| Iell-daughter-of-elves |
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| elflyn |
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| Nimeneth |
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| otterling |
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| Salkiethia |
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| Iell-daughter-of-elves |
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| elflyn |
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| Iell-daughter-of-elves |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| otterling |
 RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 08, 2006 04:59
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((OOC: Ok, here's another part of the whole Di'shan and such creepiness, please let me know if this needs to be changed or is too graphic. I tried to keep it tame. :/ I also apologise if this isn't as well written as some of the others...I'm tired and this isn't coming out quite right all the time. :/ ))
The solemn still halls of Rivendell were rudely disrupted with the clatter and clank of metal and to those who did not know better, it sounded for all the world like someone had robbed the entire kitchen of every pot and pan in it and was now prancing down the hallway with them. A few curious heads stopped from their assigned chores and turned in the direction of the noise, only to have it revealed that the culprit was a short, dirty dwarf who smiled jovially at them as she followed a willowy, dirty elf. The sight was strange at best and earned many stares but Hanni was oblivious to anything but the structures around her. They seemed so frail, as if made form spiders webs, and she feared that touching any of them would bring the whole of the building down. How on earth did elves live in such places? All the stained glass windows and trellises filled with growing plants seemed a tad frivolous to Hannalisa, who longed once more for the thick and sturdy columns that stretched into the darkness above her. These rooms were light and airy and as far as she could tell, they were completely without thick walls to ward off attacks. How does one defend such a place? Hanni sought some small comfort in the marble flooring and was impressed enough with the stonework (though she would have liked to see a little less shine and a lot more geometric patterning to them) but the amount of wood the place contained left her shaking her head.
Hanni had never been outside her mountain home before. Sure, she’d gotten used to the upper world during her long trip, but Rivendell was something entirely different. Hanni wasn’t sure she felt much safer here than she did out in the open. She followed Istale’s graceful figure out into the garden and was shocked to realize that none of the plants were used for growing food. Why in all the names of her forefathers, did these people insist on sticking part of the wilderness right in their home? They had set up plants in the middle of the house and for all she could tell, it had been for no apparent reason. Hanni snorted a bit in confusion and shook her head. Elves were strange creatures. Still, not wanting to offend her hosts, Hanni held her tongue and simply went where she was led. The bath that had been mentioned sounded like the very ringing of her people’s anvils to her (a very comforting thing to a dwarf) and her shoulders reminded her again that the chest plate was getting heavier by the moment. Istale led the way into a quiet section of the home and as they passed several rooms, Hanni dared a few glances inside. Rows of shelves lined many of the rooms and a few were still over flowing with books. From the looks of things, the battle had been going on for sometime now as all the shelves and their forgotten contents were left undisturbed beneath a thin layer of dust. A few bore the clean spots of some recent fingerprints, the tell tale signs of someone who stole a few moments of their time to peruse these volumes.
Finally, Istale paused at a door and Hanni poked her head inside to see a very ornate room full of flowing decoration. The entrances and windows of the room had been treated with care and were alight with organic, flowing woodwork which mimicked the scenery outside. The bed was well made and the headboard, a delicate carving of thin trees, was built right into the wall. Small alcoves were inset on either side, their shelves extending another five or so inches past the wall and on one of these sat a small candelabrum, inlaid with thin strands of silver. Hanni looked around the room and nodded ever so slightly…she would have to be very careful or she might wind up breaking something. The room was lovely to her in the way that dandelion flowers were lovely. They were nice enough to look at but you couldn’t well sit on one. Hanni was sure that this was just going to go badly. She looked over at the bed and hoped it hadn’t been built to hold up the small forms of elves. She would hate to have to explain that in the morning.
As her eyes roved over the room, they finally fell on the one thing Hanni was ever so glad to see. A large metal tub sat to the right of the door and from the moment her eyes fell on it, all else was forgotten. Hanni licked her dry lips a bit and then frowned and made a face as the taste of orc blood hit her throat. She looked down in distaste and realized that of course her face must be just as filthy as the rest of her. Hanni turned back to Istale and offered an intrepid smile. “The room is lovely…yes..lovely..and, uh, I would like very much to find some water and get this filth off me,” Hanni smiled in earnest and clapped her hands together sending a fine cloud of dirt and grime into the air, “Let’s find your room and I’ll help ya carry the water up to fill your tub. We could both use a good cleanin’ and I can’t very well meet…uh…whoever is in charge, if I look like this, eh?” Hanni roughly patted the young elf maid’s arm in a gesture of friendship and then marched back out of the room determined to find some water that wasn’t gurgling forth from some flowery fountain.
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“Dirk, why, where on earth have you been all night,” Di’shan’s smooth easy voice drifted over the din of the camp’s usual morning routines, “we were worried about you.” Di’shan’s tone said it all, he wasn’t worried about Dirk’s safety so much as he was wondering if the man had decided to try his lot with the enemy. The question was there, though not plainly said and a slow smile had begun to work its way onto his handsome features as Di’shan leaned casually back against a post. He was not too far from his tent, the flap of which was still tied tightly shut with two orc guards on either side to ensure no difficulties with the prisoners; mind you, no orc in it’s right mind would willingly walk into that tent under it’s own power. Di’shan had shed his shirt this morning and the sun glistened across smooth bare skin, un-marred by wound or age. A sleeveless calf-length overcoat was all he wore over his leather breeches, a sure sign that he was going to get down to business soon enough. Di’shan always preferred to work without a shirt on. Most rumors whispered that it was because he liked to feel the blood on his skin and Di’shan had never said anything to the contrary.
“I was about to go start on the prisoners, Ondet gave me permission this morning,” a vile sort of glee rose up in his eyes and his voice dropped every so slightly in pitch, “Care to watch?” Di’shan twitched one foot idly as he watched Dirk for a reaction. If the other man was soft on either prisoner, now was a good a time to test it. None of the other men in camp cared to witness the mutilation and pain he wrought on their past captives, though Ondet had graced his tent from time to time and had leaned back to watch him work, always with the same impassive look on his face. Di’shan could never tell if the elf was pleased or not but new victims kept rolling in so he certainly wasn’t displeased or at least not overly so. Di’shan uncrossed his arms and slid to a full up right position. Casting one last look and a raised eyebrow at Dirk, he slipped off to his tent. After a few whispered words to the orc guards and a few pointed glances in Dirk’s direction (presumably to tell them that Dirk was allowed entry) Di’shan slipped into the tent opening and disappeared from view.
Ever since the moment they were dropped roughly in the tent, Di’shan had done very little to interact with the prisoners save for forcing the orc medicine down their throats from time to time. An orc had brought them food at the same time that Di’shan had sat down to eat and water was provided. Their hands were not un-tied for any reason and both of them had endured having the food and water shoved roughly down their throats by their captors. Di’shan had simply eaten quietly and read a small book while this went on. Bathroom breaks and such were all attended to by orcs and, otherwise, the prisoners were allowed a large amount of quiet privacy wherein they could talk amongst themselves. Di’shan had slipped in silently that night and flopped over onto his bed, all but ignoring them. He had slept peacefully with a single orc guard keeping watch just inside the tent opening during the night. For all intents and purposes, the prisoners seemed to have been forgotten up to this moment.
Di’shan’s entry shattered that small hope. As soon as he entered the tent, his eyes fell on his two newest toys and his smile said everything. He had been given free reign. Di’shan had never had the pleasure of torturing an elf before and the challenge of breaking their proud façade was truly intoxicating to him. How much would the elf bear before he broke? The boy was just as much of a treat, for Di’shan had always had a soft spot for the screams of children and his hungry stare fell on the skinny curled form of Rolan first. Without a word and without breaking his gaze, Di’shan moved over to his metal chest, shedding his overcoat along the way. He dropped the heavy fabric onto the bed without even looking at it and only when he sunk to his knees before the strongbox did he turn his eyes elsewhere. He flipped the lid open with a flourish and peered down into the contents as if trying to recall where he’d left something. After a few moments, he reached in and shifted a few things aside, finally pulling out another, much larger, leather strap. He rose to his feet and stretched the thing to its full length. The strap was about 5 inches wide or so at the center but was tapered down to thin cords on each end. He gave it a few good snaps before turning back to Narmion and Rolan.
Di’shan strode over casually, enjoying the fear he saw lurking behind their eyes at his approach. Each of them was doing an admirable job of hiding that emotion from him but soon enough he would have it out in the open. Di’shan passed by Rolan for the moment and grabbed Narmion up by his shirts. Di’shan was not an overly powerful man but he had enough strength to haul the elf across the floor and seat him with his back against the center pole, ignoring any protests offered up by the elf’s young comrade. Set into the support pole of the tent were three small metal spikes, one at the bottom and two about three feet up on either side; it was around one of these that Di’shan tied one of the thin ends of the leather strap. He went back to his box and pulled out a new leather thong, much like those used to tie Narmion’s hands and feet, and he used this to bind Narmion’s already tied hands to the bottom-most spike, thus effectively attaching the elf to the pole.
“Get on your knees,” he instructed softly, “Or I can start with the boy if you like.” Knowing full well that the elf would never sacrifice the boy up for himself, Di'shan smiled evilly as Narmion did what he was told and when the elf had trouble getting his wounded leg to cooperate, Di’shan gladly “helped” fold the appendage under him. Once the elf was kneeling painfully at the post, his arms pulled back behind him, Di’shan moved back to the leather strap and lifted it gingerly in his hands. Humming softly, as if he were doing some pleasant outdoor chore, Di’shan wrapped the thicker part of the strap securely around Narmion’s neck, careful to slip it up under his chin as high as it would ride. Then he looped the other end of the strap around the remaining peg on the opposite side of the pole and pulled down ever so gently. The strap began to tighten around Narmion’s neck but no questions were asked of him. As Di’shan pulled, the thick leather pulled up on Narmion’s head, choking him unless the elf bent up and back with it to ease the pressure. The width of the strap and it’s placement under the elf’s chin meant it would not actually cut off his air entirely no matter what position the elf was in, thus denying him the ability to try taking his own life, but the pressure on his neck and under his jaw was enough to be extremely painful unless Narmion pushed up with his legs to ease the discomfort. Unfortunately, the leather binding on his hands was still tied to the spike at the bottom and so the elf was left arching his back until his body formed a triangle against the pole.
Di’shan stopped when Narmion looked as if he could bend no further and there the tormentor tied off the leather, thus keeping Narmion under a constant strain. The pain of the wounded leg and the pressure being wrought on Narmion’s injured shoulder were as sweet as honey to Di’shan and he drank in each gasp and pained grunt like fine wine. The elf would most likely not last long in that position and eventually his legs would give out, leaving him struggling with the new pain around his neck. This was the problem Di’shan had laid before Narmion. Pick your pain. Chose to relax the old injuries and the new ones would cause suffering, chose to alleviate the new pain at the cost of the old. Neither torment would leave much of a mark on the elf’s perfect skin and Di’shan congratulated himself on this fact as he met Narmion’s defiant gaze. Di’shan waggled his eyebrows at the elf warrior in a display of playful mirth and then chuckled softly as he moved to the tent opening. A few taps were left on the door, a signal to someone outside, and then Di’shan went back to his toy box.
From within it’s dark depths, Di’shan this time pulled out a thick roll of fabric which had been tied with string. He plucked loose the knot and then rolled the fabric out in the floor revealing a series of pockets, each stuffed with various nasty looking instruments. The sharp tools settled into place with a little tinkle and Di’shan set to straightening them out like a surgeon taking inventory. After a moment or two, the tent flap slid open and a very nervous orc shuffled in carrying a metal bowl, the bottom of which was glowing orange. He set the bowl down and rushed back out of the room as fast as he could. Inside the shallow caldron were hot coals still glowing with a faint light and interspersed among them were small metal rods with wooden ends. Di’shan rubbed his hands together and sauntered over to the pot, delicately choosing one of the rods and removing it’s still red hot tip from the coals. He turned his eyes upon Narmion with a grin, “Shall we begin?”
With that, Di’shan began to move toward Rolan with a sinister purpose and a crooked smile spreading across his face.
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| Salkiethia |
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| dreamdancer |
RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 09, 2006 12:52
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(ooc: Otterling wrote the bit for Di’Shan in this one  )
Rolan looked up at Narmion's face in surprise. He hadn't noticed that the Elf was awake. "'S'alright, I guess," he said softly. He was speaking quietly because he didn't want to alert anyone to them being awake, but mostly because talking any louder than a whisper set his head to pounding like it was trying to shred itself to pieces. "Jest hurts like nothin' ye'ver felt," he added when Narmion's concerned look refused to become less worried. "I'm all right. 'Cept for the leather bindin' me, I'd say I'm better off'en in the streets." He managed a weak smile at the Elf. "We're gonna be fine."
Narmion’s spirits were so low that he couldn’t even return Rolan’s dismal smile. Inwardly he just sighed- knowing very well that thinking they’d be fine was stretching the truth a little too far. More than likely they’d both end up dead- or worse, before death actually came. There was a defiant side of him that told him not to give in to that fate, but another side just urged him to accept it. What hope was there, after all? He’d beheld how large a camp this was- and the orcs and men so numerous that their captains could afford to let them kill each other? As much as he lost hope for himself and the boy at his side did the dark-haired ellon lose hope for the rest of his race.
He envisioned this force moving on Imladris. The elves could defend the city for a while, but there would be little chance of escape for them, and even less of victory. Aid needed to be sent for, but there was no knowing if riders could get through with the summons for help, or if anyone would even come. The force they were up against was powerful…. Narmion couldn’t shake the vision of the pale-haired elf he’d passed without the wretched tent. Somehow he hoped he’d imagined it, but there was no chance of that- the cold hate in those eyes was burned into his memory, and he knew he’d never forget it. Could it be that that elf was a leader here? Once again he wondered why- why would any elf want to see his own race destroyed? It was beyond him to imagine, and the thought almost made him physically ill.
As time wore on the captives spoke a bit more, though more often than not they sat in a brooding silence. Narmion’s wrists were on fire, but he didn’t bother trying to wriggle out of the leather bindings- his flesh was already burning and such an action would only make it worse. There was also, of course, his head and the shoulder. The old wound was aching almost as badly as the fresh one on his leg, but there was no comfortable position he could find to lessen the pain- so finally he simply gave up and tried to ignore it.
There was a dull fear in his heart as the day drew to a close (after dealing with more orc medicine, and the humiliation of being hand-fed by the foul creatures) and Di’Shan came in to sleep. No words were said and for the moment Narmion and Rolan were ignored, but the elf knew better than to hope that luck would last. Through the night he dozed fitfully against the tent wall, only because he knew he needed to; no rest came with slumber, and no comfort. Even in his dreams there was an ever present trepidation filling his being, and always there was the sorrow that Rolan had fallen captive… .
Almost as bad was that the lad was obviously ill. The orcish medicine did nothing for him, and he lost his food more than once.
“You must be taking fever,” the elf remarked softly, wishing he could do something to help, “Just try to rest.”
The next day, their “peace” came to an abrupt halt. Their captor left the tent and was gone a while- but when he reentered, the devilish grin on his face clearly said what he was thinking. Narmion shrunk inside, not letting his eyes flick to the metal chest he’d been fearing since their bindings had been produced from it.
When the man’s attention was elsewhere Narmion shared a glance with Rolan, wishing he could offer the boy some comfort- but what was there to say? The most he could do was just look at him briefly before turning his gaze back on Di’Shan, who- by that time- had produced another strip of leather. He wondered wildly what it was for, and knew it couldn’t be pleasant- and as they were approached he shuddered at his own hope that Rolan would be left alone, and he would be the ‘victim’. His face was impassive, though, as he glared at their captor. Let him do what he wanted, the elf thought darkly, he’d learn nothing!
There was no time to think as he was hauled off the ground and basically dragged over to the center-pole of the tent, wincing as he was shoved down with his back against the pole. As his wrists were fastened to the beam he tried only to concentrate on breathing, and not panicking. Even so, he couldn’t help wondering darkly what was in store.
“Get on your knees,” he instructed softly, “Or I can start with the boy if you like.”
Still determined to save Rolan from suffering for as long as he could, Narmion obeyed. It was difficult, though, forcing his legs to cooperate- the thongs on his ankles made them rather numb and awkward to move, but the injury above his knee was the worst. It was stinging and throbbing, despite the attention the orc-doctor had given it- and he wasn’t thankful when Di’Shan ‘helped’ move it into place. Once he was kneeling with his hands bound tightly behind him the elf had to swallow his fear again. He met Rolan’s gaze for a moment and then dropped his eyes to the floor, not wanting the boy to see that he was afraid.
Di’shan moved back to the leather strap and lifted it gingerly in his hands. Humming softly, as if he were doing some pleasant outdoor chore, Di’shan wrapped the thicker part of the strap securely around Narmion’s neck, careful to slip it up under his chin as high as it would ride. Then he looped the other end of the strap around the remaining peg on the opposite side of the pole and pulled down ever so gently. The strap began to tighten around Narmion’s neck but no questions were asked of him. As Di’shan pulled, the thick leather pulled up on Narmion’s head, choking him unless the elf bent up and back with it to ease the pressure. The width of the strap and it’s placement under the elf’s chin meant it would not actually cut off his air entirely no matter what position the elf was in, thus denying him the ability to try taking his own life, but the pressure on his neck and under his jaw was enough to be extremely painful unless Narmion pushed up with his legs to ease the discomfort. Unfortunately, the leather binding on his hands was still tied to the spike at the bottom and so the elf was left arching his back until his body formed a triangle against the pole.
Narmion had had a headache shortly before this- but the blood pounding in his ears now was unmatched by any headache he’d *ever* had. In fact, his entire body was riddled with pain and discomfort- the leather strap pulling against his jaw and throat choked his breath and made his eyes feel as if they might leave his skull. The intense arch of his back and the way his arms were bound was pure agony on the shoulder and spine- but the worst pain was in the wounded leg. He had to use his legs to shift himself so that he could breathe. He hardly noticed when Di’Shan went to the door, and then back to the dreaded metal chest. His own eyes were shut against his suffering, and it wasn’t long before his legs began to tremble under his weight. Biting his tongue to keep from making any sound he relaxed the strain on them, only to have the leather strap mercilessly biting into his throat again.
From within it’s dark depths, Di’shan this time pulled out a thick roll of fabric which had been tied with string. He plucked loose the knot and then rolled the fabric out in the floor revealing a series of pockets, each stuffed with various nasty looking instruments. The sharp tools settled into place with a little tinkle and Di’shan set to straightening them out like a surgeon taking inventory. After a moment or two, the tent flap slid open and a very nervous orc shuffled in carrying a metal bowl, the bottom of which was glowing orange. He set the bowl down and rushed back out of the room as fast as he could.
Narmion couldn’t angle his eyes well enough to look at the metal bowl directly, but he could tell what it held. Inwardly he writhed, thinking at first that the coals, and the metal rods burning hot amidst them, were meant for him. Appalled at the wicked glee in the face of the tormentor as one of the rods was produced from the bowl he attempted to swallow the lump in this throat but couldn’t. Wishing desperately that he were somewhere else- anywhere else!- he went back to biting his tongue and holding silence.
He turned his eyes upon Narmion with a grin, “Shall we begin?”
With that, Di’shan began to move toward Rolan with a sinister purpose and a crooked smile spreading across his face.
Narmion despaired at once, filled with horror to know that his tormentor was going for Rolan – the man would leave him here, under this unimaginable strain, while he tortured the boy!! And here *he* was, the proud elven warrior, completely helpless to do anything about it!
“Don’t you hurt him, filth!” the elf commanded in a rasping voice, grunting in pain as he pushed himself up enough with his wounded leg so that he was able to talk against the leather strap, ‘He’s just a boy!”
--Di'shan paused or the briefest of moments to cast a smirk in Narmion's direction. "I know," was all the response that Di'shan gave, his smile becoming a foul leer before he turned back to the young man before him. As he knelt down beside Rolan, one strong hand wrapped up in the boy's tattered shirt and wrenched him up so that his face was not far from Di'shan's. "You will tell me everything I want to know, master elf. You will spill all the secrets of Rivendell for my enjoyment...but first," he paused, leaned back and snickered softly, "first, you will hear the boy scream." Di'shan moved the heated rod a few inches closer to Rolan's face and thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip for a moment. "Now then, should I take out his eyes first or just scar his youthful face?"—
“Don’t hurt him!” Narmion rasped again, his heart aching for his young friend, “Do what you want with me, but please let the child be!”
It was a plea hopeless and unheeded, he knew, but he couldn’t stop the words from issuing from his lips. A small half-sob escaped as well, for his wounded leg could finally hold him up no longer, and he returned again to struggling for breath against the blasted strip of leather. He feared that the excruciating strain on his body from the awkward way he was trapped would drive him mad if it didn’t kill him first- but now his main concern was Rolan, and the red-hot metal rod still hovering near his face.
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He did not want to move, he almost purred as Lalaith’s skillfull hands eased the wrenched , aching muscles in his back.
“Arato , battle plans and reports will have to wait a while longer” Glyndr smiled as he pulled his wife into a passionate embrace. His pain stricken back forgotten as he kissed her with as much passion.
It was a very reluctant Captain that a while later, stood at the door with Lalaith.
“I have a few things I must attend to at the watchroom”, he said as he kissed her forehead softly.
“And I must go to Sylstar, I am concerned for the horse, and just as concerned for the stable lads, the animal will only be safe if I am there to tend him”
Glyndr held her face gently in his hands, and kissed her again, “ I will not be long. I want to share whatever time I have with you, as it should be”.
“I’ll wait for you here,” she replied, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers, “I love you, Glyndr… please don’t be too long.”
Lalaith stood at the door of their chamber and watched him walk (slowly) down the corridor. The memory of the time they’d shared brought a soft smile to her lips, and she sighed, wishing that he were able to just stay with her. He was a Captain, though… a skilled warrior… and the situation of their city was dire. He simply couldn’t be spared, no matter how much either of them wished it could be so. Recalling his wounds she shook her head, wishing he’d just wear more armor as she shut the door and went to sit at the window. Her husband was a brave and ruthless soldier- she’d seen him in battle before and knew it was a terrible sight to behold- but he wasn’t invincible. How she feared that she would end up one of the mourning wives, left to nothing but grief and loneliness! Without Glyndr, she knew, even her home in Imladris would have little meaning. Her life itself would be meaningless!
Deciding to try not thinking about it she picked up a book, one that hadn’t been in her lap for many nights- a simple collection of tales and stories- and she sat reading by the waning sunlight, until a candle was needed to light the pages. All the while her mind wasn’t really on the volume before her…. It was on Glyndr, and the wish that he would return to her soon.
(I’m cringing over this. Still no idea what to do with Delvan, so I’m still leaving him alone  )
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| Nimeneth |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| Iell-daughter-of-elves |
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| otterling |
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| Salkiethia |
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| Iell-daughter-of-elves |
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| Nimeneth |
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| Salkiethia |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| anduril269 |
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| elflyn |
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| Nimeneth |
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| dreamdancer |
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| Salkiethia |
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| anduril269 |
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| Nimeneth |
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| elflyn |
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| Iell-daughter-of-elves |
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| otterling |
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| dreamdancer |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| anduril269 |
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| elflyn |
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Author
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