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Durelin · 02-26-2003, 01:34 PM

Sitting in amidst the trees, Durelin watched as the sun rose. It was a red ball of fire rising above the horizon, and looked almost fake, like a painting. The elf sighed and thought of what lay ahead: the cave. One hundred orcs and Easterlings…defeating them will cost us dearly. Already we have wounded… The chances of rescuing Anuion seemed to be getting thinner and thinner in his mind, at every inch the sun rose. What of I? Will I live to see the sun rise again? With this thought, he began looking more closely at the sun. He had a feeling he was right, deep in the pit of his heart was a heaviness. His death was nigh. Or was it? Was it necessarily his death? Durelin shuddered, he didn't want to think of any of his companions dying. That was different somehow, than thinking of his own death. He sighed again, getting up and walking on through the grove of trees. He heard the trickling of water and followed the sound to a small stream, glinting red from the rising sun. Blood flowing like a stream… There will be a stream outside of that cave. The elf took off his tunic, still covered with the blood and entrails of the wolf, to wash it in the stream. Down his chest were the four scratches from the same wolf. It got a bit larger scratch than he had…

Examining the wounds, he looked upon the familiar scars running down his back, chest and arms. They brought back so many memories, all in the same place. "Yes," he said out loud, "It is my death that is nigh." He had decided, he knew. It was too ironic not to be. Destiny had that way of working, being so ironic. It had been almost four hundred seventy years. It was still fresh in his mind, though this was the first time the memories had come. The capture, cave, it was all too similar. Those 470 years ago, he had been capture, just as Anuion. Goblins, yet again. He had decided he had to avenge his father. It ended almost in the same way. The few survivors' lives were spared for a time, the goblins were bored, they needed entertainment. They found no better entertainment than the pain of their enemies. Durelin no longer had complete thoughts. Only images, words, pain. Goblins were creative in their ways of turtore. He only hope Anuion was not destined to that same pain, he hoped the torture was limited by the presence of the Easterlings. But he could only hope.

He could hope for many things, but he knew of one. It was his fate to relive the nightmare, face it, and defeat it. He had to be a part of Anuion's rescue, then his life would be complete. He had been wrong about his fears. He feared his memories. And now was his time to face his fear. Then his life would be complete. His death was indeed close by.

After washing his wounds and his tunic as best as could be done quickly, Durelin went back to what was left of the camp - site. He found Bordarigorn looking at the bloody sun rising in the east. "There is no time to waste. We must travel quickly. We leave the bodies here and shall speed ourselves with haste at least 10 miles further," the man said firmly. There was no time to waste. Durelin hurried to get things cleaned up as he heard Maeralagos speak to Bordarigorn. So, the young elf has already tasted pain. These are sad times that the young must taste such pain. Though he will be a strong elf in his later years from all the death in his early ones. No, no, too strong, too strong. He watched with a slight smile as the man lifted Telpeheled onto his back. This was going to be an interesting last march to the cave.

They reached the cave sooner than Durelin though they would, and sooner than he would have liked. But it was more of a shock to find a battle already in full swing. The orcs and Easterlings had formed separate armies and were killing each other without hesitation. Maybe my life has years yet, he thought, but at a cold shiver running down his back, he knew nothing would change his fate. The group moved closer to a hill near the cave. Atop it were an orc and Easterling battling. The group got out their bows, and drew an arrow tight. Bordarigorn shot first, slaying the Easterling, then the elves let loose on the orc. But to their dismay, it still stood and charged at Bordarigorn. The man cleanly took it out with a punch. It seemed the strike had made its brain finally realize that it was dead.

Bordarigorn then took a package out of his pack. Wrapped inside were the orc arrow and a horn. "This is the horn that was given to me by my great grandfather. It is said that it will bring fear to foe and courage to friend. It will be the sign of our charge," he said, "Get ready." Then Durelin followed him to the tope of the hill. The elf looked down at the Easterling, he appeared to be dead, with an arrow sticking out of his chest. Durelin would have checked the Easterling, but his heart skipped, beating faster, the battle was about to begin. A red haze began to fill his vision as he drew his knives. Durelin was vaguely aware of his surroundings as Bordarigorn blew the horn. His excitement reached a high, and his berserker fit took over. He yelled at the time of his lungs, unable to control himself any longer, Sereg sirath, gurth na tuliel!

[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

02-26-2003, 01:34 PM	#135
Durelin Estelo dagnir, Melo ring Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 3,083	Sitting in amidst the trees, Durelin watched as the sun rose. It was a red ball of fire rising above the horizon, and looked almost fake, like a painting. The elf sighed and thought of what lay ahead: the cave. One hundred orcs and Easterlings…defeating them will cost us dearly. Already we have wounded… The chances of rescuing Anuion seemed to be getting thinner and thinner in his mind, at every inch the sun rose. What of I? Will I live to see the sun rise again? With this thought, he began looking more closely at the sun. He had a feeling he was right, deep in the pit of his heart was a heaviness. His death was nigh. Or was it? Was it necessarily his death? Durelin shuddered, he didn't want to think of any of his companions dying. That was different somehow, than thinking of his own death. He sighed again, getting up and walking on through the grove of trees. He heard the trickling of water and followed the sound to a small stream, glinting red from the rising sun. Blood flowing like a stream… There will be a stream outside of that cave. The elf took off his tunic, still covered with the blood and entrails of the wolf, to wash it in the stream. Down his chest were the four scratches from the same wolf. It got a bit larger scratch than he had… Examining the wounds, he looked upon the familiar scars running down his back, chest and arms. They brought back so many memories, all in the same place. "Yes," he said out loud, "It is my death that is nigh." He had decided, he knew. It was too ironic not to be. Destiny had that way of working, being so ironic. It had been almost four hundred seventy years. It was still fresh in his mind, though this was the first time the memories had come. The capture, cave, it was all too similar. Those 470 years ago, he had been capture, just as Anuion. Goblins, yet again. He had decided he had to avenge his father. It ended almost in the same way. The few survivors' lives were spared for a time, the goblins were bored, they needed entertainment. They found no better entertainment than the pain of their enemies. Durelin no longer had complete thoughts. Only images, words, pain. Goblins were creative in their ways of turtore. He only hope Anuion was not destined to that same pain, he hoped the torture was limited by the presence of the Easterlings. But he could only hope. He could hope for many things, but he knew of one. It was his fate to relive the nightmare, face it, and defeat it. He had to be a part of Anuion's rescue, then his life would be complete. He had been wrong about his fears. He feared his memories. And now was his time to face his fear. Then his life would be complete. His death was indeed close by. After washing his wounds and his tunic as best as could be done quickly, Durelin went back to what was left of the camp - site. He found Bordarigorn looking at the bloody sun rising in the east. "There is no time to waste. We must travel quickly. We leave the bodies here and shall speed ourselves with haste at least 10 miles further," the man said firmly. There was no time to waste. Durelin hurried to get things cleaned up as he heard Maeralagos speak to Bordarigorn. So, the young elf has already tasted pain. These are sad times that the young must taste such pain. Though he will be a strong elf in his later years from all the death in his early ones. No, no, too strong, too strong. He watched with a slight smile as the man lifted Telpeheled onto his back. This was going to be an interesting last march to the cave. They reached the cave sooner than Durelin though they would, and sooner than he would have liked. But it was more of a shock to find a battle already in full swing. The orcs and Easterlings had formed separate armies and were killing each other without hesitation. Maybe my life has years yet, he thought, but at a cold shiver running down his back, he knew nothing would change his fate. The group moved closer to a hill near the cave. Atop it were an orc and Easterling battling. The group got out their bows, and drew an arrow tight. Bordarigorn shot first, slaying the Easterling, then the elves let loose on the orc. But to their dismay, it still stood and charged at Bordarigorn. The man cleanly took it out with a punch. It seemed the strike had made its brain finally realize that it was dead. Bordarigorn then took a package out of his pack. Wrapped inside were the orc arrow and a horn. "This is the horn that was given to me by my great grandfather. It is said that it will bring fear to foe and courage to friend. It will be the sign of our charge," he said, "Get ready." Then Durelin followed him to the tope of the hill. The elf looked down at the Easterling, he appeared to be dead, with an arrow sticking out of his chest. Durelin would have checked the Easterling, but his heart skipped, beating faster, the battle was about to begin. A red haze began to fill his vision as he drew his knives. Durelin was vaguely aware of his surroundings as Bordarigorn blew the horn. His excitement reached a high, and his berserker fit took over. He yelled at the time of his lungs, unable to control himself any longer, Sereg sirath, gurth na tuliel! [ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]