Island of Sorrow RPG

[Envinyatar]

It was a fleeting thought as he stepped into the basket . . .

‘I do not recall an oath saying I need follow a patient to his death to save him!’ he muttered to himself.

Orëmir’s hands clutched tight to the rim of the basket as Lindir lowered them down the side of the cliff. The knuckles of those hands were as white as the Elf’s face. All blood had fled to his core as fright gripped him. ‘I will not look down . . . or out . . . or to the side, for that matter!’ he avowed silently, clamping his eyes shut tightly.

Endamir! A thousand curses on you for wanting to come on this demented venture. When I see you next . . . if I see you again . . . or anything for that matter should I be spared my death on the rocks below . . . I will drag you from this island if I have to bind you to do so!

The basket bumped down the rocky precipice, Orëmir’s stomach lurching into his throat with each increment. And then they were stopped. He could hear Lindir securing the rope to something and the sound as the Elf began to climb from the basket. The makeshift carrier teetered for a moment, sending a decided wave of nausea through Orëmir; then, all was still.

He ventured a look at the wall of stone where Lindir had gone into. There was a fair sized opening, though from the outside looking down from the top or up from the ground below, it would appear only as a great gash in the rock. Orëmir could hear Lindir crashing about inside. Crunching about, more like. He slipped into the gash and came after a few short paces into a large grotto entry-way.

Orëmir sneezed; it echoed loudly in the cavern. Lindir’s thrashing had thrown up a cloud of fine, mouldy smelling dust. He blinked his eyes, and near the center of the rock strewn floor, he could see that Lindir had managed to light a torch that must have been left here by the Diviner. The Elf was making his way toward the back of the cave, toward another vague opening Orëmir could just see. Not wanting to let his companion get too far beyond him, Orëmir stepped onto the grotto floor proper.

Something crunched beneath his boots as he moved. He looked down and with growing horror saw that it was not rocks that were strewn on the floor, but bones. An hysterical sort of laughter bubbled up from his tightly clenched throat, squeaking out in a thin, high stream. ‘By the One! Was she a vampire of some sort?’ he gasped out. ‘Or so feeble in her attempts at healing that most of her patients died?’

Lindir had turned to look back at him as he asked these terror-induced questions. He’d waved the torch at Orëmir beckoning him on. A cutting breeze swept against Orëmir’s back, and he felt as if icy hands drifted over his shoulders, numbing his face as they passed on before him.

Then, the light from the brand went out with a whoosh! and all was cast in darkness. From the darkness there came the sound of amused laughter echoing off the walls. A sigh of sorts followed . . . and after it, soft, considering words . . .

So . . . you’ve come back . . . as you once promised . . .