[piosenniel]

Mauwurz’ post

"That was tiring work," Kherug said to himself.

He had just finished telling the young children about life in Umbar, the Haven of the Corsairs. It was marvellous, the wind was in your hair, the sea air was fresh and you could taste the salt.

Of course that all had to end when he moved to Nurn. He still remembered the day when messengers of Sauron came to enlist soldiers willing to supervise the slaves at Lake Nurn. He had heard rumour that Lake Nurn was beatiful, very much like the sea. Driven by a desire to see new places, Kherug accepted.

Thinking back he didn't know why he did it. Despite all the locals have to say Lake Nurn was sad and nothing like the open sea He sighed, perhaps he was just feeling down because tomorrow was his fathers ninth anniversary of his death.

Racking his brain he remembered how his father had died at the hands of a slave. “It was our place to kill them not the slaves place to kill us. Of course, I got my revenge when I tortured him until he bled to death. That'll teach them for messing with me.”

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Ithaeliel's post

It was the grayest of mornings in the land of Nurn, and not a man or woman raised his or her head to notice it at all. Their shadowed and grimy faces were bent over their labor. It was not an unusual sight: men walked heavily up and down the rows tilling the earth, leaving behind them the churned and chopped soil, while the women went about planting the seeds and covering the holes with their bare and calloused hands. But there wasn't a sound from the field workers- not a sigh, nor a spoken or sung word- as a young man hobbled past with a bag slung over his shoulder. As he passed, a young girl with smudges on her face looked up at him, half-smiling. "Good day, Turos."

Manituros (for that was his full name) returned the smile. "Good day, Ereline." Then he continued on past the vast fields dotted with slaves to his destination. Eventually he came in sight of a long black hut that glowed fiery red from the inside and emitted a thin trail of smoke from the chimney. It was the smithy, where he was now assigned to work. Turos drew a breath and approached it apprehensively, hoping to get through the day ahead without getting himself injured or displeasing his master. The slave shuddered at the sound of his foot dragging against the pebbles near the smithy as he came to the door.

A somewhat tall Easterling looked up as Turos entered the darkened shack. "Good morning, Turos," he grumbled as the man set his sack on the floor. The master smith was one of the kinder 'overseers' that he knew of. As Turos replied with a "Good morning, master" and hobbled over to get his gloves on. A man his age who was getting his equipment also stared down at his mangled leg, shook his head and turned away. Turos was painfully aware of his handicap; only six months before he had been as healthy and strong as the best of men, and now he was useless at the jobs he had taken on before so willingly. He glared furiously at his foot, as though the accident had been its own fault, and went to his station.

The master smith had sent Turos to the anvil the moment he had first come to work at the smithy, thanks to the man's strong arms. He was mostly fine at what he did, but he sometimes was too hard on the white-hot metal and a few times broke or bent the metalworks (at a great expense for the smithy!). He tried to pay extra caution when the first piece he was handed was a sword-blade. He started well, handing off the blade in one straight piece as well as several other items, but then he began to think: how far he had fallen. A year ago, Turos would never have opted to work as a smith. He enjoyed the open air of the fields, the touch of cool, fertile earth on his feet and hands... and the people were certainly more friendly there. But that was before this, he thought ruefully as he glanced down at his foot and brought the hammer down on the breastplate he was working on. What would they think of me now? What would they say? I can barely walk. I am ashamed to be alive, and with no work to replace the love I had for the fields! I hate this!

Turos was brought out of his final thoughts by a sharp crack and a loud clatter. He realized with horror that he had broken the breastplate clean in two! He waited with dread as the footsteps of the master smith sounded on the floor, quickly coming towards him. "Manituros! Look what you have done! Why, with all your mess-ups, we're being robbed of a fortune!" the enraged man shouted.

"It could be melted again, master," Turos replied timidly, bracing himself as he did.

"Perhaps it could, but you're slowing down our production! We'll be at war with your kind before we know it, and we'll need all the armor we can forge!"

"I am sorry, master," Turos said. "I was... not concentrating hard enough."

The master smith's teeth were bared, his eyes burning, and Turos cowered as he raised his whip to give the clumsy man a lashing.

It never came down. Turos lifted his head, slightly surprised. It was silent inside the smithy, save the roaring of the furnaces. The master paused, then gave a frustrated sigh and lowered the whip. "Exactly, Manituros. You don't concentrate. And that will be the end of you, if you aren't careful. Of course, how can you be? They're already selecting slaves for the hunt, and you're one of them on their list. You won't be here much longer," he said before beginning to walk away. Then he stopped again, shaking his head at Turos. "You were better off in the fields," he finished.

Turos hung his head. He knew the master was right.

[ April 02, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]