Land of Darkness RPG

[CaptainofDespair]

Wandering between condemned corridors and broken hallways just off the courtyard entrance of Cirith Ungol, the two Silvan Elves searched for weapons and armor more befitting of their stature. Raeis had proven herself to be a quick elf, much faster than her male counterpart, even after her long captivity. Whilst he was struggling to keep up with his new friend, Morgoroth noticed a small set of doors blocked by the mangled body of an orc grunt. He stopped his pursuit of the female Silvan, and studied the door. Deciding to see what was within, he first called Raeis to make her way back. She did so, but with a slight sense of hesitation, wondering what the male elf could possibly want.

“These doors may hold something useful for us,” he murmured to her. “Haradrim and other foul Men were sometimes stationed in the tower, as a way of keeping the orcs from killing each other. They may have stored weapons of use to us here.” Raeis nodded, and without saying a word, they pushed the heavy wooden doors apart, revealing a dark room behind, a small armory. Very little of use was contained inside, save for a few broken scimitars, and shattered spears. Morgoroth had become disheartened at this sight, and turned to leave the room, and continue with his search, when he heard a crash behind him. Raeis had been prodding through a stack of battered crates, when a few had come tumbling down, smashing into broken shards and sharp splinters on the stone floor. Contained within the debris of the crates, were quivers of arrows, and a few small bows, suitable enough for the Elves. Amongst the ruins of the other crates, were a few long knives, and so these were taken up, and split between the two Silvans.

As the two began to make their way out of the dilapidated, and nearly collapsed room, the heavy thuds of an orc were heard rushing into the courtyard. By the time Raeis and Morgoroth had forced their way out of the room, and into the corridor, the horrendous sounds of the orc had died off. The two began to make their way to the large wooden door that separated the dark air of Mordor, from the dank, blood-filled air of the Tower, when they spotted one of the three dwarves. He was rushing down the stairs, obviously chasing the orc who had fled out into the courtyard. Morgoroth made no motion to alert the dwarf, and simply let him continue his fruitless search for the now-gone orc. When the dwarf had passed, the dark Elf turned his attention back to the search for some form of garb that he could shroud himself in. Raeis must have known his thoughts, or had been prepared for the same task, for no sooner had the dwarf left, that she had begun making her way to the courtyard. For the second time that day, he could only follow his new accomplice.

Reaching the doorway into the courtyard, Morgoroth halted. The heavy, ash filled atmosphere that made up Mordor, hit him like brick. He had become accustomed to the relative cleanness of the Tower, and the open, yet dirty air of the Black Lands, was something his nostrils could not take. Reaching into a pouch on his hip, he pulled forth a piece of tattered cloth. He wrapped this around his face, much as he had seen the Haradrim do. The cloth, that now surrounded his face, managed to filter much of the dirt in the air, and he was able to take a step into the courtyard once more. He soon caught up to Raeis, who was pilfering the bodies of the orcs foo some form of protective wares. She had cast aside a few leather cuirasses, which had been too large for her torso. Skimming through these, Morgoroth took up one that had looked his size. Upon putting it on, the leather was soon found to be close-fitting, and allowed for a greater deal of freedom in his movement. From another orc body, he gathered a cloak, which he draped over his shoulders, refraining from using his hood. Raeis soon found some garments of her build, and quickly put them on. When all was said and done, Morgoroth dragged his tired form over to a corner of the yard, and sat himself down, seeking a bit of rest. He draped his new bow across his knees, and drifted into a dazed, dream-like state, preparing his body and mind for the torturous journey ahead.

[Kransha]

Brór wandered, slowly, throughout the area of the dusty, dirty, smoky room of the tower, still eying the stairwell nearby suspiciously, walking circumspect and cold. Dwali squatted not far off, still digging through the limp, twisted clumps of dead uruk that were heaped about all over. Brór stooped over, dragging his hefty mace upon the ground and letting it bounce across the floor wistfully. Soon, he picked it up, and stuffed it into his armored belt, behind the newly taken breastplate of burnt, charred steal and a hauberk of chain mail. He leaned down, his fingers curling around the deformed staff of an ax which he lifted curiously.

The ax bore, yet again, a resemblance that Brór dubbed uncanny to his ancient blade, a nameless weapon, cold and jagged as the ice upon the ivory-capped peaks of the highest mountains. He had swung that ax for many years, more than a century’s half he’d used it, cleaving countless orcs in twain and worse. When it had been given him as a child, he’d sat with a retrospective look upon his barely bearded face and an uncharacteristically pleasant twinkle in his shady eye, staring at it, his gaze overrunning its depths, its dimensions. Where was that now, that youthful pleasantry and naiveté? Alas, he knew where it was. The Tower of Cirith Ungol had stolen it from him, taken it unnaturally and unfairly. The ax he’d held, weighty back then, had fallen in the dust with a silent thump, left as a reminder of his failure there and now. He had never failed, not in combat, or even with his dulled wit, but he was still a failure as much as any other loathsome fool imprisoned. Now, though, his cynical reverie ended with the sound of echoing footsteps below. As his glued gaze pried itself from the ax, he looked glumly, but suddenly with more verve, to Dwali.

“You wish to follow, do you not?” Brór murmured, a smile again worming its way over his pursed lips. The smile did not materialize, though it was as forceful as it could be, and Brór’s look stayed a cold, slate hue of careless emptiness. But, thankfully for both dwarves, their meeting had at least tempered the shadow of pessimism with a sliver of sunny light, that of companionship, which was a merry thing for their kind. Walking forward and clutching his newly looted ax tightly in a wrinkly, creased palm, Brór continued coyly. “If you wish to hold your thoughts in, you shouldn’t plainly wear them on your face, lad.” He seemed strangely to be chiding the younger dwarf, though his smirk was still as invisible as ever it had been.

“Aye, I wish that.” The other dwarf said, standing from where he’d been silently, meditatively squatting and looking back at his peer. “But, I’ll wager you wish it as well.” The rumble, throaty and raspy, that beat heartily in Brór’s chest might have signaled a fierce, dwarven laugh, but naught came out. Instead, the very edge of his mouth elevated, suggesting a vague grin as he clapped the lad on the shoulder, striking his left hand, now in a tight gauntlet of dully colored metal shards riveted together, against the pauldrons strapped to Dwali’s upper arm. “I would be a false dwarf if I said I did not.” He said, his voice swelling as he pulled Dwali forward, and the two of them rushed, gallivanting down the winding stairs towards the first level of the tower and the courtyard. They were there faster than either of them had expected, and sprung out lithely into the courtyard, breathing in quick, stolen breaths as they took in the sight of two figures. Both were elves, nearest the door, one male and the other female. The dwarf duo headed speedily to the male elf, shadowy in gait, who sat upon the earth, nearly motionless. Though Brór knew not what he was called, the elf’s name was Morgoroth, and the female elf was called Raeis.

“The fleeing orc, you saw him?” Questioned Dwali subtly, his eyebrows peaked slightly with no otherwise changes in his more wizened features, which were reminiscent of some aged thing of more years than he. Brór still looked to be the oldest, of course, and older than the elves and men, for he had seen more days than the man, and more of time’s winds than the elves, though they were older than he. Both dwarves looked almost incredulously at the elves, one sitting and blankly staring in the yard’s corner, and the other still rummaging diligently through the orc corpses, which lay strewn messily across the rent tiles of dark, blood-spattered stone. The first, handling the bow leaned against his bent knees, looked up darkly at each dwarf. “Yes.” The Silvan Elf, whose name Brór did not know, said quietly, “He passed and fled.”

Now, many dwarves strongly disliked elves, elves of any kind, Silvan or no, though that’s what elves these were. The elf, though probably much older than Brór in years, had all the look of a fellow who’d seen many less. That alone was enough to infuriate Brór, but he dismissed that fact years ago. Elves had worked continually alongside him during his stay in the tower and prison, so petty prejudices were easily dismissed, but now they returned. With freedom came new feelings, and with expanded boundaries came renewed hostilities. Were these wretched beings going to wallow here and allow that orc to escape and inform others of his repugnant kind of the freed prisoners? That was foolishness and stupidity. Though Brór was brooding, even as he spoke, he could not abide this. He knew, deep down, that his dormant dislike for elves was making his mind exaggerate, but now that there was no orc whip to crack down upon his back, he didn’t care.

“And you did not give chase?” he said, fiery hostility renewed in him as he spoke, his fist clenching involuntarily, “You let him pass and did not even try to follow?”

[Amanaduial the archer]

Raeis watched the other Silvan elf curiously for a moment, frozen in her work a few metres away from him, a vixen pausing momentarily in scavenging to watch another, unknown fox further away - strange and yet familiar, and whether a friend or foe was yet to be decided. Looking at him closely, she saw his eyes droop and his whole face seemed to relax - asleep? A memory stirred within her of the meditative trance the elves could sink into, a peaceful void of real thought, entered by dreams and memories of past and sometimes of future. In the years of her captivity, when no moment could be counted as safe, Raeis had barely if ever been able to rely on the security of doing this, for at any time she could have been interrupted whilst vulnerable by the orcs. Besides, her nerves were so frayed now that she barely even knew if she would be able to enter that state now anyway, and had reverted to the dull, black void that men called sleep.

The elf shivered suddenly as she realised how very like the Haradrim the male elf looked, draped with black cloth across his face and wearing their leathers, a bow of their making across his lap...why, if the orcs were to see him now, what would they know him as but another of the men? All of the rest of them would be instantly recognisable as prisoners but...

An idea suddenly hit Raeis and she wondered why it had not hit her earlier - the simplicity of the plan was incredible. Yet it would work. If yet there were orcs or Haradrim around, ready to block their escape (and woe betide them if they did, she added darkly), they would instantly stop them...or they would stop prisoners. But if they were all the wear such clothes, covering face and ears and wearing the right garb, saying nothing...

Who would know the difference?

Raeis allowed herself a simple smile of happiness, surprising herself at the feeling. It was brought on not to spite her captors, to laugh at them as they tormented her, for that had been it's only purpose in her captivity - no, it was brought on by feeling. Happiness. Relishing the feeling with wary satisfaction, the female elf settled on her knees and lifted a long knife from the stash in the corner - obviously where orcs had left their weapons to be easily and quickly picked up without hampering them as they went about whatever despicable business they chose to amuse their small minds with. Strangely though, this one was in a sheath, although it didn't seem to fit well - it wouldn't properly settle into the sheath, part of it sticking out awkwardly, dents made on two sides at the top of the sheath where it's rude tenant had been forced in. And where the sword was crude and marked from ill treatment and use, the sheath was oddly elegant - Raeis tilted her head hesitantly to look at the marks on the side. To her astonishment, she found them to be runes, although not ones that seemed familar - they were not the angular, ugly, crude etchings the orcs sometimes made, and nor were they in the elven script that Raeis remembered. They seemed to mix the two - elegant but tarnished, tainted, marred in some way...

"I think this sword would fit the sheath better."

The hesitant voice sent nerves tingling all the way through Raeis's body and she actually jumped. Spinning around with snake-like speed onto one knee, she whipped the sword out in front of her in the vague direction of the voice. The sudden, quick movement caused the sheath to shoot of the end of the ill-fitting sword, flinging itself away across the stone courtyard to clatter loudly on the stone. The man who had spoken gave a startled squeak of surprise and ducked to one side, surprisingly fast for a mortal - for that was what Raeis now saw him to be. He was short and stocky, and his freckles and large eyes made him seem child-like, although the obvious muscles in his arms and legs made it obvious that he was nothing of the sort. At least, not physically....there was something very juvenile about the fear in his eyes as he looked at the elf. As Raeis rose and moved forward a step, her sword still level, he shuffled backwards quickly, staring up at the immortal with simple fear.

For a moment, Raeis caught herself enjoying the rush of power and with a shock of anger at herself she dropped the sword, the clatter resonating throughout the courtyard as she did so. Taking a step back from it, Raeis walked around the weapon, her flecked blue eyes never leaving it, then they darted back to the man's face.

"Who are you?" she asked, curiously.

"Jordo," he replied promptly, every inch obedient. Raeis was surprised at his simplicity, but there was something harmless in it. However, when he raised the sword again, she couldn't help taking a step back again. He turned it around quickly and offered her the other end, even though it meant he was holding the blade. Raeis hesitated, then took it tentatively, careful not to harm his hands but ready to move if he attacked. No one would cause her pain again, but this simple, kind mortal did not deserve pain either - indeed, something in Raeis stirred to protect him almost. Almost.

Taking the sword, Raeis scurried to the other side of the courtyard to pick up the beautiful sheath again, and slid one into the other carefully. Surprisingly, Jordo had been right - incredibly so, for the sword seemed to actually match the sheath. Neither were perfect, of course - little could stay untarnished in a land of evil. But beauty is always seem in union, and these two fitted perfectly. With the unfamiliar feeling of happiness again coursing through her veins like adrenaline, Raeis looked up to see that a few dwarves entering the door. Short, stout little men, built like barrels that had seen thin times - not exactly menacing, but she felt herself clench up at the sight of them, the deep set emnity between the two peoples arising subconciously.

The dwarves seemed to feel the same way. They entered stiffly, swaggering a little, and one approached Morgoroth, waking him with the clanking of his axe as he audaciously began to question the elf. Raeis could not hear the first words he said, but she heard the next as the dwarf rose his voice.

"And you did not give chase? You let him pass and did not even try to follow?"

Raeis immediately felt the hostility in the dwarf's voice and felt it rise within herself in response. The sword slid uneasily out of the sheath, grating against the sides, but Raeis didn't flinch, her hand perfectly still as she raised it to the dwarves.

"Do not threaten him," she said, softly, an edge of danger to her voice. "And do not threaten me. What is it that you seek?

[CaptainofDespair]

With an obviously hostile dwarf standing above him, and with the animosity between the two races already embedded in both minds, Morgoroth knew he must watch himself, for he walked a very fine line. Raeis however, did not seem to see it this way, as she rose to protect her comrade. With blade in hand, she came forth like a serpent, ready to strike. The young Dwarf did not notice her at first, and by the time her voice had made her presence known to him, he would have had his head splattered on the walls and cobblestone floor of the courtyard. But Morgoroth could see the fiery intent in Raeis’ eyes, and he rose quickly to stop her. “No!” he spoke as he grabbed her forearm, keeping the blade just out of reach of the dwarf’s head. “Our quarrel is not with each other. We have more important matters to attend to.” He let forth a heavy sigh as he pushed his way past the trio of dwarves.

Raeis was still in shock as she began to follow her immortal compatriot. His willingness to protect those that had threatened him startled her, as well those in the vicinity of the occurrence. Even the dwarves had expected that he would have allowed for their brethren’s death. Yet, even with this showing of kindness, or mercy, neither party still wished to associate with the other, and they went their separate ways. Raeis soon managed to catch up with Morgoroth, as he made his way back into the darkness of the Tower. Yet following her this time, was the slave Jordo, who had not wanted to be left alone in the courtyard. He watched the elves move with their naturally imbued grace and elegance, and was entranced by it, drawn into their world for a fleeting moment.

The pair of elves, followed by Jordo, who still kept to the darkness that pervaded the corridors, slowly meandered their way through the Tower. Morgoroth had the look about him that he was searching for something long lost. After futilely searching a few dark, empty rooms, The Elves began to make their way back to the courtyard. As they neared the doorway, the immortal male gave a passing glance at the stairs.

The dark Silvan suddenly stopped at the base of the stairwell, and he turned to meet the gaze of his female companion, who wondered why he had stopped. “We will rest here for a few moments. The stairs will be a task to climb when we are still so weak from our imprisonment.” As Raeis moved to take a seat on the stairs behind him, Morgoroth noticed the newly freed slave lurking in the shadows. He knew the boy would not understand his own native Sindarin, so he refrained from using it. In place of it, he used the Common Tongue, which he spoke with equal fluency. “Come forth from the shadows which conceal you, young one.” Jordo was quick to obey, though he did not fully know why he did. As he stepped out into the shadows, his freckled face was revealed to the Elf, who stood stone-still, scanning the now freed slave’s face. “Tell me your name,” the Silvan demanded. “Jordo,” came the reply from the man-child. “Do not be frightened. Come, rest with us. There is a long, harsh road ahead of us.” Jordo walked towards the stairs hesitantly, still wary of the Elves, and still quite dumbstruck that they had granted him a seat by their side, let alone see him in the shadows of the Tower. But finally, with a hint of suspicion still glazed on his mind, he sat down next to the female Silvan.

Raeis continued to wonder for a few minutes why he had decided to head up the stairs, when the courtyard would prove a more bountiful search for more wares. Finally, she gathered up her thoughts, and sought to inquire to this. “Why must we go up the stairs? Out there . . . ” she pointed out past the heavy, wooden doors leading to the courtyard. “It is easier to acquire what we need out there.” Morgoroth stared at her for a moment, deciding upon an explanation of actions. “When I was first captured, I had with me a special set of weapons. Two long knives and a sword crafted of the finest elven steel are what was taken from me.” He paused to take a breath, and then continued with his answer. “When I was transferred from Cirith Gorgor, those were shipped to Cirith Ungol as well. I am hoping, however unlikely it may seem, that they are still contained within this place, somewhere.” He motioned to the stairs. It is time we set off now. The Elf stood up quickly, as his short rest had revitalized both his body and spirit. He reached out his hand to Raeis, to help her up off the narrow stairs. She held back a moment, unsure of the Silvan’s intent, but finally, she took his hand, and took to standing once more. Jordo had not been resting like the elves, for he was invigorated by his new freedom, and could not contain his energy while sitting down. But nevertheless, the party was readied, and they began their climb up the stairs.

[alaklondewen]

Everything happened so quickly. Lyshka stood frozen…her new blade was limp in her hand as she watched the Orc crossing the courtyard. The beast moved too quickly for his pursuers, and although the other woman made an attack, she was thrown to the side by its bulk.

The Easterling was too far from its path to be able to easily catch up to the Orc, and she was not comfortable with her aim. If he was close she could jump upon his back and slice him open, but that would not work from this distance. Knowing the danger they would all be in if the creature escaped, the Easterling watched silently with bated breath.

[Amanaduial the archer]

The female elf walked ahead of Morgoroth, the stairs not being wide enough for two to safely walk abreast, three long knives held in one fist, protruding like metal claws from her hands, a sword in the other, and the elven sword in it's sheath tucked carefully under her arm. She wondered at Morgoroth though - he would search all of Cirith Ungol to find one knife, if it were possible, and then would leave happy. All it would take would be a length of steel branded with a few careful marks, and he would be happy. Raeis barely remembered the love of weapons she had had in her past life, the existence in Mirkwood whose reality she was unsure of - not being a warrior she had not had regular use of them, but had been skilled with bow or sword in practise, loving the feel of the metal warming beneath her hands, the silver sound made when she spun a sword through the air or loosed an arrow... Since then though, all she had known of weapons had marred that love, as the hatred borne by their wielders destroyed her features and her life.

So it was gingerly that she held the weapons in her hands: the careful wariness of one meeting a dear, lifelong friend who had betrayed the other, now coming back with a promise of help.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Raeis looked around with a furtiveness created by habit. Seeing no one there, her heart jumped inside her - abandoned?!

"Hai?!" Looking about, she called softly for anyone else.

[Durelin]

Climbing long winding stairs, Jordo found his mind winding and twisting with them. It wandered from the cold stone walls that surrounded him, finding peace of mind in doing something. Each stair was something to do; it kept him moving, and so kept his brain focused on something simple. The simplicity of doing work was all that Jordo knew to be peaceful. Suddenly he found himself staring down at his hands. They were held out before him because they had nothing better to do. He allowed himself to actually take interest in the fact that they were not being controlled by a hard hand and a stinging whip, forced to do work and watched closely as they did their best to comply. It seemed that his hands were finally able to move freely. He smiled slightly, feeling happy for them. Sharing in some kind of joy, his mind got lost in a strange warmth, and he didn't bother to find his way out of it.

Then all of a sudden he found he had reached the top of the stairs, and he looked up. But too late. His body hit something warmer and softer than the chilling walls around him, and his face was covered by long, soft blonde hair for a moment before he stepped quickly back down a step. The elf whirled around, a long knife at the ready. He had not made a sound when Jordo suddenly bumped into his back, but the man now squeaked in surprise and fear. Morgoroth had gotten a safe distance from his supposed assailant and been prepared to kill before Jordo could even let out a frightened yelp.

The elf sighed, partially in relief, but mostly in exasperation, as he saw who he had been prepared to kill. Jordo had trouble meeting those dark green eyes. The quiet pressure made him look down at the floor and fidget with the helm that was in his hands as he had not liked the feel of looking through those makeshift slits for eyes. His mind began to feel that he was looking out through someone else’s eyes, and hoped only that they were not menacing yellow slits. A shiver ran down his spine, and a tingling spanned his skin. He did not like the feel of this crude leather armor on his bare skin, either.

The man glanced up quickly, and though the eyes were not frightening or unfriendly, he knew that there had to be some kind of punishment awaiting him. He had done something wrong. The focus on him made him feel that he was in an unwelcome, unwanted position. He wanted the eyes to ignore him again, wanted them to leave him alone.

“Be alert, Jordo. And remain close behind.”

Morgoroth suddenly turned, and ran to the corner at the end of the hall. Jordo followed as quickly as he could, but was careful not to run into the elf this time, as he stopped abruptly to look down the next hall. He let out a heavy sigh once more.

“She is not there. Let us hope she has only gotten ahead of us.”

The elf began to run again, and Jordo did his best to obey Morgoroth’s former instructions. “Come. Quickly.” And the man did his best to comply with these, as well.