| elflyn |
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| Salkiethia |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| Linwe_Saralonde |
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| Salkiethia |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| elflyn |
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| Nimeneth |
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| Linwe_Saralonde |
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| dreamdancer |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| elflyn |
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| Nimeneth |
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| Linwe_Saralonde |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| Salkiethia |
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| otterling |
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| elflyn |
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| Nimeneth |
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| dreamdancer |
 RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 02, 2006 04:14
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The trek back to the camp hadn’t been easy, or enjoyable- - Delvan had managed to get ahead of Dirk and his comrade, because of the trouble they were having with the large black horse. The mare he was leading was a little more agreeable, though obviously frightened, and thrown off by the odd way her rider was thrown across her back. Finally the noises that were the familiar din of Ondet’s camps could be heard through the trees-- The clash of steel on steel in practice- sparring (and half the time actual fights to the death), general hollering and cursing… music to his ears. The man was ready to be rid of the blasted horse, and to turn the still-unconscious elf over to Ondet.
When he first arrived on the camp’s borders he was almost stopped by the guards, but one steely look and they let him by. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Dirk coming up a good distance behind, and smirked. What good was a human child to their force? What could he possibly know that would be of any value? The *real* prize was the soldier he’d captured himself- and the sting in his arm would be a small price to pay for moving ‘up’ in the master’s eyes.
Silently he led the mare over to where his own tent was situated. True, his orders had been to find the Captain upon his return and to give an instant report- but he’d been thirsting since Dawn, and the cut on his arm needed tending. After tying the horse he retreated into his tent and found two flasks; one of water, and one of wine. The water he poured over the stinging cut, and the wine he tipped back to drink.
As it were, he was in the middle of that deep draught when he caught sight of the fair-haired ellon out of the corner of his eye. Nearly choking he dropped the flask from his lips and screwed the cap back on, wiping at his mouth as he bowed submissivly to Ondet.
“Captain…” Delvan started, but the elf gave a sharp glance that silenced him. For a moment he was quiet, and the ex-soldier almost feared that he’d have to dodge a swing from his master’s mighty sword… but instead, Ondet’s pale eyes flickered past the man before him and to the prisoner. He could easily see that the unmoving soldier was of elf-kind. A treat indeed, since their last attack had left them with no prisoners. A wicked glee flashed in his eyes and a chilling grin curled his lips. He nodded once.
“I am pleased. Next time, Delvan, follow your orders and talk to me before you go to your drinking.”
“Yes, Captain,” Delven replied, trying not to show how relieved he was, “What should I do with the prisoner?”
“Bind him, and when he wakes I will decide. You can keep the horse for yourself; you may need one.”
Without another word he turned away, going to where Dirk and his friend had just arrived with the black stallion and the boy prisoner. Delven sighed deeply and shook himself a bit. Although he’d gotten ‘used’ to Ondet’s manner, he couldn’t help but be tense whenever he saw that cold smile. It could very well mean his own demise, he knew; other men who had served well had been killed without a moment’s warning, and sometimes for something as trivial as having the wrong tone of voice. The master was a dangerous ally to keep, and everyone in the camp knew it- but such was his strength and mind that everyone respected him, even if they despised him. Yes, he would bring them all power….
Delvan turned and glanced at the unconscious elf, and snorted again. He’d see to that after he’d bandaged his arm. And so he did, going back in the tent and properly tending the wound, then having some more wine. When he emerged and cut the ropes holding the elf to the saddle he noticed across the camp that Morgai had returned, and was kneeling in the dirt before Ondet, scribbling with a stick. Inwardly the man growled- he had to work with Morgai, but no love for that man did he have. If anything he wished he could throttle him- his manner was infuriating.
Grousing again to himself that he was the one who’d brought back an elf, he decided not to care about Morgai. Roughly he hauled his prisoner from the horse and dropped him on the ground, ignoring the groan that came from his throat. In another few minutes he had the elf bound to a nearby tree, his wrists tied behind his back and two lengths of rope holding him against the trunk. As he pulled the final knot tight the elf woke…
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The first thing Narmion was aware of was that his head was pounding, his wounded leg was throbbing relentlessly, and the old shoulder injury was aching. His thoughts and memories were a blur, a gray fog obscuring any semblance of what had happened, where he was, and why he was hurting so badly.
With a groan he lifted his head and blinked, trying to clear that fog. At first he couldn’t get past his pain, and then a rope tightened against his chest and he was pulled roughly against something. His vision cleared and he groaned, remembering- albeit vaguely- the patrol, the battle, the orc camp… . He’d fallen into darkness… but where was he now?
Blearily he looked around, and saw several tents scattered in a wide clearing surrounded by thick trees. Men were around, as were orcs… some engaged in ‘fights’, others sitting around fires and eating, and more than a few leering in his direction. A chill swept through the elf’s body as he came to full realization of where he was- not just an enemy camp, but one of incredible size… and possibly the main one.
Another jolt of pain went through his head, and he became aware of the blood still drying there, and the sting of the place where Delvan’s staff had split his skin. Narmion wracked his brain and tried to recall how he’d come here… and slowly he was able to remember going to help Rolan, and then finding him gone, and the unexpected foe in the camp…
Worriedly he glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rolan and Diablo, but he couldn’t see them. Fear gripped his heart, though mostly for the boy- he was only a child! Why had be come with the patrol at all? What if he were badly hurt, or dead?
“Awake at last?” Came a gruff voice, and the prisoner slowly turned to behold the man he’d fought kneeling next to him. His captor’s stony face was grim, but there was an iniquitous amusement shining in those dangerous eyes.
“W-where’s the boy?” Narmion demanded, inwardly disgusted with how weak his voice sounded in his own ears. Even worse was the laugh he got in response as the man got to his feet, tossing aside some unused rope and then producing a flask from his belt.
“Don’t you worry about him, master elf. He’s just fine- for now. A fine mess you’ve both gotten into, you and the mite… though I suppose he’ll be lucky if the master orders a swift, painless death. You, on the other hand, are likely to be treated a little more ‘special’.”
Chuckling under his breath Delvan took a deep draught and watched the play of emotions on his captive’s face. Yes, he was afraid, and confused. In a lightning motion the man produced a dagger from his belt- Narmion’s dagger- and waved it around a bit.
“I wouldn’t consider trying to escape if I were you. I doubt you would make it very far, even if you could make it out of the “bind” you’re in- and if you did, the ‘boy’ would pay for your foolishness.” With a laugh he re-sheathed the dagger and then nudged the elf’s wounded leg, grinning when he hissed in pain.
“Just make yourself comfortable, friend. I’m sure you won’t be waiting very long.”
With that, Delvan turned away and looked for Morgai, wanting very badly to gloat. When he spotted him he beckoned.
“Come share a drink with me,” he called, his voice overly-friendly in his invitation.
Narmion, meanwhile, was breathing heavily, incredibly tense as he struggled uselessly against his bindings. The way his arms were tied made his shoulder ache, and as much as he tried he couldn’t seem to make the ropes budge. Escape was hopeless, especially with Rolan in danger…and what had happened to the others? Had Glyndr led the patrol to victory, or had they all fallen on the battlefield? In his mind’s eye he saw his friend engaged in battle, ruthless in his rage… but even Glyndr couldn’t stand up against a force too large for him.
Feeling hopelessly foolish for joining the patrol at all, and sensing despair threatening to grip his soul, the elf closed his eyes and rested his head against the tree. With a great effort he swallowed his tears and tried to calm himself. There was no way he’d given these evil men the delight of seeing him cry… but he couldn’t help wondering anxiously who the ‘master’ was, and what fate had in store for him in this dreadful camp….
(ok, I lied… no Lalaith this time around. Be assured, she’s fretting. I’m half asleep and writing, so, once again… *cringes*)
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| Salkiethia |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| otterling |
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| Nimeneth |
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| Salkiethia |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| dreamdancer |
RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 04, 2006 09:00
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Narmion had been concentrating on remaining calm and trying to coolly go over how terrible his situation was when he heard an unearthly clamor from another area in the camp. He’d heard Diablo’s voice enough to recognize it, and hearing the fury and fear in the stallion’s screaming chilled him. What were they doing…?
He looked up slowly and saw a man hauling Rolan over toward him, and understood partially why Diablo was upset. He beheld the boy’s limp form, the blood coloring blonde hair with wide eyes… his throat tightened in another wave of fear, but not for himself. He could remember clearly the day he’d met with Rolan, how he’d told him that war was no grand thing… and now they had both ended up here, in the thick of the hellish war raged by a still-unknown foe. Narmion couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, and his eyes narrowed at the man carrying him- this had to be the one who was respoinsible!
When the lad was dropped unceremoniously at his feet Narmion winced, and then observed Rolan worriedly, trying to tell just how badly he’d been hurt. As for that, his vision hadn’t completely cleared and it was hard to tell- the boy was breathing, but unmoving. He wanted to call his young friend’s name, to see if he could beckon him into wakefulness- but as ashamed as he was of it, he was afraid to speak.
"He's dead, or nearly," Dirk told the Elf in as offhanded a manner as he could manage. "Couple o' the dumber orcs tried to get the horse to run over him. Seemed to work, too, though they got as run over as the kid."
Although the elf didn’t know if those words were true he couldn’t help but grimace painfully, agonizing that someone so young had been dragged into this… whatever he thought he’d done wrong, he didn’t deserve such treatment!!
"I guess he's not good for much besides torture now, the fun kind, you know, not the information-gathering type." A pause, and Dirk let a thoughtful look cross his face. "Although, I may be able to talk the Master" let him wonder about the title, and all it implied "and get a Healer to tend to him - if you're willing to take his place..."
Narmion’s mouth felt dry, and he tried to swallow but found he couldn’t. Torture? That hadn’t even crossed his mind! But, of course… he knew that such was done… he’d had friends to suffer it…
The thought made him shudder- noticeably- and his tired eyes went back to Rolan. Well, what choice did he have? From what his captor had told him, he’d be ‘pressed’ with questions soon enough… and what sort of person would he be if he didn’t do everything in his power to save Rolan from that fate? He so obviously needed a healer…
As it were, when he began to make a reply someone else approached, interrupting what he’d been about to say- and he didn’t mind, since he hadn’t really known anyway.
Di’shan moved up to stand next to Dirk, his smile spreading fully as his eyes rested on Rolon’s still form. “My my, what have you brought back for me to play with?” Di’shan looked up to meet Narmion’s gaze and despite the smile on his face, the mirth in Di’shan’s eyes was cold and unpleasant. “An elf and a boy? Truly, today is a fortuitous one,” Di’shan stepped around Dirk and knelt down next to Rolon’s head. He ran his fingers through the boy’s matted and dirty hair and ever so gently tugged loose a few tangles with the care of a parent. “We will need a healer for the boy,” he said softly; there was no concern in his voice, only a cold detachment spoken in soft easy tones. He looked up at Narmion once more and offered him an eerie smile as he spoke, “and we should find a more suitable place for them both. I want them together for the time being.” Di’shan pushed up off his knee and turned to face Dirk. “They’ll be more useful that way,” Di’shan absently fingered the ruby set into the hilt of his dagger and cast one more look back to where Diablo was still thrashing about.
The smile on the newcomer’s face made Narmion’s heart go cold. The way that he was being observed- as a prize, obviously- was no help. When he knelt and began to brush his fingers through Rolan’s hair the elf tensed, wanting very badly to demand that they leave him alone. He could guess well enough why they wanted a healer- certainly not for Rolan’s own good!
As much as he’d wanted Rolan to wake up before, now he silently begged him not to- not yet. There was no telling what would happen with these two men standing there- not to mention Delvan, who had wandered over to talk to someone else. He might be bound, or beaten… for now, the sweet escape into darkness was better for him. Narmion half-wished he hadn’t woken himself… he didn’t know exactly what was planned for him, but he could warrant a well enough guess.
The newcomer left, then, heading over in the general direction where the screaming had been. Narmion noticed then, with a falling heart, that Diablo was no longer making any noise. What had silenced him? How he hoped the poor beast hadn’t been killed!
Delvan had smirked at Morgai’s reaction to his invitation- knowing very well that the man didn’t want to share a drink with him. He turned then to glance at his elf, as the other man came over, and saw Di’Shan leaving, and Dirk hovering. Inwardly he growled, but before he could make any movie Morgai had rushed by him…
“Dirk!” he snapped, pinning the other man to a tree with a hand at his throat. He allowed his fingers to tighten, cutting off the man’s air supply as someone was doing for the black beast that had been making a ruckus. “Leave the captives alone, their fate is to be decided by the ‘Master’. Am I understood?” Without waiting for the man to indicate that he did understand, he dropped him to the ground, momentarily admiring the discolorations his fingers had made on the other man’s neck. “Send a healer over to see to them both.” He turned to Delvan. “Unless, of course, you’d rather the elf remain untended. He is, of course, your captive.”
“I personally don’t care. The elf isn’t in danger of dieing from his wounds, so I’m not worried about them.”
Inwardly he was seething, angry with Morgai for jumping in where his prisoner was concerned. That Dirk had brought over the boy-captive he didn’t care- but he surely wasn’t going to be hounded into keeping an eye on them both. Even so, he wouldn’t leave any orcs to watch them; if he did that, then both of the prisoners might be dead before anything could be gotten from them!
Narmion’s attention had been drawn to the dark-haired man, Morgai if he’d heard right. He just blinked at him in surprise for a moment, then inwardly shook his head in disbelief. When he came and crouched in front of him, though, admiring him like a deer brought down by a hunter (which made him writhe inwardly) he could see the resemblance easily. This man favored Arato- the similarity between their faces, and even their builds, was striking. What could that mean?
When Morgai congratulated Delven- at which the man preened himself quite noticeably- the elf’s inner ire rose. Their fight hadn’t been fair at all- for one, he was wounded, and he’d been taken completely by surprise! That was no impressive fight- that was a dirty stab-in-the-back!
But, sighing morosely he watched Arato’s look-a-like leave, and then slumped back against the tree, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder and head. What did it matter? He’d fallen captive, along with Rolan, and here they were. Not knowing if his friends had succeeded was hard to bear, as was knowing that there would probably be no chance of a rescue. Rivendell’s numbers were too few; Glyndr would know he couldn’t spare anyone. And anyway, no one knew of this monstrous camp.
He sighed and avoided looking at Delvan, instead studying Rolan again. Uselessly he tried to nudge the boy with his foot, and got no response. Shaking his head he looked to the sky, closing his eyes again against his pain- which was nothing, he guessed, compared to what was coming.
It is hopeless, he thought, though he tried very hard to fight off his despair…
Delvan watched his captive for a few minutes and then got bored, deciding he’d much rather be doing something else. Grumbling, he gave the elf’s wounded leg a nudge (just for good measure) and then walked over to where everyone else seemed to be crowding. He ignored the horse, having no interest in it, instead seeing the exchange between Sakhar and Di’Shan. The Gondorian was sure he didn’t like either one of them- though they were both ‘useful’ to the cause, and helpful in many ways. He paid no attention to either, but looked to Ondet, who was studying the horse with his usual cold, impassive expression.
“Captain,” he said, and when the elf’s pale eyes turned on him he nodded respectively, “The elf-soldier is awake, but Dirk’s boy is not. Di’Shan has suggested that we move them, keep them together… and let a healer see to them… what is your command?”
Ondet was silent for a moment, considering. His eyes went to the prisoners, and he chuckled once to see the other of his race bent against those ropes with the weight of anguish on his shoulders.
“Have a healer see to them,” he said, his voice cold and level, “And give them food and water. We will let them regain their energy first, so they’ll be better able to share what they ‘know’. If Di’Shan wants to move them, let him see to that.”
(gaah, I was going to do more but my brother is chasing me off the computer >< so this is it for this post. Hope its ok!)
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| otterling |
RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 04, 2006 02:37
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((OOC: OMG, forgive me...I didn't mean this to go on as long as it did but Di'shan just wouldn't stop....dang...have fun reading....)
The introduction of new prisoners in the main encampment had been enough, in the span of a half hour, to utterly disrupt the activities of anyone in the vicinity. Pots had been left unclean while orcs with wet hands stood on tiptoe or roughly shoved aside their companions to get a better look at the proceedings. Swords everywhere had been dropped or sheathed and now a soft rolling murmur was rustling over the troops as the news of the captives had begun to spread. The heavy, ugly grunting of the orcish tongue had become an undercurrent of noise, hushed as pointed ears strained to hear what was happening in the center of an ever constricting ring, at the midst of which stood the source of all the commotion. The only voices heard above the din were those of Ondet’s human lieutenants.
"What in hell are you doing?
The man shouting was Dirk, one of the younger humans and a Rohirim. His ire was directed at a thin lithe man named Sakhar who at that moment was tying another set of leather ropes around the legs of a huge black horse, its side lathered in sweat and its eyes wide with hate.
“I believe we are still on the surface of this good earth, per se,” he growled scathingly, sparing the Rohirim barely a glance, a hint of his usual sneer carrying over into his low gravelly voice. “I am merely disciplining an animal, boy, and if you don’t know anything about it or can’t stomach it then it is not in your place to comment.”
There was the soft scuffle of footsteps as several orcs backed away from both men. A fight among the Master’s humans would be fun to watch but these men certainly didn’t get to power by race alone; being too near one if a scuffle should break out was a certain way to get killed. Di’shan chuckled ever so softly under his breath. He knew better. The two men would not come to blows, not in front of Ondet. To do so would be foolish at best and neither of these men could be considered fools. Di’shan was not over fond of Dirk, nor did he particularly dislike him either, he merely tolerated the other man’s existence because Ondet wished it. Dirk was not one to be trusted though. No man who is forced into his work can be trusted…that was the trouble with slaves. Di’shan had made a point of watching the Rohirim very carefully, waiting for the moment when he would seek an escape. Ondet had already promised him that, should Dirk ever betray him, Di’shan was allowed free access to Dirk’s pretty young wife and his remaining children…such lovely things. Di’shan almost half wished Dirk would turn, just so he could go visit them.
Once Sakhar had finished his handiwork, he removed the choke-hold and stood back to admire the all but helpless animal. Di’shan was rather disappointed to realize that the fine black horse would not be his. Oh, how he would love to own such and animal, but Sakhar was much better with them than he and it would mean a battle to gain the animal as his own; it was a battle he did not wish to fight. After all, with such a horse in their midst, he suspected that Ondet would want to claim the prize and no one, not Dirk or any other in the camp, would dare to argue that. The elf’s temper was a thing of great fear and it had already achieved notoriety amongst the entire army. Sakhar broke the other Haradrim’s train of thought as his eyes fell on their newest acquisitions. Di’shan watched his eyes widen just a tad at the sight of an elf tied to the tree.
“My, my,” his lips twitched into a sinister grin, and he met Di’shan’s eyes again in what could pass for camaraderie in a bad light. “What a field day. Yours, I suppose?”
Di’shan’s eyes lit up with a particularly nasty sort of delight that spoke of dead birds with broken necks and butterflies without wings. There was an almost viscous malice to his smile that clung to the skin and left those in its wake feeling as if their soul was a little more soiled for having witnessed it. “Only if m’lord declares it so,” his voice was as smooth and un-ruffled as ever, though a thousand unspoken nightmares hid themselves behind every word. With that, Di’shan made his way over to Ondet’s side and offered him the slightest of bows, a custom that was just as often met with an almost imperceptible, long suffering sigh. The elf, for the moment, indulged Di’shan his little flamboyancies in exchange for the enthusiastic service he knew he would always get. The human might be a bit grating from time to time but he kept to himself for the most part and he did have a rather useful knack for getting information (or cooperation) out of just about anyone. Delvan, another of Ondet’s men, stood to his other side and Di’shan held his tongue until the Gondorian had spoken his peace. Delvan was not one to be trifled with and Di’shan had found it best to keep his distance when possible; the other man had never seemed to like him much but Di’shan was not concerned with making friends, his main concern was not getting in the way of Delvan’s fiery temper.
When Delvan had finished speaking, Ondet’s cold, and unwavering gaze fell back onto Di’shan as he replied in a voice that could make any man reconsider his importance in the world.
“Have a healer see to them,” he said, his voice cold and level, “And give them food and water. We will let them regain their energy first, so they’ll be better able to share what they ‘know’. If Di’Shan wants to move them, let him see to that.”
Ondet was a creature far older than Di’shan could possibly discern and for the briefest of moments, he was ever so glad that it was not him that Ondet’s anger was focused on. The elf downright scared Di’shan, and that in itself, was quite and accomplishment. Composure came back swiftly however, as the thought of his new toys worked its way back into his mind. There was that ever present need in his veins, a nagging voice at the back of his brain that whispered to him; there was pain to be had and the screams would be fresh. “M’Lord,” Di’shan allowed the vile grin to tug at the corners of his mouth once more, “if you would permit me, I would like to take over the care of the prisoners. I will move them somewhere…safer, give them food and water, and see to it a healer tends to their wounds.”
Ondet made no reply save for a curt nod, the only sign Di’shan needed to begin his work. The bronzed young man turned and headed straight for the two captives, moving in an easy sauntering rhythm. After he had moved only a few feet, he heard the chilling voice of his master speak up once more. “I want them alive for now. No permanent damage until I say. I will let you know when it is time.” The tone of voice left no room for argument and Di’shan stamped down on his disappointment. They would be his soon enough. Ondet would not turn them over to anyone else for there was no one more skilled at the art form of human anguish than Di’shan and there were very few who didn’t know it. Di’shan glided easily up to the base of the tree and knelt down once more next to Rolan. He paced two slender fingers against the boy’s throat to check for a pulse and, upon feeling the steady rhythm there, he offered the child a gentle pat on the head.
“You will be moved to a new location, somewhere a little less conspicuous where you will not be harmed by orcish hands. You will do as you are told and you will not struggle,” Di’shan looked up to meet Narmion’s eyes as he spoke, “You are wounded and could not carry the boy out of here should you even think of escaping, you know this and I know this, so the point of struggle is moot.” Di’shan stood up gracefully and waved over two orcs from the perimeter of the crowd. He was fairly certain the elf would not present him with too much resistance, especially knowing that Di’shan was absolutely right. With the wounds Narmion had sustained he would find himself hard pressed to escape an entire camp with an un-conscious boy in his care. Di’shan smiled, almost pleasantly as he motioned to the ropes binding Narmion to the tree. The orcs set to work roughly untying the elf and hauling him un-ceremoniously to his feet where they supported his weight on each arm. Di’shan leaned over and lifted Rolan’s still form in the cradle of his arms, taking some small delight in the pain etched on Narmion’s face.
He turned and headed down the hill towards his own tent, the two orcs and Narmion in tow. Di’shan could feel the cold stare of Ondet rake over him as they made their way past the circle, where Diablo’s body was still hidden behind a curtain of shifting amour and orcflesh. The small procession made its way to the centermost position of the camp, past the grand tent where Ondet had taken residence, to one of the slightly smaller tents set in a semi-circle around their leader. Di’shan had taken the tent positioned just behind and to the left of the main opening to Ondet’s. The other men had vied for the tents more prominently located near their leader but Di’shan was content to stay in the back ground. Some 15 feet beyond his own home was a huge structure set up for meetings, a long hall of sorts, where Ondet would rouse the heads of his orcish armies while his lieutenants looked on in various states of feigned interest. It didn’t usually take much to wind the brutes up and Ondet was particularly good at it. No real plans of action were ever set forth for the orcs, those having been long since laid out for men like Morgai and Delvan who would lead the forces into battle, but maintaining the fealty of thousands of orcs was no easy task and Ondet was capable of saying just the right thing to keep the skittish creatures in line. A few words from him was always enough to quell inter-tribal disputes and with the flair of a true leader, he had managed to convince all of them that they should trust in his vision.
Di’shan had to admire the man.
He led the way to his own tent and pushed past the rough-hewn burlap that made up the door flap. He would have preferred a tent made of finer cloth, but as anyone who has killed in expensive new gloves can attest to, it’s nearly impossible to get blood out of silk. The tents each of the men had been given were around 13 feet in diameter (Ondet’s being a massive 20) with a single supporting pole running down its center, more than enough room to live quite comfortably during the long siege. Di’shan had decorated his temporary home as best as he could given the situation and he was rather proud of its rich interior. A large metal chest sat against the opposite wall from the opening with two small end tables on each side. A large bed covered in thick blankets was on the left and a cabinet was placed between the two, in which sat a gleaming set of chain mail amour and several daggers. The right side of the room, however, was left utterly bare, save for a thin layer of strangely dyed animal hides laid out across the floor. It was here that Di’shan deposited Rolan. The orcs dropped Narmion down beside him and snorted derisively. “Fetch the medicine man,” Di’shan said softly. One of the orcs moved swiftly out of the tent, glad to be away from the creepy human while the other glanced about nervously. There were many sounds that had floated out of this tent and none had been ones the orc would like to hear up close.
Di’shan went to the large metal chest and with drew from it several thin leather thongs. He walked over to a small basin on one of the end tables and dipped them in the water it contained, carefully wringing them out before he moved back toward Narmion. “If he moves, kill him,” Di’shan purred as he sank down next to the elf. After stretching the leather cords in his hands for a few moments, Di’shan met the elf’s gaze with a vile grin and then bound his arms tightly behind him with the wet leather. The trick was an old one he had used many times. Leather when wet is easy to stretch to its full extent, by tying the two while the leather is wet, he can ensure that the binds could not be further stretched later. The leather would shrink ever so slightly as it dried, tightening the knots and making it nearly impossible to wriggle loose. This pair would not be going anywhere. Di’shan repeated the process on Narmion’s ankles, delighting in every hissed breath of pain as his leg was jostled about. When he was fairly certain the elf was secured, Di’shan turned to Rolan with a smile and pulled the boy into a sitting position next to the elf. The boy’s binds were quickly enough replaced with the leather straps and Di’shan grinned openly at the frustration and anger he could see in the other captive. The elf was obviously distressed at watching the boy being man-handled and roughly tied as he himself was. Di’shan eased the boy back against the tent wall and chuckled a little as he slumped over onto Narmion’s shoulder.
The second orc arrived soon enough with an odd looking creature in tow. The newcomer to the tent was dressed strangely with bones and bits of debris tied haphazardly to his tattered clothing. The orc healer moved over to where Narmion was sitting and dropped down next to him. Bony fingers tipped in cracked grimy nails gripped Narmion’s face as the orc looked him over. No care was given to the amount of discomfort being wrought as the creature turned his head this way and that, examining the damage done with the blow he had sustained from Delvan. When it was satisfied with its exam, the foul beast moved over to Rolan’s still form and roughly tilted his face about in much the same manner. A damp cloth was slapped over the crusted wound on the boy’s head, despite the fact that it had already stopped bleeding. With a clatter of bones, metal, and rock, the orc healer stood back up and turned to Di’shan. “Give 3 times a day and they’ll live,” it grumbled almost un-intelligibly as it thrust a water skin at Di’shan before beating a hasty retreat from the tent. Di’shan raised one slender eyebrow at the questionable substance in his hand and then looked down at Narmion. “After you drink this, you may just wish I had killed you,” he said, mirth evident in his voice.
((OOC: If anyone needs me to change this post due to thier characters (ie: Narmion) acting in a different way than stated, PLEASE let me know and I'll gladly adjust.  ))
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| elflyn |
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| Nimeneth |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| Autumn_Winds |
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| dreamdancer |
RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 06, 2006 08:11
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As soon as he was left alone for a moment Narmion heaved a deep sigh and tried again with the ropes holding him to the tree, to no avail. They just weren’t coming loose! If given time to gain some more strength, he thought, he’d be able to wiggle his way out of them- but somehow he didn’t think he’d have that much time.
Much to his inner repugnance, now that he wasn’t ‘guarded’ properly a crowd of orcs and men quickly accumulated to jaunt and leer at him. A few of them grunted to eachother about what they expected Di’Shan would do (he guessed that to be the name of the chillingly nonchalant man who’s observed them with a wicked amusement). Others could be heard placing bets as to how long it would take each captive to ‘give in’- which chilled the elf to his core. He let his eyes drop to Rolan once again, inwardly agonizing that he had come into this… and then the ‘Di’Shan’ was there, the same expression still on his face.
Di’Shan knelt down once more next to Rolan. He paced two slender fingers against the boy’s throat to check for a pulse and, upon feeling the steady rhythm there, he offered the child a gentle pat on the head.
“You will be moved to a new location, somewhere a little less conspicuous where you will not be harmed by orcish hands. You will do as you are told and you will not struggle,” Di’shan looked up to meet Narmion’s eyes as he spoke, “You are wounded and could not carry the boy out of here should you even think of escaping, you know this and I know this, so the point of struggle is moot.” Di’shan stood up gracefully and waved over two orcs from the perimeter of the crowd
Narmion knew the man was right, of course; even if he somehow could manage to break away and make a run for it, there was no way he could bear Rolan’s weight with his shoulder throbbing so terrible. More than likely he’d get them both killed. It made him angry… but, he was so weary and in pain that his usual rage didn’t do more than sputter a bit in his heart. He glared at the orcs venomously, though, unable to hide his hatred. He was afraid too, of course; as proud of a warrior he’d been, he’d never professed to be fearless- but for now he did try very hard to mask that emotion, wanting to give them not an inch of pleasure.
When he was hauled roughly to his feet the elf simply couldn’t help but gasp in pain when his shoulder was wrenched mercilessly. The weight on the wounded leg didn’t help either, and his stomach twisted at having to lean on the stinking orcs for support. At least Rolan wasn’t being dragged around by their foul claws…
As they made their shuffling way through the camp Narmion looked about him, his heart quelling at how vast it was. How had it not been discovered? Of course, any scouts from Imladris unfortunate enough to come this close would have been captured without a doubt. And tortured.
It was they passed another crowd that the captured soldier caught a glimpse of Diablo- he thought- and a fair-haired elf! Without thinking he twisted in the orcs’ grip to look again, and locked gazes with the black-armored elf for the briefest of moments. What he saw there broke through his fearless façade- in those cold eyes he saw Di’Shan’s wicked amusement, and a calm warth- but also a burning hatred, meant for him! With a grunt the orcs yanked him forward again and he tore his eyes away, wildly trying to understand- what was an elf doing here, in a war against their own suffering race? One of the immortal kind, working alongside orcs?! He simply couldn’t comprehend it, but knowing it filled him with a worse dread than before.
When they came to the tent (one that didn’t look at all inviting, or as if would offer any better protection from orcs than the tree) Narmion was still stunned over seeing an elf in the enemy camp, but his thoughts were quickly forgotten when he beheld Rolan dropped like a stone to the floor. Of course, he was shoved down in the same manner, and he bit back a pained curse as he glared at the orcs and the man. One of the orcs was sent for a ‘medicine man’, and the elven prisoner took a moment to look around the tent. It was strangely decorated, and he could only guess shudderingly at the stains on the skins he now sat on. His eyes followed the bronzed man- obviously now ‘in charge’ of himself and Rolan- as he went to a metal chest. His brow furrowed when he saw the leather thongs, knowing well enough what they were ‘for’…
He walked over to a small basin on one of the end tables and dipped them in the water it contained, carefully wringing them out before he moved back toward Narmion. “If he moves, kill him,” Di’shan purred as he sank down next to the elf. After stretching the leather cords in his hands for a few moments, Di’shan met the elf’s gaze with a vile grin and then bound his arms tightly behind him with the wet leather.
The elf met his gaze warily, and then had to hiss in pain when his shoulder was wrenched again as his arms were yanked behind him. Since the man couldn’t see his face he didn’t hide the wince when the cords were pulled tight… but he set his face in stone when Di’Shan moved on to his ankles. So, now escape really *would* be impossible. At least he couldn’t feel the bite of the leather through his boots.
He glared in anger, however, when Rolan was bound in the same way. The boy didn’t need such bindings, anyway- he was obviously not going anywhere!! The man’s chuckle didn’t help matters, and Narmion did his best not to show his extreme discomfort when the unconscious lad slumped over onto his throbbing shoulder.
And then, the orcish-healer arrived. Narmion’s nose wrinkled in disgust when the creature grabbed his face, and he desperately wished his hands were free so he could get those grimy hands away from him. He was relieved when he was left alone, and he went back to glaring as Rolan was given the same inspection. More than once his eyes went back to the metal chest from which the painful thongs had been produced, and he wondered darkly what else waited within it…
With a clatter of bones, metal, and rock, the orc healer stood back up and turned to Di’shan. “Give 3 times a day and they’ll live,” it grumbled almost un-intelligibly as it thrust a water skin at Di’shan before beating a hasty retreat from the tent. Di’shan raised one slender eyebrow at the questionable substance in his hand and then looked down at Narmion. “After you drink this, you may just wish I had killed you,” he said, mirth evident in his voice.
‘I wish you already had’ was on the verge of escaping his lips, but Narmion gulped back his words. Getting taken captive in the first place had been a fool thing to do, but smarting off to his captives now would certainly be stupid! So he just glowered in silence, not saying a word. And when Di’Shan raised the waterskin to his lips he recoiled at the smell, but couldn’t really do anything but swallow the vile liquid forced into his mouth or choke.
Actually, he did start choking- the ‘medicine’ tasted absolutely foul, and he’d only managed to swallow a small amount when he felt bile rising in his throat. The stuff went all down his neck and over the front of his armor, but Di’Shan only laughed.
Narmion shuddered to think what was in that terrible mixture, and gagged again at the taste still in his mouth. Whatever it was, however, was definitely potent- after only a few minutes (in which he still puzzled painfully over the elf he’d seen) the captive felt himself overcome with an extreme drowsiness. Despite all of his aching and hurting, and his fear, he simply couldn’t stay awake- and dropped off into a doze against the tent-wall.
When he came to- for the second time since the battle- the pain in his wrists told him easily that the leather thongs had dried, and he was as good as ‘stuck’- though there’d really been no chance of getting away before. Sighing heavily, and recoiling that the orc medicine could still be tasted on his tongue, he opened his eyes- and turned slightly to see Rolan looking back at him. For the moment they were alone- Di’Shan was not present, or if he was he couldn’t be seen- so this would be the chance to speak. But Narmion could think of nothing to say. He couldn’t offer the boy any false comfort, and he certainly didn’t have to explain what was going on. He didn’t want to tell him about the elf, and he didn’t have any news on Diablo… so,
“How is your head?” he asked hoarsely, wondering how long the boy had been awake, and if he’d yet encountered their new ‘guard’…
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Lalaith had rushed to the courtyard at the first news of the Patrol’s return. Her first sight of them had been of a much smaller group, all bloodied and battered- and she immediately picked out Glyndr, completely ignoring that they’d somehow gotten a dwarf on their side. Shoving elves out of the way she ran to Sylstar’s side, looking anxiously up into her husband’s face. She could tell easily by his expression that he was in pain, and his heart was low- and the sight of the blood from his wounds made her insides shake. As soon as he’d dismounted she wrapped him in a gentle but very loving embrace, inwardly thanking the Valar that he was alive! Then she caressed his cheek and gave him a tender kiss.
“You worry me so!” she said to him, her voice thick, “Come, come my love, and I’ll take care of you!”
She made sure her husband’s horse was taken into good hands and then walked with him to their chambers, one arm about his waist. He didn’t lean his full weight on her (as he would never do, so stubborn was he) but she supported him anyway.
Once they were in the privacy of their chambers she ordered him to shed his armor, and she herself helped with this, and then made him take off his tunict as well. Lalaith winced noticeably at the deep cuts in her husband’s chest and shoulders that his scanty armor hadn’t deflected, and one across the stomach that would have killed him for sure had it been much deeper!
“Next time you’re wearing more armor,” she scolded lovingly, and then had him sit down in their most comfortable chair. Ignoring his protests she bathed every wound gently and tended them with the same care, having to stitch the one across his stomach. As she worked he told her what had happened, though he left out the gory details for her sake (which made her love him all the more). He also didn’t mention the foul curse he’d uttered when he’d wrenched his back (though Lalaith knew her husband well enough to guess).
She shook her head sadly at hearing of the disappearance of Narmion, Rolan and Diablo, but her main concern was Glyndr.
Once he was clean and his wounds were tended she started rubbing his aching back, simply hating for him to be in pain. Not once did she think about this being most time they’d spent together in weeks- now that she had him with her she was simply grateful to have him at all.
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Delvan hadn’t been happy at all when Di’Shan had been given charge of the captives, but he accepted Ondet’s orders and grumblingly went back to his tent. At least, he mused darkly, he wouldn’t have to watch the blasted elf any longer. What he wanted was for them to make their final attack on Imladris- but that couldn’t be arranged until they knew exactly what they were dealing with there. That information would come from the new prisoners, but who knew how long it would take to get it?
He then spotted the only woman in their camp- Alcina- talking to Dirk. He smirked to himself. Why Ondet had taken her on he didn’t know- what good were women in war? She didn’t even show any interest in the men! Mostly she kept her distance from everyone- except Dirk. Snorting, Delvan shook his head and went into his tent. After taking a few deep draughts of wine he fell into his pallet and was swiftly asleep.
(well, hope this is ok! Not really sure what to do with Delvan now… )
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