her sadness came from the fact that two of her companions were now dead, having sacrificed their lives for the freedom of others. Lanbriel looked up at the sky, and now knew it. She could finally fly free. [ June 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' |
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