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Child of the 7th Age · 06-20-2003, 05:29 AM

A wagon stood in a forest clearing underneath the mighty oaks and maples that towered high above. The grey tree trunks were of mighty girth, but their height could not be guessed. There were no sentient trees here. Whatever consciousness these trees had once possessed was now gone as they slipped back into a trancelike sleep. The driver of the wagon had found his way to this remote spot by following the tracks of a dried up river bed. If any travellers passed by, which was quite unlikely, they might simply think that a trading expedition had strayed from the main path and was waiting for sunrise to retrace its route.

The vehicle looked like a drummer's van, the type used by prosperous merchants for distributing goods to stores and markets. Like most wagons of this type, it had high wooden sides and a tall roof, all painted with brightly colored pictures so that it was hard to see what was inside. Ornate gilt scrolls, also carved from wood, decorated the four corner posts of the cab. The back of the wagon was securely latched with an elaborate lock that required two separate metal keys to gain access to the interior. Several iron chains were wrapped around the rear as an extra precaution to prevent the gate from unexpectedly flying open even if the locks should fail.

Such wagons were a common sight on the streets of Minas Tirith. The vendors usually made their deliveries in the earliest hours of the morning just as the sun was rising. The only thing different about this particular wagon was its enormous size. The wheels were some six feet high with thick iron tires that made broad ruts in the roadway as the cart rumbled along to wherever it was going.

In the dim light of the fading moon, armed men with blazing torches and long metal rods with hooks advanced towards the wagon and formed a circle around it. They gradually drew the circle tighter until they stood within arm's length of the vehicle. These soldiers wore a kind of armor and insignia common to men of Eastern lands.

Saelonia and Azunel stood before the wagon's rear gate, inching ever closer. The latter held a firebrand in his right hand and a prod in his left. The priestess approached the cart and removed two keys from her vest pocket inserting them in the locks and throwing open the heavy door.

A pitiful wailing rose from inside the van, a beseeching cry for help that echoed untold depths of torment. At the same time, a long arm or limb extended from the inside of the truck, limply touching the wooden slats of the door, then reaching outside the van. Saelonia instanty shot forward and grabbed Azunel's firebrand, shoving it within an inch of the outstretched arm. Whatever was inside instinctively pulled back to avoid the pain that was sure to follow.

Reassured by this show of submission, the priestess climbed into the dim confines of the wagon, holding the firebrand out in front of her. Her lips curled in cruel triumph as she saw a figure of considerable mass crouched miserably in the corner.

"Please, please," the thing begged. "I must have some sun today. And a bit of water. I grow weary beyond all measure."

"Sun?" bandied Saelonia, arching her eyebrows upward. "You will most certainly see the sun tomorrow, if you will but do a small favor for us tonight."

"We must walk to a group of friends a short distance from here. You will come with us. Azunel will stand behind you and whisper the words to say. Then you will repeat them. Every one!"

She smiled slyly at the Entwife, and pulled on one of the chains, clucking and shaking her head. Then she turned around and snapped at the soldiers, "Take these things off. It will not do us any good if the huorn see her in chains."

"But maam...," one of the men protested. "She's sure to take off into the woods."

"Take off? I do not think so. Peachblossom knows what will happen to her people if she runs away. She loves her sisters dearly, and I do not think she wishes to see them die. I have only to send out a message by my great hawk Thrash, and he will wing his way homeward, ordering the plantation owner to strike down one of her sisters."

Saelonia glared back in the direction of the Entwife who contritely hung her head. Her branches and leaves quivered slightly, then hung down flat and limp. She had lost all will of her own or an ability to resist the demands of her master. She trudged along compliantly behind Saelonia as the group made its way towards the agreed upon meeting place.

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

06-20-2003, 05:29 AM	#95
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	A wagon stood in a forest clearing underneath the mighty oaks and maples that towered high above. The grey tree trunks were of mighty girth, but their height could not be guessed. There were no sentient trees here. Whatever consciousness these trees had once possessed was now gone as they slipped back into a trancelike sleep. The driver of the wagon had found his way to this remote spot by following the tracks of a dried up river bed. If any travellers passed by, which was quite unlikely, they might simply think that a trading expedition had strayed from the main path and was waiting for sunrise to retrace its route. The vehicle looked like a drummer's van, the type used by prosperous merchants for distributing goods to stores and markets. Like most wagons of this type, it had high wooden sides and a tall roof, all painted with brightly colored pictures so that it was hard to see what was inside. Ornate gilt scrolls, also carved from wood, decorated the four corner posts of the cab. The back of the wagon was securely latched with an elaborate lock that required two separate metal keys to gain access to the interior. Several iron chains were wrapped around the rear as an extra precaution to prevent the gate from unexpectedly flying open even if the locks should fail. Such wagons were a common sight on the streets of Minas Tirith. The vendors usually made their deliveries in the earliest hours of the morning just as the sun was rising. The only thing different about this particular wagon was its enormous size. The wheels were some six feet high with thick iron tires that made broad ruts in the roadway as the cart rumbled along to wherever it was going. In the dim light of the fading moon, armed men with blazing torches and long metal rods with hooks advanced towards the wagon and formed a circle around it. They gradually drew the circle tighter until they stood within arm's length of the vehicle. These soldiers wore a kind of armor and insignia common to men of Eastern lands. Saelonia and Azunel stood before the wagon's rear gate, inching ever closer. The latter held a firebrand in his right hand and a prod in his left. The priestess approached the cart and removed two keys from her vest pocket inserting them in the locks and throwing open the heavy door. A pitiful wailing rose from inside the van, a beseeching cry for help that echoed untold depths of torment. At the same time, a long arm or limb extended from the inside of the truck, limply touching the wooden slats of the door, then reaching outside the van. Saelonia instanty shot forward and grabbed Azunel's firebrand, shoving it within an inch of the outstretched arm. Whatever was inside instinctively pulled back to avoid the pain that was sure to follow. Reassured by this show of submission, the priestess climbed into the dim confines of the wagon, holding the firebrand out in front of her. Her lips curled in cruel triumph as she saw a figure of considerable mass crouched miserably in the corner. "Please, please," the thing begged. "I must have some sun today. And a bit of water. I grow weary beyond all measure." "Sun?" bandied Saelonia, arching her eyebrows upward. "You will most certainly see the sun tomorrow, if you will but do a small favor for us tonight." "We must walk to a group of friends a short distance from here. You will come with us. Azunel will stand behind you and whisper the words to say. Then you will repeat them. Every one!" She smiled slyly at the Entwife, and pulled on one of the chains, clucking and shaking her head. Then she turned around and snapped at the soldiers, "Take these things off. It will not do us any good if the huorn see her in chains." "But maam...," one of the men protested. "She's sure to take off into the woods." "Take off? I do not think so. Peachblossom knows what will happen to her people if she runs away. She loves her sisters dearly, and I do not think she wishes to see them die. I have only to send out a message by my great hawk Thrash, and he will wing his way homeward, ordering the plantation owner to strike down one of her sisters." Saelonia glared back in the direction of the Entwife who contritely hung her head. Her branches and leaves quivered slightly, then hung down flat and limp. She had lost all will of her own or an ability to resist the demands of her master. She trudged along compliantly behind Saelonia as the group made its way towards the agreed upon meeting place. [ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ] __________________ Multitasking women are never too busy to vote.