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 ***TAKEN ALIVE***, Scene roleplay in character
Narrator
Posted: Dec 1 2006, 11:15 AM


Bara


Group: Tauristo
Posts: 27
Member No.: 255
Joined: 8-February 06



Background for the roleplay:

The Dagor Aglareb or Glorious Battle began about 75 years after the rising of the sun.

At this time Morgoth sent forth a huge force of orcs thinking the Elves were busy with domestic affairs. The orcs overran Ard-galen and made their way through the Pass of Sirion and Maglor's Gap. The elves were ready and had been building up their forces. From Vinyamar Turgon brought forth his host to join with Fingon and Fingolfin. They advanced on the horde of Morgoth from the west. Maedhros and his host came from the east trapping the orcs in a vise, forcing them to retreat. They fled to the north toward Angband but were closely pursued even to the very gates.

Even though the orcs retreated, they were well-aware that Morgoth needed thralls. His orcs were given rewards to bring them in alive, if they could. A group of elves, in their battle fervor, had traveled beyond the safety of their own lines. Surrounded in ambush they fought valiantly, but nine were captured while the rest escaped. It took a day before their friends realized who was missing. These captures were rushed toward Dor Daedeloth across the rolling plains of Ard-galen. Immediately they were taken behind the lines of retreating orcs, but that protection soon faded as the host of the elves pushed upon them and they were defeated or fled.

A small party of Elves left the main host with the permission of Turgon. Their intent was to save their fellows who had been captured in the ambush. Every Elf had heard of the horrors of capture and imprisonment in Angband, for a rare few did escape to tell their tale. The rescue party would not allow their friends this fate. Four of the captives had been found dead on the plains, tormented and discarded by their enemy, marking their trail. However, there were five others yet alive!

The plains of Ard-galen were rolling grasslands at this time, golden in late summer as the orcs fled their enemies in defeat. Beyond were the tall peaks of Thangorodrim, belching foul vapors as they seemed to glower down upon the plains. This was now the stronghold of Morgoth and his second, Sauron after the destruction of Utumno. Below in the pits were held the Noldor thralls, out of reach of any rescue and kept for Morgoth's vile undertakings.

The orcs with the new captures had run many days and found their prisoners expiring, one by one. The rigors of traveling chained together and whipped to move faster had been too much for some. Finally, thinking they had outrun their pursuers for a short while, the yrch stop to take note of the last five prisoners who had survived thus far, but two more die immediately. In the next hour two more of the captives die of wounds and bad treatment. Only Cotumo, son of Máratyaro, twin brother to Lalon, survives.

The Scene:

The orc party now rests in a depression of ground where a rivulet of water can be found. They hoped to be able to revive the prisoners before sprinting onward to the safety of Angband and its Iron Gates. They know their pursuers draw near and there is argument as to the disposition of this one last captive; should they keep him alive or kill him now to give them a better chance to reach the Iron Gates? Aglak is the commander of the group, 25 orcs left from a force of 100 who had been decimated in prior fighting.

The rolling hills in this area have few rocks or trees. Even so the orcs have put out guards and have not lit any fires to alert their pursers to their location.
Cotumo
Posted: Dec 1 2006, 03:32 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 60
Member No.: 321
Joined: 23-June 06



Sharp was the ground when it came up to meet his body floating on the cusp of death. Grey eyes opened in surprise, tried to focus and wearily closed again. The world beyond such simple things as drawing breath was unavailable, almost incomprehensible.

Breath, sweet air, though acrid fumes seemed to swirl about causing Cotumo to wonder where he was, who he was. No matter, the air was sweet to starved lungs. Good to breathe.

"Elbereth... hallowed be the stars... of thy crown. Take me away... from... this..."

The voice, sleepy and dreamy, supplicating, entered his awareness. He knew it to be one of his companions but could not say who. The voice whispered away to be replaced by another stranger sound. A questioning voice, rough and guttural and with an edge to it that sounded dangerous.

The harsh exchange filled a void that seemed to be waiting, wanting to hear soothing words spoken in Quenya, his own language, the language of Valinor. Instead the phrase was spoken in rough, sharp consonants that he did not recognize. Cotumo tumbled over from his fetal position to one on his back. He did not even feel the kick to his hip that propelled him. His hands and legs had been untied from the branch he had hung from, for his captors knew he would not be able to run with the broken shard of an arrow lodged in his calf.


--------------------
Nai cuilelya nauva mára!

Biography for Ascendency of Evil
Lalon
Posted: Dec 2 2006, 12:56 PM


Teitha-tűr


Group: Members
Posts: 158
Member No.: 329
Joined: 11-July 06



Blood stained the grass. The search party had been following the gruesome trail for miles. Above them, Arien's beacon lit the sky to turquoise brilliance, and the wind polished the grasslands to flowing gold. It was not difficult, then, to find the leaves that were smeared russet with dried elven blood. If the rescuers were lucky, that was all they found. Yet it seemed that every day of their trek, they were doomed to find the hroa of their unfortunate companions who had been tormented and killed by the yrch.

And every time they found a body, they had to stop while the deceased elf's relatives in the party mourned. Lalon could not stand these delays. There would be time to grieve later! Now they must continue the search for the survivors!

Even now, they were stopped again by one of these bereaved ones. Milyon, Lalon's young, inexperienced cousin, had insisted on coming on this expedition because his father was among the captured. Lalon wished Turgon had not allowed it. The boy was far too sensitive for such a grim undertaking. Ever since they had found his father's disfigured hroa, Milyon had slowed the group with his despairing lethargy. He lagged farther behind the others with each day of the search. Now they had come upon a swath of grass that was soaked in blood. The yrch had obviously held some sort of cruel "sport" here. When Milyon saw it, he fell on his knees, heaved up the lembas he had eaten that day, and began keening for his father as if they had just found him.

Exasperated, Lalon pulled Milyon to his feet. "Get up!" Lalon snapped. "You can mourn your father later, when we bury him with honor. We must go now! Every minute could cost someone his life!"

Lalon turned on his heel and walked ahead of the group, but Milyon called, "'Someone'? You care for no one but your brother! If we had found him dead, you would be in worse condition than I am!"

Lalon was in no mood to argue. He was exhausted and aching all over. They had all run for several days with hardly any rest. They had even eaten their lembas while running. They knew that any hesitation could cost their loved ones their lives. And maybe it was the exertion, but Lalon felt pain as though he himself had been beaten. His leg in particular burned so fiercely that it was difficult to keep up the rigorous pace.

Lalon stopped his limping run and turned back to answer Milyon's taunt. "You know that is not true! I care for all our brethren and I want to find them before they all die! Now let us GO!" And he sprinted off again, not even looking to see who followed him.

He did not get far. Without warning, he crashed to the ground like a leaden weight. Suddenly he was in agony. He could barely move or breathe. He was overcome with a horrible dread. He almost cried out in fear, but then he realized that the pain was not his own, but his brother's. Somehow he was sharing Cotumo's torment.

Lalon opened his eyes to find his father near him. "Adar, I am all right," he panted. "It is Cotumo! He is alive, but not for long. We must hurry!" Lalon grasped his adar's hand, pulled himself up, and turned his urgent gaze on everyone in the rescue party. "We must hurry," Lalon insisted again. He slung his pack of supplies and weapons over his shoulder and forced his weary limbs into a desperate run.


--------------------
All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure.
--Mark Twain
Aglak
Posted: Dec 3 2006, 02:08 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 57
Member No.: 383
Joined: 28-November 06



Six of his soldiers stood guard around the camp. Well, camp was a bit too much to call it, since it was just a spot Aglak had chosen for them all to take a brief rest after the last hours of hurry. He had told the least weary of them to stand post, looking out for approaching enemies. No one had objected the slightest. They all knew him, and most of them had served under him for a long time. They were seasoned and not newly recruited rabble directly from the pits.

They are as good as they come...

Aglak was actually satisfied with the lot he saw around him, but for one thing. Right now the orcish officer felt annoyed with the fact that all the prisoners but one had escaped by dying. And the last of them lay on the ground looking like he was dead already.

This bunch of fellows need to learn how to keep things alive, they are getting too sloppy....

Aglak knelt next to the elf to see what he could do to get it awake. After shooting some fierce glances at the group who rested around him, making them look in the other direction, he took off his gloves and tucked them under his belt. He held one hand in front of the prisoner's mouth and smiled a grim smile when he noticed the weak breath hitting his hand.

"You! Kerak! Go fix some water..." The orc got on his feet with a grunt and slipped away like a whipped dog. The kritar knew that Kerak would get the water quickly. Orcs had a developed sense of smell and the one would go directly to the source of water, fill up his waterskin and his helmet, to carry it all back nice and neat.

In the meantime Aglak pinched the elf in selected areas to try to make him come out from his unconsciousness.

Lwuk, the only surviving dratul made a spiteful comment about the elf and kicked it hard so it tumbled over. Annoyed, Aglak flew to his feet and hit Lwuk in her face, causing her nose to bleed violently.

"You imbecile, you are going to get rid of this one also eh? And what do you figure to tell the boss when we get home empty-handed? That you broke all the toys? Can I please get some new ones?" The kritar hissed the reprimand. He did not want sounds to be carried far from their encampment, but all the other warriors shrugged from his icy steel hard voice.
Máratyaro
Posted: Dec 7 2006, 08:22 PM


Athrabeth


Group: Members
Posts: 30
Member No.: 386
Joined: 30-November 06



‘They squabble like children,’ Máratyaro thought, running ahead of the group alert to changes in the sound of the wind soughing through the grass, alert to the light beat of his troop's feet.

‘If they don't stop our enemy could not ask for more than a smoking fire to find us.’ That thought slowed him down, the voices behind him stopped abruptly and the now familiar rhythm of feet began again. Faltered. Before conscious thought informed him he turned back, a cutting hand signal sufficient to slow the others to a stop. He counted and saw one was missing - his son. Heat flooded his face and the already loud thunder of his heart increased as he ran back to where he thought he should be. He found a burrow in the grass, a path of fragrant beaten grass up to it and curled in it, just recovering from some agony, a body. Máratyaro searched his son's body for the tell tale bleeding of a bow shot. Nothing. His son uncurled from the pain gasping that all was well, that Cotumo lived. Máratyaro was vaguely aware of the other elves that had grouped around him. His vision had narrowed to the width of a hand until he grasped his son's arm to pull him to his feet.

"Tell me," he ordered with all the desperation of angry love. His son was already stumbling to his feet, breaking into a run. A nod sufficed to send the troop running back along the path blackened by the orcs.

‘He lived. Cotumo lived. He lived,’ beat in his ears with the racing of his heart.
Cotumo
Posted: Dec 10 2006, 01:50 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 60
Member No.: 321
Joined: 23-June 06



Running.

Air flowed through silky hair, much of it caught up into braids, gold thread woven within. Many elves... friends... his father giving orders... running... bows strung... ready for battle.

Battle? Battle with... flies?

Flies, swarming, biting flies. Cotumo ran to get beyond the biting. The pain of his moving leg caused a gargled scream that echoed within his mind. The flies continued, causing him to awaken from his dream to some insane reality, some nightmare of the living. Keen evil eyes stared down at him. A mouth full of sharpened teeth, a grim grin of triumph, met Cotumo's fogged awareness.

"Wha?" he questioned through cracked lips. His parched throat would not allow him to continue. He was on the edge of swooning. Ai! Death will be sweet victory. Is that Námo's voice I hear calling?

Water met his lips from another of the enemy, not fierce as the first, but more... hungry. More... feral. Cotumo could not drink much but it was cool and moistened his throat. The rest was dumped over his face, waking him.

More pain. The elf noticed pain was everywhere, not just his leg. He wished for oblivion. His back was crying to be removed from the grinding dirt that wore into stripes of his broken skin. Water returned to his lips and he was able to drink more.

He remembered now... A journey tied to a pole like a wild animal and hoisted over burly shoulders. He was the only one who travelled in this way; the others ran, chained together. He could not run with his injury. I must be considered valuable, he thought, then it dawned on him it might be for the pits of Angband he was headed. Where were the others?

The sky was black, no stars shone in the night... but there was a fire among the clouds. No, the clouds were noxious fumes boiling from a dark mountain, the center of three reaching upward to great heights. The ground shook as if to offer a warning and additional reddened clouds moved skyward from the hulking bulk of Thangorodrim.

"Ai! Elbereth!" The sound tore fearfully from his throat when he realized how close he was to a doom he did not deserve.


--------------------
Nai cuilelya nauva mára!

Biography for Ascendency of Evil
Máratyaro
Posted: Dec 17 2006, 07:48 PM


Athrabeth


Group: Members
Posts: 30
Member No.: 386
Joined: 30-November 06



The wind sang in Máratyaro ears, cooled his brow, and whispered to him of the sun on grass plains. A song came to him:

O, the land of my youth and heart,
Wide forests and rolling green hills,
Stands far across the blue ocean,
Where she awaits me and watched me depart.
A lone white figure on the gray strand...

His long strides metered the song that made him forget the ache of days of running, the ache of worry, the doubt that when they found his son that they would rescue him alive. The troop ran parallel to the black swatch left by the orcs. The enemy killed the fresh green grass growing to its summer height, trampled it with their iron shoes as though its fragrance were hateful to them. Sometimes the elven troop dipped into the path to look ahead and more painfully to make sure that none of the captured would be found sprawled in death from exhaustion. Máratyaro waved one of the troopers into the path and the warrior returned shaking his head. No orcs and no wounded or dead left behind, at least not yet.

An elf in the vanguard of Turukano had asked him how it was he sensed orcs so well, could know they were near. It puzzled him that others did not. He knew now as the song that had risen up in him faded away. They were a dissonance in the music of harmony; they had their own dark music. Perhaps a greater mind would hear that music woven into a whole; he would be content to know that it no longer existed and threaten the ones he loved.

Once again he waved the troop to slow down, they were nearing the orcs or so the song would seem to tell him. Máratyaro waited for them to gather and he motioned them to the ground; two he pointed to stand sentry while they made their final plans. One, the quickest and the quietest among them he sent forward after whispering words of encouragement to him. Few words passed among them as they settled to the ground, the silence marked their weariness and how the long run had begun to tell on their spirits.

The sun passed its zenith, shadows began to lengthen and the hollows under the long grass were a welcome respite from the heat that foretold the coming of summer. The scout returned and conferred with Máratyaro telling him what he had hoped he would hear. The path ran between two tall rounded hills and would force the orcs between them. The elves would round the hills and drive them into an ambush.

Máratyaro stood. *We have run well and fast," he began, "our long race nears its end. We go on with greater caution. No speech", he deliberately did not glance at his son or at Milyon, "between us now. We will divide into four groups and spread to drive the enemy into cross fire. Four groups: Alcarcalimo take your four to the east when I have given the signal, Laitainon will take his four to the north-east. Milyon will join that group. Lalon will take Rimbecano, Veratur and flank them opposite my lead." One by one he looked at each elf as he gave his orders, nodding gravely. "May each of you return safely to your loved ones. We will rescue those who remain.”
Aglak
Posted: Dec 26 2006, 02:54 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 57
Member No.: 383
Joined: 28-November 06



It did not take long before the private came back, and as Aglak had foreseen, he had both filled his waterskin and used the helmet as a bucket. Kerak did not look his boss in the eyes while handing over the water-skin, not wanting to annoy their leader.

The dratul had sat down on a nearby stone and tried to stop the blood that sippered from her nose, she grunted something silently that Aglak could not sort out so he made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

The orc leader took some effort in forcing the water between the lips of the surviving elf. When he noticed the elven manure heap wake up he ordered Kerak to throw the water his helmet held in its face, which was immediately done without any questions.

After giving the elf some more water Aglak dryly started to ask questions of it. At first he got no response, but after repeating himself a few times the elf said a few words, showing it was conscious.

"What is your name paken? Answer me and I´ll give you something to eat.." He saw that Kerrak gave him a surprised glance and he smiled inside himself to the private's confusion.

"I still have some fresh bread, I suppose you will refuse the dry meat we still have with us." He saw a glimpse of something in the elven face so he took out the bread and held it temptingly close to its nose to make it feel even hungrier.
Cotumo
Posted: Dec 31 2006, 04:30 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 60
Member No.: 321
Joined: 23-June 06



Water and sweat ran down the neck of Cotumo as he slowly awoke to his situation. The heights that signified the location of Thangorodrim loomed cruel and stark to the northeast. Just over the rise could possibly be the dreaded gates of the fortress. Cotumo tried to get beyond the horror of becoming a thrall to Morgoth and concentrate on the taste of water. Though his thinking was slow due to his injury and weakness he knew that he was in the same situation that other captured elves had been in. A rare few escaped to live out their lives shunned and distrusted by their own kin. Through some dark art, unknown to any elf, the master of evil would turn light to dark, goodness to bad, beauty to repulsiveness. Once he passed through the iron gates of Angband he would be lost to all that was good. Dread seized his heart and he looked about him for any means to give himself hope.

Along a rock that jutted out from the sandy soil he saw two of his friends, dead now, tossed aside lifelessly. Though their last moments did not look peaceful, arriving at the Halls of Mandos was better than the life that waited for him inside the dark fortress. Two of the enemy, one lanky and one fat, moved upon the dead elves with drawn knives causing Cotumo to turn his head and shut his eyes. He told himself that it didn't matter, they were dead and gone now.

A brisk guttural voice came into his awareness but he could not understand the harsh words. Then the smell of bread, stale but properly made, wafted to his perceptive nose. Slowly Cotumo focused his tired eyes, afraid of what he might see. Directly in front of him was the same orc who had pinched him earlier. It had seemed then to have protected him from the others with vocal threats. The others had backed down and had done its bidding. It extended a piece of crusty bread toward him. The boss orc seemed to be offering the food in some kind of peace gesture, or maybe it was a trick.

The smell of the orc joined with the goodness of the bread to produce an odd combination of smells. Mixed with Cotumo's fear it churned his stomach. Was it possible that this one had ever been related to an elf? It's cruel eyes had some kind of intelligence behind them but he was unable to understand its clashing speech. This one seemed to be the leader, it must have some kind of ulterior motive. This must be the one who intended for him to remain alive.

An idea surfaced in Cotumo's muddied mind, he would use this orc to escape! None would save him, though he had had dreams of seeing his brother and father's faces, he was now at the doorstep of Morgoth's lair. It was too late to save him or his fellows. Now it was time to die as the others had died. It was time to protect his fëa.

Cotumo spat at the offending hand with the bread, then lunged forward with snapping teeth. Let this one beat him to death! That would be how he would escape! Now it was time to die!


--------------------
Nai cuilelya nauva mára!

Biography for Ascendency of Evil
Aglak
Posted: Jan 2 2007, 01:50 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 57
Member No.: 383
Joined: 28-November 06



The tall orc leader easily avoided the attack from the weakened elf, he just moved sideways, gripped the elf's wrists and gently pushed the elf down again to the ground. To the surprise of the other orcs around them he did not hit the elf but just sneered.

Then he offered the piece of bread again, and looked the elven animal straight in its ugly face with his own icy grey eyes. It came to him that the elf had not understood what he told it. Aglak frowned, he did not think his common language was that bad but maybe this elf just spoke its own sly and terrible tongue. From this the orc did not know enough, even though during his years working as an interrogator in the dark pits he had heard much of it. He tried to recall some but hesitated to take the words of his enemy in his sharp-toothed mouth.

hm...how to say that? Gah... that ferkurz-skai elven doghowls... but it might stun the elf into talking if I try some of it.

He stared at the elf, indicated the bread again, forgetting that the elf just spat at it a little while ago. Slowly he spoke to it, trying to articulate as clear as possible.

"Maana eeselyia? Mat... mastaa? "

Actually Aglak now felt rather idiotic, but he needed to talk to the last of their prisoners. At least it seemed less dead now and that was something to be satisfied about. Kerak, who still stood next to him with the water-skin, gasped when he heard his boss talk in the ugly tongue of the elven slugs. Aglak grunted a short sneer at the private who immediately hunched and seemed smaller than before.
Krosh
Posted: Jan 11 2007, 02:22 PM


Bara


Group: Members
Posts: 16
Member No.: 404
Joined: 10-January 07



He had been running like a warg for the past several days. It took much to tire him out but this long run had seemed to work. Krosh was getting tired and was angry that they had left the fight. Of course he knew never to openly say it, for it would be considered going against orders and the old orc knew never to disobey an officer. He had known Aglak for a while when he was transferred to his unit. He would help the orc until his dying breath… that is what he lived for.


The over-sized orc looked to his officer and the prisoner. He had never understood why they needed elves, why not kill them and be done. But to Krosh it didn't matter, his orders had been to take them alive so he did to the best of his abilities. He sat on an old gnarled log away from the rest of the yrch. He was never one to boast or to chat with them. Krosh was a simple orc: Fight and Eat. Nothing else mattered to the Bull of an orc.

Krosh lifted a hairy eyebrow as he saw Aglak trying to keep the prisoner alive. He chuckled as he saw him punch the dratul who would dare harm the elf. How could one under him even try to defy his will...if he was their officer. The Uruk stood up, his towering form above the rest. He lumbered toward his officer, and turned to stare Kerak who had gasped. He stared at him with unblinking black eyes and snarled. He made it clear that no more signs of disrespect should be shown from anyone else. What the commander did was his business. He turned back to Aglak and nodded as he stood by him... hoping that an orc would try something, the sound of a neck snapping always soothed him...
Cotumo
Posted: Jan 11 2007, 06:33 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 60
Member No.: 321
Joined: 23-June 06



Cotumo took a shocked breath and stopped his anger. Quetis lambi Eldaron! (he speaks Elvish!) The orc had tried to speak to him in Quenya! The injured elf blinked in astonishment trying to push back the fog that threatened to envelope his mind. No orc had ever tried to communicate with him or any he knew, none had even dared! It wanted to know his name if he had deciphered the rough and accented speech correctly.

Cotumo was so dizzy it took him awhile to focus on the orc who had spoken. Behind its fierce countenance another had shown up, it was the largest orc he had ever seen. But there seemed to be two of the big ones standing side-by-side, twins! As he wondered about the fact orcs might be able to have twins, the twins came together and broke apart once more. He slowly shut his grey eyes to keep from getting physically sick. Cotumo turned his attention back to the officer orc as he thought what to answer it.

"Mana quentel? (What did you say?) Cotumo finally opened his tired eyes once more to look at the sly one who had spoken to him. "Ma quetil i lambe Eldaiva?" (Do you speak Elvish?)

Then he spit again at the bread as the orc waved it in front of his nose. He would die before he took anything from an orc!


--------------------
Nai cuilelya nauva mára!

Biography for Ascendency of Evil
Máratyaro
Posted: Jan 19 2007, 06:56 PM


Athrabeth


Group: Members
Posts: 30
Member No.: 386
Joined: 30-November 06



Órenya quete nin (my inner heart tells me) he lives. Eru let it be so. Máratyaro breathed a silent litany as his groups deployed into position. The wind changed quarters and the sweet breath of spring grass became sulfurous with a stench of burned rock. And with it came a throb of fear, it rose and would have burned through him had he let it, paralyzing him. Following the fear came rage. This is what it felt like to lust after something that he knew to be an evil but still wanted more than his life. He would kill many orcs. He would like it for they had harmed his son. It would be now or it would be never to save him and beyond the moment of holding his living son, he would not think.

He led his group through the tall grass, the wind would still and they would stop then move on with the smoothness of the breeze rippling the sea of stalks. The music of the wind changed bringing a thrum that could be voices. They moved as one - perfectly open to every sound. He stopped, for within a strong pull of a bow stood an orc.

Máratyaro took a deep satisfied breath. It had begun.

With easy precision, he uncapped the quiver case, slipped out an arrow with the sensitivity of plucking a harp string and lifted his bow. It would be a deep shot into the orc's throat. Instinctively using the lift of the wind he loosed the arrow. The bow sang one deep note and the arrow sped with deadly efficacity ending the orc's life. It spun unable to make a sound, clutching its throat.
Lalon
Posted: Jan 20 2007, 01:30 AM


Teitha-tűr


Group: Members
Posts: 158
Member No.: 329
Joined: 11-July 06



Lalon crouched next to his father and bounced on the balls of his feet. Why was his father taking so long? Why not just rush in and get Cotumo away from those beasts? Lalon could still feel unseen bruises all over his body, but he knew that this was a far cry from his brother's suffering. Cotumo's fear screamed through Lalon's mind. The terrible malice of Cotumo's enemies closed in on Lalon as well, poisonous and suffocating. He trembled all over, clenching and unclenching his hands on his bow.

Máratyaro's extended hand had sent the group to their knees, hiding in the tall grass before a lone orc. The stench of many more wafted out of the hollow before the elves. Along with the hidden orcs' harsh voices, Lalon could hear running water. The sound was a welcome comfort to his panicked fea. At least the course of rivers and streams was one constant left in his world that had turned upside down so quickly.

At Máratyaro's movement, Lalon held his breath and turned wide eyes to watch his father. Finally! Máratyaro was aiming his bow expertly at the orc guard. Swiftly the arrow flew through the air and caught the orc through its throat.

A cheer erupted in Lalon's mind. It almost burst from his lungs, but a cautioning hand on his arm silenced him. He crouched back down and held his own bow at the ready, his grey eyes hard. His breath caught in his throat, his hands shook, and beads of sweat formed on his furrowed brow. He longed for the attack like a parched prisoner longs for water.


--------------------
All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure.
--Mark Twain
Cotumo
Posted: Jan 25 2007, 03:06 PM


Einior


Group: Members
Posts: 60
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Before he could be backhanded or whipped for his effrontery he saw the orc with the intelligence behind its eyes stand up and look to the horizon. There was a strange squinting intensity to its eyes as it stretched its thin neck and sniffed the sulfurous air. Though the orc stared out toward the west it did not make much of an impression on Cotumo, he was not even sure where he was except under the peaks of the Thangorodrim as close as he had ever been to Morgoth and his lair. If his head had been clearer he would have discerned a reason for the orc to stare toward the west, for in this direction was rescue and safety. Instead, he was merely aware that the orc had moved on rather than give him further attention.

Cotumo shut his eyes as he put his nose to the ground and breathed in the air. It smelled of dust, sand and growing things and gave him a bit of comfort. The sulfur smell was still present but almost masked by the healthier smells of the life of Arda and in them Yavanna's presence.

As he lay quietly, he could not help but muster his strength for healing which all elves do when their fëar is not damaged to the point of departure. The prisoner was not even aware of its nature working to heal him nor that the smell of the earth and growing things helped in the process. All he knew was that he did not belong where he was. Despair had left his tired body numb and his mind silent. He wanted to sleep and dream and though he was unable to dream as all elves did he managed to pass into some sort of special place where his brother waited and his father kept them both safe.


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Nai cuilelya nauva mára!

Biography for Ascendency of Evil
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Of The Return Of the Noldor


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