Escape from Nurn RPG

[piosenniel]

Brinniel’s post

“Why do you do this to yourself, Desolyn? I know you like to be rebellious, but sometimes you go too far.”

Desolyn yawned lazily as she lay on her stomach inside the small hut and allowed her friend Meialath to tend to her raw and bleeding back. Desolyn knew Meialath bandaged her only as an excuse to find time to lecture the girl about running away. Meialath always worried for her; more than Desolyn worried for herself.

Meialath continued to scold. “This is the sixth time you’ve tried to escape, Desolyn. The sixth! Honestly, I-"
“But I was so close this time, Meia,” Desolyn interrupted. “So close! If I were just a few paces ahead of them, I would’ve been free!”
“Oh, free this and free that. That’s all you ever talk about!” Meialath sighed.
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“When are you going to wake up, Des?!” the woman cried out. “And realize it’s not going to happen! We will never be free. Running away just gets us killed!”
“So what’s the difference then, Meia?” Desolyn argued, gritting her teeth. “In the fields, we can die just as easily from overwork as we can die from being caught escaping. So, in the end, it really doesn’t matter.”

By now Meialath had finished bandaging Desolyn. The girl sat up slowly, grimacing as pain lanced through her backside. Meialath sat down on the shoddy cot next to her and gave a loud sigh.
“Is it really worth all the beatings, Des?” she asked. “The pain? Just to search for freedom that you may never find?”
“Yes.”
Meialath shook her head to Desolyn’s response, none too happy. She put her hand to the Desolyn’s cheek and turned the girl’s head towards her. Desolyn looked at the woman straight in the eye.
“Please,” Meialath said, almost in a whisper. “Promise me you won’t run away again.”
Desolyn pushed her hand away and stood up. “Forget about it, Meia,” she said. “It no longer matters. I cannot hold your promise.”
“Why not?”
Desolyn smiled at the woman. “Tonight they choose slaves for the Hunt. It’s no question that I will be chosen. They’ve wanted to hunt me for years, and now it is finally my time. I will run away again, but this time it will be my last chance.”
Meialath gave Desolyn an astonished look, but said nothing.
“Don’t worry, Meia,” Desolyn added. “I will escape this time, I promise you.”
And with that, the girl left the woman alone in the hut.

As she walked through the slave quarters, Desolyn could see other slaves scrambling to get ready for work. Somewhere in the distance, a horn sounded. It was this sound that told the slaves they were to go to the fields immediately, and by now many slaves were running to get there, praying to Eru that they wouldn’t be last. Desolyn kept her pace. In the east, the sun was beginning to rise. The new day had begun.

[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Frodess’ post

Dorlas Seregon gazed at his new wife. She looked at him quickly, then stared down at the floor. She was half his age, what a catch! Galéwyn, she was called. And it was their eve of marriage.

A shy thing was she, but she loved him, he thought. So, this hunt he would win for her. The glory of the capter, of the kill. It would be all in the name of his golden-haired wife. Though he liked the hunt much himself. . .

Ah, the slaves, thought he. He wondered if he could perhaps get an especially insolent wench for the Hunt. Maybe. It all depended on what happened before this evening.

"You will be there, will you not, my lady?" he asked his wife. She seemed a bit disgusted at the thought, but nodded in acquiescence. "There's a girl. My wife."
He embraced her fondly, then left the house, looking for rebellious slaves.

He sighed. He didn't get much insolence at his own house. Perhaps he was too strict. He shrugged his shoulders, and moved on.

[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Arien’s post

Shivana lay back in her bed, light streamed through her window bathing her room. She could hear the morning call over the slave camp and then the continuing murmur of those dense slaves. She hated them with a passion, thinking they were all high and mighty. Ha! They weren’t so full of themselves now, now they could feel what it was like to dig in the dirt and be beat and punished. She couldn’t wait for the hunt, she loved it. Seeing the faces of those slaves when they were picked, it was priceless. And then actually hunting them gave her such a rush. Tricking them was easy, she was clever and they were mostly stupid. And when she ran after them they were so scared it was brilliant, they underestimated her speed all the time.

She got up out of her bed, got dressed and collected her daggers and whip and made her way down to where the slaves were. It was humid outside and the air hung, suspended in time. There was no breeze at all. As she looked over them a small child walked up to her and pulled on her boots.

“Drink?” it said quietly."Drink?" it said again but louder. It persisted to tug at her boot.

“NO!” Shivana screamed, she whipped the child who was now crying its eyes out. “Whos child is this?”, she waited, no- one came forward. "I said whos child is this?" All the slaves were silent, eyes fixed upon Shivana. "Right then, if no one owns it it has no use here!" she shouted. She bent down behind the child who was now playing happily with the sand on the ground. She place her dagger delicately across its throat. "Ant takers?" she said smiling at the horrified slaves.

"Shes mine" said a woman, crawling forward.

"Oh is she, shes beautiful!" exclaimed Shivana.

"Why thankyou stuttered the slave" as she cautiosly moved closer to her child.

"Shame really......" and with that Shivana cut the childs throat. Warm blood gushed over her hand. "Opps, my hand slipped." and she got up and walked back to her post.

"You monster", screamed the woman craddeling the dead child in her arms. Her clothes covered in blood.

Shivana turned round on her heels," What did you say?" She drew close to the woman holding her right dagger to her face. "Well...?"

"Nothing..." whispered the woman.

"Well, good", she said quietly and she whipped the woman across the face and walked away. The whole crowd of slaves just stared at her.

"Get back to work!" she shouted, "Unless you want to be picked for the hunt?" they quickly were back working. Shivana laughed to her self and took her post, next to Kavita her friend. They laughed together about the incedent. Shivana could not wait for tye night, she was sure she would get picked for the hunt

[piosenniel]

Aylwen’s post

As if two four-year old twins grabbing Haven’s hands wasn’t enough, the older slave women stuck Haven with seven other children as well today. They danced around her, calling out names and questions, tugged at her clothes, and sang children’s songs. Haven had just about had enough of all this chaos, with all the whining children and complaining toddlers.

‘Where’s my mommy?’ One little boy came forward and jumped on top of Haven, and his two brothers did the same. Haven fell to the ground, and all the children cheered, except for the twins. Haven stood up and brushed the children away, and took a deep breath, ready to scream at the top of her lungs.

‘Where Nahala? How come she isn’t watching me today?’ A seven-year old girl strode forward, and the rest followed her, as if they were one herd. She snapped her fingers and all the children were quiet as they stood behind the girl. She had a design painted over the left side of her face, and her silky gown and shiny sash were obviously picked to enhance the look of the picture of a green dragon.

‘Your name, milady?’ Haven gritted her teeth as she struggled not to spat out the phrase she had become so accustomed to.

‘Malha…’ the girl answered. Haven groaned inwardly. How come she hadn’t been told Ekatran’s daughter would be under her care? The girl took a step forward and away from her herd. She reached forward to touch Haven’s sleeve, but quickly pulled back. Then she turned and pointed at Haven, wrinkled her nose, and her other hand came up as if to waft away bad air.

The children giggled.

Haven rolled her eyes. Most likely, the children had rarely seen anyone not decked out in silk and colorful ties, or scrubbed raw and perfumed until one reeked of foreign flowers. Not that Haven stank, but to the richly clothed and strange smelling children, she must have smelled strange to some extent. None of the children back away though, and they kept their dark eyes on the interesting and strange slave.

Haven raised her hand and went to touch the silken sleeve of Malha, as she had done to Haven. Before she could, though, Malha screamed at the top of her lungs and jerked away. As one, as a flock, the children ran down the hallway away from Haven. Haven groaned and chased after them. They eventually stopped, and Haven angrily grasped Malha’s wrist.

‘Ma’am, you are in my care. You listen to what I say and I don’t want to hear anything out of your mouth. Understand, child?’ Haven glowered at Malha, and the girl took on a smug look
.
‘Papa says I don’t have to listen to you. He says you belong to me and that I get to tell you what to do. Don’t be so foolish, slave, unless you want to be taken care of by my daddy,’ The girl smirked at Haven, and wriggled from her grasp.

Soon after the little incident, Nahala came to pick up the seven children that Haven didn’t usually take care of. Haven pulled up a stool, and sat in the hallway, head in hands. The twins, Jamilah and Jovanna, were pushing each other as they fought over Jamilah’s stuffed doll. When they noticed how down their caretaker was, they approached Haven and tugged on either one of her sleeves.

‘I don’t like Malha. She’s mean,’ Jamilah started. Haven looked up, and was about to answer that if she was heard saying such things she would be killed for treason, but thought better of it. ‘Do you think you’ll be picked Hay?’

Haven smiled when called by the nickname, but was oblivious to what Jamilah was talking about. ‘Picked for what, child?’

‘The Hunt, of course! Silly Hay-Hay!’ Jovanna laughed and clapped. Haven gasped: she had forgotten all about the Hunt Selection Ritual that night. Smacking a hand to her forehead, Haven cursed her forgetfulness. She should’ve remembered! Jamilah and Jovanna’s father was taking part in the hunt that year, and they made it a habit of always reminding their caretaker about it as they counted down the days.

Now that Haven had upset Lord Ekatran’s daughter, Haven wouldn’t be surprised if she were picked and sent on the deadly run away from the hunters. Now, If I had only upset Malha tomorrow, I wouldn’t have such a big chance to be picked!

[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.”

*********************************************

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 ]

[piosenniel]

Amanaduial’s post

Fionel pushed her short, sun bleached hair out of her eyes, standing to stretch her back. A whip slicked out over her back, cracking above her head, just a warning this time, a warning that next time it would not just make her duck.

“Get back to work, Fionel! Just because you’ve been selected by His Lordship, doesn’t mean you don’t have to work!” The guards harsh voice rang out from the side of the field. Fionel glared balefully at him, leaning back on her knees to squint at him against the scorching sun.

“Whats that supposed to mean?” She called back at him, then bit her lip, knowing she shouldve kept her mouth shut. The guard mock gasped, but a wicked glint was in his eyes.

“Insolence! Insolence must be punished!” He quoted one of the rules and flicked his long whip at Fionel, who rolled to the side, a talent perfected out of practice, but a second whip flicked over harder from another guard. It drew a scorching, red hot line across her back and Fionel cried out as it laid into her skin as if it was red hot. The first guard dragged her back to her knees and she attempted to hit him, foolishly, as she was tired out of already working several hours in the field. He struck her across the face and the girl reeled back into the mud. He looked scornfully down at her.
“Get back to work, slave.” He hissed at her. Gritting her teeth against the tears and the insults welling up, Fionel got back on her knees and back to work. Besides, if she worked it would take her mind off what was going to happen tonight…the picking for The Hunt….

[piosenniel]

Beruthiel’s post

The sun blazed down on Santiara's back like every other day. Her lips and mouth were so dry, if only she could have some water! The guards were right in front of her, there was no way she was going to be able to get to the water that was kept by the fence. She tossed her bleached, limp hair out of her eyes and stared at the two guards. 'What do you think your doing eh?' One shouted at her menacingly, holding up the whip. She looked away from him to the water bottle he had. He looked at the bottle and then smiled wickedly. 'So you're thirsty are you?' He said softly coming closer to her. She didn't move. 'Well I'm sorry then.' he whispered into her ear, she could smell his foul breath and she looked at him in disgust. He put the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. When he had finished all the water he kicked dirt in her face as he walked off. She cried out but was silenced by the loud cracking of a whip.

She couldn't take this much longer, the torment and pain of slavery she had to go through every day since she was 18. She remembered that terrible day, so long ago. The wild shouts of the invading Easterlings, how her father had tried to protect them but they were all taken away to this evil place. 'Maybe tonight will change things' she thought. The picking for The Hunt...yes she knew what would happen if she was chosen but it was better than staying here for the rest of her life. 'Tonight' she repeated to herself and she continued to work. The sun was going down, it was nearly time.

[piosenniel]

Envinyatar’s post

‘Not a breath of air today,’ he reflected to himself, looking to the east. His hand came up to shade his eyes against the unrelieved light of the afternoon sun, and he peered toward the edges of the cultivated lands, watching the shimmering waves of heat pool along the shallow dips in the flat, almost featureless land that lay beyond, stretching out toward the horizon. ‘Deadman’s Water, Fool’s Hope’ is what his people called the mirages that played tricks on men’s minds.

His sturdy little horse shook her mane, drawing his attention back to matters at hand. Across the small field he saw one of the guards toying with a female slave. He taunted her with his bottle of water, drinking it in front of her, allowing a few of the precious drops to spill down to the ground. Another guard flicked his whip at her as she cried out.

Pah! He spit on the ground in contempt. Ignorant men! Better to give the slave some water and keep them working all the longer. He narrowed his eyes and watched as the two guards laughed, then a quick conference, and one of them was running back to where the tent of the Lord’s captain was. ‘The dog curry’s favor for himself,’ he thought, as he watched the guard admitted to the tent. ‘He means to tell the Captain there is an unnecessary slave who would be good for the Hunt.’

He looked from the woman kneeling at the fence, small, ill fed, to the burly men who guarded her. Half smiling, he watched the play of muscle ripple beneath their sleek skin. ‘Now those would be worthy prey for a true Hunter!’

Rhûnnaro sighed, tomorrow would be The Hunt – the fifth for him in as many years. He was prized as a tracker in this dusty land where the wind often obscured a creature's passing. There was little hope for him that this year would be any different. That there would be a true challenge for his efficient skills. His eyes roved back to the forms of the guards, calculating. He sighed again, and a sudden hot gust of breeze ruffled for a moment on his brow.

‘The eastern wind-horse springs up!’ He laughed in delight, remembering what his mother taught him. ‘The red horse of the east carries the wishes of the heart upward . . . to the waiting gods.’

[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Mattius’ post

Ranchard had always hated the slaves; always whining and complaining about their hard lives. He enjoyed introducing his bull whip to their backs in the fields when they were talking or being lazy or just for the hell of it. He achieved a sick deep satisfaction, that he could torture and torment other people with no fear of retaliation. In fact, his pleasure had almost caused him to loose his place as a guard in his familes fileds. One day he had beaten to death a young slave girl, perhaps no older than seventeen or so. Ranchard could still hear his excuses to his father all those years ago- she looked at me strange, she deserved to die! Ranchard was only twenty then and now he was thirty five. His madness had slept but grew inside him, his lust for death had slowly grown into insanity.

Ranchard's dream, his ultimate dream had always been to participate in The Hunt. Year after year he watched how others were chosen above him and year after year he heard why he was not chosen. He was to instable, no hunter- just a crazed killer- no hunter. For years Ranchard hid his lust for human death and hunted alone on the plains of Mordor, torturing and mutilating birds and beasts. He proved himself to his piers of his talents and, although he did not know it yet, his time had come; he would be chosen this year for The Hunt.

[piosenniel]

Gorothlammothiel’s post

On the back of his horse Lord Ekatran watched from a distance as ‘slaves’ worked the fields of his homeland. Under the scorching heat from the high mid-day sun he took shade from a nearby tree, not a comfort the slaves were able to have. Overseer’s watched with eager eyes as they walked the boarders of fields waiting for one of the slaves to make a mistake, one wrong move, like vultures circling, waiting for a death.

His steed adjusted its footing as a man approached on horseback from behind. He came aside Lord Ekatran and spoke “My Lord, the Hunt grows near and we believe it is time for the choices to be made.” Ekatran nodded and his eyes narrowed as he focused his sight to a man on the other side of the field, taunting a slave with his water. He lifted it above his head and as she reached for it he kicked her to the ground, laughing.

“Have you no recommendations to make?” Ekatran replied to the man at his side. “Yes my lord, there are several we suggest you take for those you hunt. There is one slave in particular who has grown unruly and another disobedient.” Lord Ekatran looked towards his company, tilting his head “Very well but are there those who are to come with me? Each year presents a different character, someone strong but willing to take orders. I do not want to return with less than I set out on as we did last year.” The man fell silent and Lord Ekatran sighed.

Turning his attention back to the fields Lord Ekatran noticed a figure past the fields seemingly ‘playing’ with some sort of animal. Torturing it then watching its pain. “What about him?” Ekatran asked.

[piosenniel]

Orual’s post

The sun beat down on Dôranna Celebyavë's pale neck as she worked in the fields. She could feel the heat on her cheeks even in the shadow, and knew that she had burnt her skin again. She sighed, knowing that it would hurt terribly before the day was over. It had been many, many, many years since she had been captured, and she was no stranger to sunburn.

"A little slower and you'd be going backwards," the overseer shouted, his harsh voice ringing in her ears. The whip cracked over her back, and she stumbled, but did not fall. The overseer grunted. "Keep working, and go faster or you'll feel it harder."
Dôranna made no sound, but quickened her pace. She did not want to please the overseer, but she also did not want to be beaten again. She simply heaved a great, though silent, sigh, and kept working.

She fingered a fine silver chain on her neck, that her fiancé had given her. It, and a dagger, were all that she had left to remember him by. She sobbed at night over him, wishing to use his gift to end her life, but knowing that he would not want her to. Even in this life of servitude, she had some hope of seeing him again. In the Halls of Mandos, she had little.

"Melda," she murmured, beloved. Someday she would see him again.

"Enough talking!" the new overseer shrilled. Dôranna quieted.

She returned to her quarters that night, her back striped from lashes, her face and neck crimson with sunburn, and her body filthy with sweat and dust. It had been a terrible day, much like every other day lately. Her limbs were weak and her back felt like she had a thousand pounds strapped to it, and after her initial resistance she had fallen many times. Her knees were aching from the falls, and her hands were cut and bleeding from catching herself. She went onto her sleeping pallet and picked up the journal that she kept, with nothing but the day in it so as not to incur the wrath of her captors. Her ice-blue eyes filled with tears as she saw the date. "Melda," she cried, her voice tight with grief. Some Easterling yelled for her to be quiet, but her sobs continued. He came in and beat her, but still she wept. When they had become nearly silent, he left, shouting a warning behind him.

It was the anniversary of what should have been her marriage to her Melda, and she wept. She would find him again, she swore, she would find him and on this day, some year soon, she would marry him as she had promised.

She would escape.

As soon as she thought that she laughed derisively at herself. She thought that every year on this day. And on the day she had met her fiancé, on her birthday, on Midsummer's when she had been engaged. All of these dates meant something to her, and she always thought of freedom when they came. Freedom would come no more this anniversary than it did on any other that she had passed here.

"...but what do you think our chances for escaping the Hunt are?" asked one of the girls who shared Dôranna's room in a hushed voice.

There was a silence, and Dôranna was perfectly still. She never participated in the conversations of her roommates. "I heard tell that they're looking at Dôra."
"Not Dôranna!" the first gasped, then chittering resumed. But Dôranna had stopped listening, stopped breathing.

The Hunt? Why would she be chosen for the Hunt? Had she been performing that poorly? Hot tears ran down her cheeks. It was only a rumor, she told herself. And the girls were never very reliable. They heard things fifth, sixth hand. Not a one had any access to an Easterling who made that sort of decision. These girls were fieldhands like Dôranna herself, not house servants.

But on the other hand, if she was quick enough, maybe she could use the Hunt to escape...

She pushed the thought out of her mind, and tried to sleep. The Hunt would come later. And if she was chosen, then she would have to be rested. "Melda," she murmured once again, then fell into a restless, troubled sleep.

[piosenniel]

kittiewhirl’s post

Lanbriel felt relieved as she walked off the field, swaying a little from her fatigue. She had managed to survive another day of fieldwork. She steadily headed back to her master’s house, along with a few other slaves. Five guards, not a heavy amount of guarding by her standards, were following them.

There had been worse. Much worse. Whenever a slave tried to escape, or had killed or injured someone, the guarding had grown a huge amount. Slaves were treated much more harshly. Once, a young, freedom-longing slave tried to escape from Nurn. The next day, twenty guards followed Lanbriel’s party.

Finally, Lanbriel arrived at her master’s home. The house was medium-sized. It had a big red roof that loomed over a small part of the courtyard. It also had four big, half-oval shaped windows spread out across the front.

The slaves sleepily trudged up to the side door, and from there each one went to their room to await their next order. Lanbriel walked down the long, straight staircase that led down into a dark, musty hallway. No more than one average-sized person could fit in the hallway at once because it was very thin, but that didn’t matter to the slaves because they were incredibly thin themselves and therefore were able to walk freely down the hall. Lanbriel walked past a series of doors, all of them being very small. In order to fit through them, the older slaves had to bend down.

Finally, she saw the one tiny door that led to her own little “dungeon” as she called it. Lanbriel felt very tired. She saw her bed, made of straw and hay, mostly. She felt a great urge to drop down in it and never wake again. The urge was about to overtake her, when she started hearing voices from the wall to her right (the walls weren’t very thick, and sometimes the slaves could even talk to each other from their rooms).

The household overseer was talking to her friend Erfandel.

“Slave, where were you at five o’clock?”
“I-I… My friend… she was hurt… I had to help her… I came to the fields as soon as I could!”
“You know the law. You were meant to be doing field work at five o’clock, and you were missing until seven!”
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“That’s no guarantee!”
“Please, Mr. Overseer, don’t make them beat me!”
“No? Well, then I’ve got a better job for you. You will carry the weapon supplies to the next village by foot. If you don’t get there in one hour, you will be beat to death. You will be followed by three guards, and if you try to escape they will kill you.”

Lanbriel couldn't stand this. No. The hunt was coming up, and she was going to escape these terrible, day by day tortures, if she got called.

“No! Please, it does take three hours to get there by horse. I cannot get there in one by foot!”
“You will do what you are told.”

Lanbriel couldn’t stand to hear any of this. Without thinking, she started screaming things across the wall to the overseer.

“This makes absolutely no sense! Why, she can’t get there in one hour! Are you mad? You’re killing my best friend through the worst type of torture! Why don’t you just give her a horse? Then at least she’ll have a chance of making it! The supplies will never make it to the next village if you do such a terrible thing!”

Suddenly, the door to Lanbriel’s room swung open. The overseer, a large, angry-looking man with a short white-black beard and long black hair opened the door. He stopped at the entrance, a mad gleam in his dark eyes. His frown almost looked like a kind of sneer, and his huge, bushy eyebrows came down very close to his eyes. He was trying his best to look angry and frightening.

Lanbriel almost laughed, but she knew that that woud give her another beating. This wasn’t the first time that she had blurted something stupid out without thinking. Of course, she knew it wasn’t stupid, and that made her angrier than ever.

“You fool of a slave!” He roared across the tiny room.
“Who’s the fool here? I’m only suggesting the best for the girl, unless you want to kill her!”
“If you don’t watch out, you’ll be dead in a moment yourself! How dare you say to me, that I don’t know what’s best? Why should I make her do what’s best! You’re the slaves. You don’t deserve the best, and you don’t get the best!”
“If I don’t deserve the best, you ceratinly don’t either.”
“Will you cease your endless talk! I am trying to tell you that you that if you do not stop interfering every time a slave is punished, you will soon be dead!”
“You can’t just kill me, you’re not allowed to. And there’s no reason to beat me because I’m not on fieldwork.”
“No, but I’ve got an even better idea for you. You will go in place of your friend here.”
“How dare you!”
“I have all the right to punish any slave who interferes or speaks against me.”

Yes, thought Lanbriel. If I get called, I will be able to escape this terrible punishment. But if I don't...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel scrambled through the one tiny, high up window in her slave hut. The tiny space was shared between twenty female slaves and was smaller than the one Fionel had been in before she had worked at the palace. Therefore shed only been in this hut for a few days, and didnt know everyone. The slaves tended to be pretty secretive; there were rumours that Ekatrans slaves could get everywhere, and because of this many were wary of Fionel.

However, as she tried to wriggle through the window, her bare feet scrabbling for a perch outside and her hands for one inside, one girl looked up. Her eyes widened as the saw the other girl trying to squeeze through the window, then she smiled. Standing, she crossed the room to stand just beneath the window, then stood on one of the hard, stony beds and took Fionel's hands, pulling her through the window to land in a heap on the other side. Fionel winced as yet more bruises joined those already keeping the whip lashes company, then started giggling, along with the one who had helped her. Stifling this hastily, wary of the guards who would soon be prowling outside, she stood and thanked the girl.

"Thanks.."
"Meia." The girl smiled, then glanced back up at the window. "Late again Fionel?"

Fionel grinned ruefully and nodded. The guards locked the doors late at night and the only way to get in was through that window. The inward facing spikes stopped anyone going to other way though, preventing escapes. "Hmmmm....I was just-"

She stopped herself, and satisfied herself with smiling again at Meia. She had been looking for weak spots in the barrier a few hours agao and since then had been leading a guard who had followed her on a wild goose chase, but didnt want to tell Meia that. Like they said, Ekatran's spies were everywhere.

Another slave was watching them, her eyes bright from where she lay on her front on a bed. Fionel winced at the sight of the long, deep lashes across her back. The penalty for trying to escape was harsh, and this one had reaped it by the looks of it. "You tried to escape?" She whispered, a slight, mischeivious smile on her face.

Fionel grinned back slightly. "Nah. I couldnt miss the Hunt, could I?" She said the last bit a little bitterly. Fionel knew shed be picked. The other looked like she was about to say something before she was cut off.

"All slaves stand!"

The imperious voice rang out as the door opened and an overseer entered. His dark, hard eyes took in the slave girls as they scrambled to their feet. Only the lashed girl stood more slowly.

"In number order!"

Fionel resented this. All the slaves were given a number and were branded on the arm with it, like cattle going to the slaughter. That was all they would ever be to the easterlings; animals, waiting to die, and all Fionel was ever going to be was number 12755. The girls ran outside and joined the line of slaves already there, standing in a giant crocodile. The overseer mounted on his own horse and cried another harsh word and they were off at a fast run, the whips flicking over their heads.

Fionel stared at the dark sky; tonight the stars hid their faces. The night of the Hunt.

~~~

By the time they reached the main city, all the other slave lines had joined them. Fione, felt her fists clench in anger; tens of thousands of slaves, all controlled by a few thousand easterlings. If they could only rebel...

A whip flicked over her shoulders, waking her from her thoughts and despite herself the girl flinched. She glared at the easterling but he reared his horse, stamping its front feet down near to her bare, unprotected feet, his grin cruel and brutish. Fionel wanted to lash out, to wipe to grin off his face, but knew that tonight of all nights, she had to resist, to keep her head down. As if that will help your chances of not being chosen...

They were herded into the huge Great Hall, more like a cavern than anything else. Its huge structure still took Fionel's breath away; it was hard to believe anything this big could be created by Man, hewn as it was out of the very rock. It was the biggest building in Nurn and extended partly under the ground. Beneath her, on the levels below, slaves and easterlings swarmed like ants. She stepped back from the edge as she felt her mind reeling. Then she looked down to the centre of the hall and saw something that made her shudder even more; the figure of Lord Ekatran.

[ April 01, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[ April 03, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro stood in the shadows, as close to the entrance of the Hall as possible. What sort of men would want to enter the belly of a rock? It made his skin crawl to think about it, and he remembered with longing the wide, open plains of his homeland. Pushing back the stray hairs that trailed above his right eye, his hand came to rest on the back of his neck. He sighed in resignation, watching the lines of slaves filter in to the Hall.

The intervening years of his service to the Dark One had not abated his repulsion to this yearly ritual. He had made his deal with The Dark One’s minions, to see that the land was worked, food produced to fuel the Dark One’s armies. He had made no deal to let the Shadow eat his spirit. Rhûnnaro fingered the small, turquoise horse on the thin leather thong around his neck.

‘Ghosts,’ he whispered to himself, looking round at hunter and hunted alike. ‘All ghosts.’ His dark eyes slid over the gathering, his face impassive. ‘Shadows of men.’

Though the slaves at times, at least seemed more substantial than the others . . .

[ April 10, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Arien]

Shivana sat in the Great Hall on one of the balconies that overlooked the colossal centre. Thousands upon thousands, of foul, repulsive slaves filed in though the various doors dotted around the Hall. She was off duty tonight and luckily didn’t have the job of herding those damn things form the slave camp where she worked. She hated that, their incessant whining was excruciating sometimes, but a good whipping would put them back in their place.

“How long left do you think?” asked Kavita who was sitting next to her.

“Well they have at least five more camps to get in here, I don’t know.” Replied Shivana looking down upon Lord Ekatran who stood in the centre of the great hall. “ We will have to go down soon, for the selection. I want to be selected, not have I been on a good hunt for nigh on three years. And now I yearn to hunt again. To see the fear upon their faces, oh it is marvellous!” Her eyes flickered wildly to the slaves entering through a door beside her she truly craved to kill again. A mere child was not enough, there was no challenge in that. No intelligence needed. But an adult was entertaining, but even better was an elf. It would be a gift from Sauron if she got to hunt an elf, it honestly would.

“Let us go down then!” shouted Kavita over the lashing of her whip against and elf. Shivana followed her, tonight would be her night.

[Beruthiel]

Santiara was startled by the loud shouting outside her hut. "Get outside now!" The door opened and a guard stared at them all with disgust. "In number order!" She slowly rose from her bed, her knees were so painful from being on the ground all day in the fields. The guard watched her and when she finally walked passed him he struck her on the back. She didn't even cry out, she wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. Number 13952. Thats who she was. Not Santiara just 13952.

They were forced to march all the way to the city. They were like cattle, stupid beasts that only the Easterlings could control. She hated the way they made her feel. She remembered something her father had said once, "Never forget who you are". Its too late now She thought to herself

As these thoughts raced through her mind the great hall loomed up ahead. The slaves were pushed through the doors harshly. Santiara saw a small child fall on the ground but was whipped until he got up again. The place was so crowded that the air was stuffy and it was hard to breathe. The crowd was getting larger as more camp groups were coming in.

She was standing on the lower level, the main stage was at the very front of the hall and standing on it was the figure of a man. No one needed to tell her who it was. Lord Erkatran. He was famous around the camps, he was rumoured to kill slaves at random.

Santiara watched the other slaves filing in, waiting for the ceremony to start.

[ April 03, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]

[ April 03, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven carried the twins, one in either arm, to the great hall. She walked behind the twins' mother, who carried her newborn to the ceremony. Haven felt strange to have entered in such a way, for she would always be identified as the slave that worked for Kara. Easterlings sneered at her as she walked behind Kara, and any slaves in the vacinity glared at her.

"Hay, how long will this last? I'm tired!" Haven shook her head at Jamilah's question. The children really should've been left home, but Haven, as well as Kara, had to be at the selection ceremony, so there was no choice but to take the children as well.

Haven followed Kara as they climed the stone steps that led from the lower levels of the Great Hall to the central overlook. Looking up, Haven saw the several thousand fellow slaves above her, and it blew her away to actually see them amassed altogether.

Jamilah fell asleep, laying her big head on Haven's shoulders, while Jovanna tugged at one of Haven's blue and yellow hair wrappings. When Kara finally took her semi-honored seat nearer to the front, Haven was bade by an overseer to sit in the isle, whether she was the children's caretaker or not.

Jo, who was quite upset by this, growled at the man as he walked away, as though she was a wild beast. Haven scolded the girl, and prayed that the overseer hadn't seen it. Sitting in the isle wasn't any fun, but it certainly was better than nothing.

As Haven waited for the ceremony to start, she noticed the Great Hall get louder and louder by the minute. Jami woke up and tried hard not to complain about the noise, and Jo covered her ears. Haven's eyes were kept on Lord Ekatran as he walked to stand in the center podium of the Great Hall.

Oh, here he comes now. We should all bow down and praise him for his brilliance and flawlessness. How we all love the Great Ekatran! Haven thought, sarcastically and bitterly.

Haven looked to her arm. It had been a long time since she had needed her number, save for this night every year. All Haven was to the Easterlings was number 19299.

[ April 06, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Brinniel]

"All slaves stand!"

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. It took a few seconds for Desolyn to comprehend those words, for her mind was somewhere else. It was a rough day in the fields for the girl and the pain that shot through her back was all she could really focus on.

Meialath noticed Desolyn's hesitation, and after giving the girl a slight tug, Des finally stood up slowly.

"In number order!"

Like every other year, Desolyn hoped the overseer would not say this. But as always, the words came as expected. Desolyn hated walking with the other slaves; it was the time she felt least human, if she ever felt human at all.

Still, Desolyn did not argue and she rushed to find her place in line. She was number 19769, only seventeen away from Meialath, who stood with her head high, obedient as ever. Des glanced back at the girl she had spoken with earlier; she was new to the hut and Desolyn was curious about her. She had spotted the girl for a second, whose head was hung low, then she disappeared in the crowd of other slaves and Desolyn could not find her again.

The walk was a grueling one for Desolyn. It was not so much the pain from her raw back and sore feet that bothered Desolyn. It was the feeling of shame that hung over her like a cloud that was so disturbing. More than anything, the girl wanted run, but she knew that would be foolish. The easterlings would kill her on the spot if she did. If Desolyn had any chance of escaping, it would be in the Hunt. The Hunt. She looked ahead towards the Great Hall, where the choosing of the Hunt would take place. All around her, Desolyn could see slaves muttering to themselves, hoping they would not be chosen. In her own mind, she began to pray the opposite.

[Orual]

An Easterling guard bellowed for Dôranna to hurry up with wrapping her arm. She shrugged her shoulders in reply, which sent a flash of fire down her wounded limb. She had landed poorly after a beating, and had sprained her wrist and badly cut her arm on a sharp rock. It bled freely for a long while, and she had not been allowed to bandage it until her work was done. Her dusty clothes were now red and stiff with her blood. She only hoped that it wouldn't get infected.

The guard screamed again for her to hurry, and this time she nodded her head. When a few more moments passed as Dôranna was tying the bandage with her left hand, the guard came in and grabbed her by her left arm. "I won't say it again," he hissed, his hot, foul breath on her cheek. She turned her head in disgust, but he twisted her head so that she had to look at him. "And I won't say it in any Elf-language. Come now!" He yanked her up. She cried out in pain, feeling like he had ripped her arm out of its socket, but she stumbled along after him as fast as her aching legs would carry her, which was still not fast enough for him.

Her long hair was sticking to her face when she was finally dragged into the hall. She had meant to pull it up again--it had fallen out of its bun after a hard day in the fields, and the beating--but had not been able to with only her left hand. It would make her stand out. She flinched both from the thought and from the guard shoving her into line, just as a harsh voice called out, "All slaves stand!"

She hurried to where her place in line would approximately be. She was fairly far up in the line, having been in captivity for a long while. It pained her to see so few before her; she often envied her fellow slaves their mortality, and though she tried to forget that she had been in Nurn for almost as long as most of the human slaves lived, she could not ignore the fact that there were few slaves who had been in Nurn longer than she had.

"In number order!"

She saw a few grimaces, but it didn't bother Dôranna too much that the Easterlings thought of her as a number. She thought of them as less than that. And she hated the sound of her name on their foul lips, the name that her parents had so lovingly given her. She was not the gift of their land, not their silver fruit. She was their slave only as Number 11547, not as Dôranna Celebyavë.

Briefly she tried to rub off some of the dried blood that stained her tunic, but a sharp reprimand from one of the guards stopped that activity. She supposed that it was part of the cruelty of the whole ritual; don't let them do anything or occupy their minds. Let them stew in their doubt, and walk like animals. Like the slaves they are.

A grin twitched on her face, but she quickly suppressed it. She would not be like an animal. With all the dignity she could muster, which was considerable, she threw her hair behind her shoulders (when she knew that no guards were looking), held her head high, and marched proudly to her fate. If she was chosen to die, she would die like her father would have wanted to her to: like a warrior, not like a slave.

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

[Frodess]

"Wife, we go," said Dorlas. He took her by the hand, and they rode off together with a few other riders, mostly house slaves. Glancing at her, he noticed she looked somewhat. . . afraid.

Bah! She'll soon be over that! And so he rode 'til he reached a magnificent building of splendor. A countless number of slaves were gathered round. He waved at some of his friends. Galéwyn was shaking.

[Ithaeliel]

When the humiliating work day at the smithy was finally done, the master smith told all the slaves to go to the town square. "Today is, as most of you know, the day on which a group of slaves shall be selected for the Hunt," he told them. As Turos went past him to put his equipment away, he heard the smith mutter to himself. "I do not doubt some of you will be among them."

Turos gulped as he struggled to keep up with the other slaves. If he was selected, he knew he would not survive long. His impairment kept him from moving about at a regular pace, and everywhere he went his lame foot left a clear trail (he had developed a tough callous on it just from dragging it all day). He would slow down the entire party (if they so chose to stay together) and leave behind a mess, making it easy for their trackers to follow. "If I am chosen I may as well jump off of a cliff," he said under his breath, managing to stay among the unimpaired slaves. "It would be just as well and even quicker than being hunted down." But another side of him said that there was still hope: that if he did escape, Turos would have a chance for a better life, and maybe to have his leg mended. If he managed to make it through the harsh desert of Nurn and over the mountains, he would be free, and would start anew somewhere in Gondor. But those chances were slim.

Now they were approaching the mass of slaves gathered in the center of town, and Turos saw little Ereline there as he passed by. She looked terribly frightened, for she had never been to the choosing for the Hunt before. It was her first year, and a wonder she was not hysterical. Turos himself, after so many times of being in line, was shaking with anxiety, praying that he might still be of enough good that they would not choose him. But now he was more afraid than ever, for he had reason to be selected.

"All slaves stand!"

As the words rang out from an Easterling's mouth, most of the tired slaves scrambled to their feet. Turos stopped to watch the overseer, whose eyes scanned the crowd of slaves hatefully as he waited for silence. A young boy standing near Turos fought to stop crying. He shook with terror as the overseer's eyes crossed him and went on. Turos felt terribly for the children there. They were young, and most of those he saw were thus scrawny, but they had lives ahead of them and could become strong. Every year, some of the children with the most potential for greatness disappeared from Nurn forever. If anyone deserved to die, the children did not. And yet they did.

"In number order!" the overseer shouted again.

13795. That was who- or what- Turos was when the time came for the Hunt. Not "Turos," not "Manituros," not even "you, slave," but a number. They do not see us as living, he thought sadly. We are as shades: not dead, not living, but nearly invisible.

The Easterling overseer gave the signal, and the guards lashed their whips, forcing the numbers of slaves to start forward at a fast walk. Turos hardly felt it at all, for he was preoccupied with his stomach, which had tied itself in knots a logn time ago. He felt faint, for he knew that he would not see his town or the fields ever again. He would be chosen for the Hunt.

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

[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro let his mind drift as the slaves jostled for position according to number. All were now inside the Great Hall and he edged his way closer to the door, hoping to make an escape at the earliest opportunity. His presence was obligatory for the first part of the Ritual, the intention he supposed, to make the slaves cower at the presence of the guards and overseers.

What a fiction that was! At least in his mind. The slave population outnumbered the others many times over. He wondered at the peoples these slaves must have come from. Why were they so easily pressed under the thumb of the Dark One’s minions?

He had made the habit of observing both the slaves and their handlers, as he called them. The handlers, he noted, were, for the most part, brutal men, shallow thinkers, their minds bent on the physical domination of those under them. Most of them were little better than predators, though when he considered that comparison, he thought the predatory beasts to be one up on them in terms of any sort of conscience. At least the beasts killed only for food, and not for play.

The most chilling of the handlers were those who did consider well what they were doing, and chose it because it advanced them in the eyes of their superiors. He shrugged his upper body slightly, trying to ease the tightness which had planted itself between his shoulder blades. This was the kind of man he was in danger of becoming.

Cold, analytical, precise in his killing. No toying with the victim. No joy. Just the task well planned and executed quickly. A brief entreaty to the night black mustang of the west to bear the homeless spirit away. And then on to the next target. A dangerous balance of callous reserve and the nodding acknowledgement of compassion.

The slaves were another matter. Many of them were already spiritless shells, animated only by the routine of their lives and the one feeling left to them to feed on . . . despair. They had neither the will to move to another level of considering their options nor the hope it might succeed. Still, there were those he had seen in whose eyes such desires was still a spark . . . well banked, but still a spark. And given the right opportunity, it might be fanned into a most interesting blaze – consuming any ignorant enough to stand near it.

His gaze slid over the rows of slaves, picking out those in whom he had seen such a spark. Perhaps, given a slight nudge, the game might shift slightly this year. Become more interesting, create a diversion he might use to his own advantage.

Below, in the midst of it all, the center, was Ekatran. Rhûnnaro’s eyes narrowed as he considered him. What would happen to the center, should one of the balanced ends be knocked loose from its fixed position, become unpredictable . . . dangerous, even . . .

[ April 10, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel had started to drop off slightly. She was shattered and had been standing there for over an hour. She was almost asleep on her feet, her eyes closing slightly when the drum beat started. Her eyes snapped open.

The music at the Hunt Ritual always made Fionel shudder, made the hairs on her neck stand upright. It started with the drums, slowly at first, then faster, far faster all at once....then it began to get slow again. But as it slowed this time, it seemed to draw out Fionels heartbeat with it, slowing her heart to its beat, dragging it out. Then a pipe began, and another, and another. The sounds of the three pipers came from all over the room, unescapable. The slave girl shuddered, and saw other slaves clearly felt the same. The strange, haunting melody, punctuated by the drum beats, made your entire body feel like it was being torn apart bit by bit. Looking around at the easterlings, in this year of all years when it seemed ever more likely that she would be picked, Fionel saw an excited, almost feral look in their eyes. For the first time since her first year, deep in her soul, Fionel was scared.

She looked down to the centre of the hall where Ekatran still sat, straight backed and forboding in his high backed chair, his throne. She felt her lip wrinkle in disgust; he acted like a king. No one like that would ever be a king. But now the black clad figure stood slowly. He raised his arms and flung back his head, his dark hair falling back, and the voices of the pipers grew louder and higher, more powerful, their power outmatched only by the dark figure in the centre of the ring. The drums grew faster now, speeding up, until Fionels heart felt like it was about to burst....

As Ekatran threw out his hands suddenly towards the ground, everything stopped. The great Lord raised his eyes again and spoke.

"All here know why they are here,
All here know why were are gathered,
All here know what the purpose is,
But none know how they will depart.

Easterlings and lower creatures," Lower creatures?! Why you little... "We are gathered here in the ritual of the Hunt. Tonight six will be chosen from our higher race...and seven to be their quarry. Come! Let the name holders come forward! Let the Gods and Fate decide who!"

Six younger men, each in their teen years, now marched forward, each followed by two slaves, lugging between them a cauldron. Within those cauldrons were the names of every slave and every eligible easterling in Nurn. But when you looked veryclosely into the cauldrons, you could see darker pieces of paper- marked. Ekatran would choose them to be the hunters and hunted alike. Those whose names were on those pieces of paper were doomed.

Ekatran paced forward with fast but measured steps and once again called out, his voice more excited this time.

"Let the Gods and Fate decide who! And first shall be the quarry..."

With that, Ekatran put his hand into the cauldron and drew out a piece of paper, and as he unfolded it, Fionel closed her eyes and prayed...in the direction she had never guessed she would...she prayed she would be picked.

[Mattius]

Ranchard could hardly contain himself. He had sat at the very corner of the main easterling seating area with no other person within a few yards of him. Even his own people thought him odd and unstable. He sat with his knees up to his face and his arms wrapped around his legs whilst bouncing on his backside. His right eye was twitching strongly and his tongue licked his lips almost constantly.

He had watched how all the slaves had been led in, it alomst made him sick to see them all together in the same place. He stood on his chair and shouted profanties at them but eventually controlled his rage and pushed it deep inside him. Ranchard used his excess energy to play with the spinal cord of a dog he had just killed, cracking the bone at a fantastic pace.

As Ekatran stood up Ranchard had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing with joy, it was about to begin, it was so close. Every year he had hoped it would be his name to be picked yet every year it was someone else. For any sane person this would have seriously dented their self-confidence. Yet Ranchard's insane sub-concious totally convinced him that they day was comming, if not this year then the next.

As Ekatran walked towards the pot of names Ranchard was sure he gazed up at where he sat. This froze him solid in his seat. Now he was sure it was his year.

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel had gotten up a bit early.The overseer came and called to all the slaves, telling them to get ready. She ignored that comand; she already was ready, very ready. The second time the overseer came, he shouted across the row of cabins, telling them to come out. Each slave slowly, but readily entered the hallway. They walked to the fields, and then along with hundreds, thousands of other slaves began the long terrible run. Lanbriel managed to avoid most of the whip lashes shooting to and fro over her head. She kept down, invisible, focusing on only her task; to get to the ritual.

Finally, after thousands of lashings throughout the whole group, they managed to get there. The giant hall coldly greeted them as they walked through the doors. They were all herded to different levels of the hall, packed together like rodents in a small cage.

She looked around, the great hall looking more like her worst enemy, a terrible menace then she had ever imagined. It was as if the hall itself was choosing the hunted slaves. But she knew, she knew that someone she hated even more was choosing.

As her eyes soared across the hall, she noticed a figure on the level below her. Lord Ekatran.

Lanbriel knew that if she didn't get chosen for the hunt, it would mean death from the alternate task ahead her. She had to get chosen for it was her only chance at life.

Lanbriel waited, her heart pumping faster and faster with every second. Either the ritual would start now, or she would have to scream from the anxiety.

Just at that moment, Lord Ekatran rose and started talking.
"All here know why they are here,
All here know why were gathered,
All here know what the purpose is,
But none know how they will depart.

Easterlings and lower creatures, We are gathered here in the ritual of the Hunt. Tonight six will be chosen from our higher race...and seven to be their quarry. Come! Let the name holders come forward! Let the Gods and Fate decide who!"

To Lanbriel, it seemed as if everything had just stopped. Suddenly, abruptly. Everything froze. The figure below had stopped before the beginning of his next sentence. The slave's terrified expressions, unchanged, made her feel more terrified than ever herself.

Actually, everything hadn't frozen. Everything was just moving at an impossibly slow speed. She saw the cauldron being brought out. She saw Lord Ekatran's mouth open, to say something else.

The choosing had begun.

[ April 03, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel, her eyes still closed, felt the entire hall, the entire land, the entire world hold its breath as Ekatran drew out the first name.

"Number 12755, section 4. Fionel."

He said the last word with relish. Fionel felt all the breath leave her, and for a moment she didnt realise exactly what he had said. It was as if she didnt recognise her own name and, she thought with disgust, her number. But the overseer of her section looked over it, and she could hear him muttering under his breath through his fat lips as he counted, looking for number 12755. She didnt wait for him to find her. Standing, only then did she open her eyes, looking over the hall, not even hearing the murmering voices, or seeing the necks, craning upwards and downwards to see who had been chosen. Her eyes only saw Ekatran. She took a deep breath and answered in the way that had been drummed into all slaves on pain of drawn out death or beatings even more severe than usual.

"I am the first chosen, O Lord, and I shall be the quarry for your Hunt." Her voice was surprisingly clear, and throughout the echoes, the tremble in it was drowned out.

"Then come, slave, come to welcome your fate." Ekatrans voice echoed back to her. The overseer of her section grabbed her arm, dragging her out, as if she was about to try and run away - where could she run to?- but she didnt resist. Indeed, a small smile was creeping onto her face; her prayer, it seemed, had been answered. She was pulled by the overseer, and another guard, each holding an arm now, onto a wooden platform. The second easterling gave one of the ropes on which the platform was attached a short tug and, working on a pulley system from above and below, the sideless platform was lowered down, and all the way down, Fionel stared back at the one in the centre of the hall, although she felt a million other gazes on her, red hot.

As the platform landed with a slight thud, muffled by cushions underneath it, softer than any slaves bed, she stepped off, and now she almost welcomed the grip of the pair of easterlings; her legs felt weak. She stepped up onto the platform and the pair let her go. Slowly, she paced towards Ekatran until she was only a few steps away.

"Lord, I come." Her voice was barely above a whisper. It seemed like centuries since she had last seen Ekatran this close up, and his dark eyes seemed to bore into her. She was almost glad of the next part of the ritual, when her legs would have a blessed rest, but, with dignity, she lowered herself to one knee in front of him.

Ekatran didnt spare her another glance. He turned once more and drew out the second name...

[Gorothlammothiel]

Ajusting his sight from the slave-girl in front of him, Ekatran turned back to the cauldron to take out another name. He pulled a piece of paper from the dark mass and held it out in front of him.

Slowly he read aloud the number, elongating each digit, watching the slaves torment at the full number being slowly revealed. Looking out into the crowd he focused his attention to one small figure, one holding a bundle, perhaps a child? His eyes narrowed as he caught her sight.

"Haven" he spoke deeply watching her facial expression change. Whatever else she had been expecting of tonight, it was certainly not to hear her name being said aloud by Ekatran.

As two of the Easterlings started to make their way into the crowds towards Haven, Ekatran raised a hand to them. "Wait" he bellowed through the halls. He was holding another piece of paper in his hand. A third name and number. A smug smile crept across Lord Ekatran's face, one that was well known among those in Nurn.

"Desolyn"

[Orual]

Dôranna stood, only half-listening, as she had done every year. Most years she would tune the selection out completely, but since rumours had been circulating about her being chosen, she wanted to make sure that she heard if something did end up happening.

Fionel. Haven. Desolyn. The first three names were unfamiliar to her, but that was not surprising; there were thousands upon thousands of slaves in Nurn. Dôranna twisted a strand of long blonde hair around her finger, hoping that she didn't look bored. She was supposed to look frightened. She wasn't.

"Number 11547, Section 7. Dôranna Celebyavë." Dôranna could feel the gasps behind her, and prison-yard whisperings. Nobody was surprised, probably, and Dôranna least of all.

She realized that several moments had passed in what had felt to her like the blink of an eye, and that the slaves around her were staring at her. Lord Ekatran was looking for her, too. She tried to move, but her legs felt like jelly, and they were steadily melting. "Varda help me, I have to move," she thought in panic. She stumbled, and someone behind her grasped her and helped her up. She stumbled up to the podium. She tried to find her voice, but it came out as a hoarse croak as she said "I am the fourth chosen, O Lord, and I shall be quarry for your hunt." She coughed and nearly retched, but controlled herself and was able to finish her "speech". She had not thought that it would feel like this, after so many years expecting death, to be faced with it. She had expected to face it like her father would have wanted her to, like a warrior, proud and calm. Not like a water-kneed weakling. Tears of shame burned in her eyes as she took her place among the other chosen. She would not die like this. She would either escape, or die a death to make her father proud.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Haven," Lord Ekatran had said. At that moment, Haven could do nothing but blink. She heard Kara behind her gasp and say 'Oh, my,' while Jamilah and Jovanna's eyes widened. Haven couldn't believe it.

"No! We don't want Haven to go!" Jo cried, as two burly eaterling men made their way through the crowds and towards Haven.

"Shhh. I have to go. Be good little girls for your mommy, all right? Everything will be fine. I'll miss you," Haven hugged each of the four-year olds, then left them with a dumbfounded Kara.

Walking up towards the podium, where only one other stood, and stuttered as she said in a clear, but surprised voice, "I am the second chosen, O Lord, and I shall be quarry for your hunt."

Haven dismissed the numbers that were called next, and focused squarly on the two slave women who followed her. Desolyn was one, and Dor...Dor...someone with an elvish name that Haven couldn't quite pronounce was after her. Haven wondered if she had seen any of these women before, but there were so many slaves as opposed to their captors that she could not distinguish the others.

Haven felt as if she were choking on something, but she kept still and silent. Under the gaze of all those people, Haven felt weak and useless. Haven could see Jamilah and Jovanna's faces as they stood on a seat to get a clear sight of their chosen caretaker.

Haven looked back towards Lord Ekatran, as je began to call more names.

[ April 04, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Beruthiel]

Santiara watched as Ekatran drew out each name. The silence in the hall was almost unbearable but she waited silently like everyone else. All the other slaves around her were praying silently, that they wouldn't be chosen, yet secretly Santiara was doing the opposite.

Ekatran drew out another name, he read the paper silently to himself. Then ever so slowly he read out the number, "13952, Section 3, Santiara"

She got up slowly, realising the full impact of what was going to happen. The other slaves watched her with pity, but she could see in their eyes, they were glad it was her and not themselves. One guard grabbed her arm and pulled her to the platform, it wasn't as if Santiara was going to run. She walked faster to keep up with the guard and before she knew it she was on the platform next to the other slaves.

She repeated her speech to him, "I am the fifth chosen, O lord, and I shall be quarry for your hunt" She spoke so quietly that only the slave next to her could hear.

The guard behind her kicked her in the leg, she looked up with anger at Ekatran. She spoke louder, her voice filled with bitterness, "I am the fifth chosen, O Lord and I shall be quarry for your hunt"

She said the words O Lord with extreme sarcism and was amazed that he didn't order the guard to beat her. He stared straight into her eyes with utter disgust and went back to the choosing.

[ April 04, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel felt herself fighting off the hope that she knew she had. It was either a tiny chance of life, or a longer while to live, or a useless and stupid death-punishment that she would have no chance to escape. She thought back to the time before she left her cabin. The overseer came in, and glared at her. The look obviously meant only that she would get chosen, and she would escape the punishment, but someday he would pay her back.

She snapped back to reality when she realized that Lord Ekatran was about to call the next quarry.
"Number 19204, section 5, Lanbriel."
At that moment, she didn't even hear that he said her name. While he had been talking, she had been focusing everything on one thought: I must get chosen.
She only opened her eyes after hearing the "ohs!" and "aahs" all around her. She only realized that she had been called when a guard kicked her in the shins and hollered at her to get going.
After what seemed like ages, she managed to get to the platform, and standing next to all the other slaves announced proudly:
"I am the sixth chosen, O Lord, and I shall be quarry for your hunt."
Lord Ekatran seemed to be a bit surprised by her bravery, and gave her a silent, 'Your bravery won't stay for long' look. Then he went on with the ritual.

[Brinniel]

Desolyn stood next to the other chosen slaves, squirming with excitement. She had to bite her lip to prevent a smile from forming.

She glanced at the other slaves. All females, of course. The Easterlings liked to pick females for the Hunt, for they were considered less useful in slave labor and were thought to be much easier to catch. But Desolyn was surprised that no male had been chosen yet...

The girl could see the expressions on the chosen slaves' faces. Many of them looked terrified, uncertain of what their future held. A few of them put on brave faces, trying to remain optimistic. Fionel, the girl Desolyn had spoken to, had a broad smile spread upon face, looking just as excited as Desolyn was. Des was glad to see she was not the only one happy to be picked.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Lord Ekatran cleared his throat and called out the last quarry:

"Number 13795, Section 2, Manituros."

[Envinyatar]

He edged closer to the exit and slipped out as Ekatran called another name. A guard at the outer entrance to the Hall stepped forward to challenge his leaving, then stepped back as quickly when Rhûnnaro fixed him with a cold stare. Walking with a measured step back to his quarters, he ran a list of things he would need through his mind. He rummaged through his closet and hauled out his pack and the double one for the pony.

Weapons, rope, dried foods, two skins of water went into one pile. A change of clothes, his cape, the small brown book in another. Four small bags from beneath his bed went into the pony’s packs, two to each side; the food in one pack then, the water skins in the other. At the bottom of his old leather pack went the brown book, and over it went his clothes and cape, carefully folded. His bedroll he placed next to the packs, near the door. On his bed, laid out in a row were his weapons. A methodical man, he would pick each one up in order, girding himself for the Hunt when it began.

He hurried quickly back to the Hall and slipped in, stand as far to the back as he could. The slaves had been summoned, and now would come the Hunters.

[ April 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel stood by the other chosen slaves, patient. The slave-picking was over, and now Ekatran would start choosing the hunters. The last slave chosen was a male who she had never heard of.

She looked around at the other slaves. Some were completely horrified, mostly those who had their life run a little better than most slaves, and were suddenly put into this dangerous situation. Others stood proudly, facing all the overseers and other slaves. She was one of them. Standing boldly, straightening her back as much as she could. She felt quite strange there; standing with the others, in front of thousands of people.

She shivered at all those people. The slaves especially; all the ones that didn't get chosen were relieved, but at the same time, jealous. Although she needed to be in the hunt, she hadn't really realized quite how lucky she was to have been chosen.

She had a chance to escape. She, out of the thousands of others who could have been chosen. This was a grand chance - her only chance at freedom, to get back to her village, see the others. Maybe even find her mother, if she disappeared not from death, but for some other reason.

This was the only way. She had to succeed.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel felt Desolyn looking at her and slid her eyes to the side to return the other slaves gaze. Desolyn had a quietly gleeful expression on her slim face, and Fionel knew she was wearing the same expression. She wrinkled her nose slightly, indicating she felt the same way, and Desolyn grinned at her. This was all done in minute movements, so none of the easterlings would notice. They neednt have worried though; all the easterlings were now engrossed on who of them would be picked for the hunt. Thousands of eyes were fixed on Ekatrans hand as he drew out the piece of paper and unfolded it. There was more chance to this; unlike the picking of the slaves, not all the hunters were chosen. Possibly three out of the six would have been pre-selected, but not all.

"Ranchard!"

Fionels grin faded instantly as Ekatran said the name, her eyes widening.

"Oh, please, by the Gods, please not Ranchard..." She murmered. She looked at Desolyn, and saw a look of horror on her face as well; the name of Ranchard was as infamous among the slaves and Desolyns own was among the easterlings. Fionel clenched her teeth together tightly, hoping, praying that there could be twe Ranchards...

But no. She saw the young man swaggering up to the front, his cold eyes gleaming maliciously. She closed her eyes. She knew what he was like, had seen the sort of things he did. The hope that had been there, the chance of escaping was still there, but she could see how slim it was...and could imagine how bad things would be if that hope didnt survive, if this hunter caught them.

[Mattius]

"Ranchard!" Lord Ekatran's voice boomed out against the vast stone walls.

In the corner he sat, frozen with joy. Heads began to turn and people began to mummer, Ranchard? Surely not. But he had been chosen. The big man stood on his chair and raised his hands to recieve a cheer from the crowds. The slaves were silent.

Quickly he dropped the spinal cord of the dog he was playing with and began to trot down the stairs, half bent over like an ape creature all the while cackling maically. His sub-concious forced him to close his eyes and push down his maddness, it may mean his exclusion from the Hunt even at this late stage. As he opened his eyes he stood more upright and ceased to laugh. He smiled though, smiled at the slaves he passed, kicking sand and dirt in to some of their stupid faces.

As he approached the chosen slaves he looked them all up and down.

"Yes, Ranchard will like disecting you my dear, with a curved blade I will remove your liver..." The slave took a sharp breath in panick and Ranchard began to cackle once more.

Ekatran raied his right arm and Ranchard took his seat to the right of the Lord. There were empty seats next to him to be filled by more hunters and that would be done immdiately as Lord Ekatran once again went forth to choose a name.

[Envinyatar]

Ekatran should be calling his name soon. That was the procedure prescribed by rule. The one called would walk slowly down to take his place beside the other Hunters. A custom whose design it was to strike fear into those chosen as the Hunted, each wondering how that Hunter might find them out, might kill them.

In other years he had walked down without looking to the right or left, his eyes fixed on the spot where he was to stand. Silence followed in his wake, and the man next to him would edge away as he took his place, turning quietly to survey the assembly.

He watched as Ekatran's hand dipped into the pot for the names. A silent wish went out from him that his name would not be called.

And then a grim smile played about his lips, knowing that it would not be so.

[ April 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Frodess]

Dorlas smirked at the show. He had found a good seat. Galéwyn had no expression on her face. He glanced at her every now and then, trying to discern her thoughts. Once, he thought he saw horrot on her face. He grasped her hand.

The man had not had any of his slaves chosen. He was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Oh well, his own slaves would help him in the Hunt.

The slave woman who was supposed to be fanning his wife had stopped and was staring in open-mouthed horror.

"What are you doing?!" he cried. "You are supposed to be fanning my wife! Would you like me to go to Lord Ekatran and ask if he has room enough for another?"

The girl whimpered and began fanning with much vigour. He struck her hard, just to make sure she knew her place. She was new. He had traded with Lady Shivana. She got a boy, very suitable for the beatings she gave.

"My Lord." It was Galéwyn. "Must you beat her in such a way? I really needn't be fanned."

"Yes, I must. And yes, you do. Only the best for my wife." He kissed her. Drolas Seregon noted that the slave girl was crying.

Oh well, I will teach my wife to discipline her.

He gazed on, the blood pumping through his veins, yearning for the Hunt.

[Orual]

Dôranna grimaced when she heard Manituros' name called. She knew him from the fields; they had spoken, once. She had not seen him since his accident, but she never forgot a face, especially one that smiled at her.

She watched him struggle up to the podium, and nearly winced. He was more badly injured than she had guessed. The Hunt would be dreadful for all of them, but it would be a nightmare for Manituros. He recited the loathesome speech, then took his place among the Hunted. She did not fix her stare on him, because she realized that he probably got stared at more than he wanted, but her heart went out to him and she lifted up a prayer for him. If anyone needed the intercession of the Valar, it was Manituros.

She glanced quickly at the others in the row with her. She did not know them, but her instincts were generally good, and her first impressions rarely wrong. She frowned in pity as she looked at them, then turned her eyes down. She had been in servitude longer than these people had been alive. Many of them were so very young; they should not have to fear death like this.

The Hunters were called up, and Dôranna did not recognize most of them. But when Ranchard was called up, the Elf shuddered. She had heard rumours of this Easterling; they said he was insane, hardly in touch with reality, but that he knew when there was an opportunity to kill and always snatched it up. The wild look in his eyes and the apelike way he carried himself did nothing to say otherwise, and Dôranna swallowed hard and had to make a fierce effort to keep the fear from her face. This was not working out the way she had wanted. Where was the calm and rationality that her father had instilled in her? What was this terror that she felt? She had been facing death since they called her up--since she had been captured, actually. She knew that the six Hunters they chose would be bent on her demise, and would enjoy killing her. Why did the appearance of Ranchard change everything?

She tried not to, but she shrank away when Ranchard approached her. "Yes, Ranchard will like disecting you my dear, with a curved blade I will remove your liver..." he said, and Dôranna inhaled sharply. The Easterling laughed, but Dôranna had to fight back tears. This was wrong, this was all wrong...

And for the first time in years, Dôranna Celebyavë was really, truly, and acutely, afraid.

[Arien]

Shivana stared as Ranchard walked up to the centre of the hall. He was truely insane and evryone knew it, she smiled it would be funny to watch him tourture the slave on the hunt. Oh how she would laugh.

Now Ekatran pulled the second name out, he unfolded the piece of paper and boomed, "Shivana!!". She stood up immediately and threw a smile at Kavita. She knew she wa going to be choosen, no doubt. She walked up past the slaves she normally looked after and stared at them. Some with looks of horror others just looks of pity for the hunted.

When she reached Ekatran she bowed and took her seat next to Ranchard. He was leaning over in his chair muttering to himself. She smiled again this was going to be fun.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel's eyes flickered upwards as the name of Shivana was called. It was not a familiar name to her, but she noticed Desolyn beside her stiffen slightly. She looked up to see the face of the Hunter as she turned to go and sit in the seats prepared for the Hunters; another way of making the slaves feel or seem inferior. But as she turned she flicked her long dark hair back and Fionel also felt herself stiffen slightly. This woman was indeed beautiful, with dark, waist length hair, tanned skin and big dark eyes, but in those eyes, Fionel could see the cruelty that was all too similar to that in Ranchard's eyes. In a flash she recognised this easterling as the one who had viciously murdered a child this morning. The woman looked down across the slaves, a sneer on her face. Fionel noted Desolyn staring back at her, but a lock of hair fell across her own eyes. For a second she felt the impluse to hide behind this, to not look into the eyes of this killer, but immediately she felt ashamed of it. Flicking her hair out of her eyes in a small movement, but with her head still down, she stared back at the woman. Shivana gave a small snort and walked to her place.

The next Hunter to be called was a man called Dorlas. Looking up to the balconies which hung almost over the platform, considered the best seats, and saw the young man on one of them stand, a broad, hard smile on his face. Not a surprise; it was the expression they all wore, a look that told how eager for the kill they were. But as Dorlas was about to descend to the platform, he bent over his wife, who had been sitting with him. He kissed her on the lips, then on the forehead, and squeezed her hand for a second longer before he descended. Now that was something that surprised Fionel; so some of these men and women did have emotions. And weak spots...

"Rhunnaro!" Ekatran called the next name. A small frown creased Fionels features. This wasnt right...she had heard them talking about Rhunnaro in the palace, and knew the man by sight. Indeed, she had said something careless about his situation when she was in the palace...something which had gotten her whipped and thrown out into the fields. There was the same muttering throughout the hall, the same turning of heads. But no one emerged. Something was not right here.

"Rhunnaro!" Ekatran once more called the name. "Come, we all know you are out there! Do you not want to take your place among the Hunters?"

Fionel looked up sharply at the Lord. She had heard the slightly mocking tone in his voice as he had said that, and it seemed by the titterings growing in the audience that she had not been the only one. A slight smile was on Ekatrans face.

"Are you a coward Rhunnaro?"

The gasp which came from Fionels mouth was mirrored by thousands all around the hall. That was the ultimate insult. Fionel glanced at Desolyn, who wore the same expression of surprise and thoughtfullness. She questioned Fionel with her eyes, but the other knew not how to reply. Then there was movement in the hall, and Fionel turned back to see the man she recognised as Rhunnaro stand up, his expression blank, but his fists clenched, she noted. But he was near the front of the hall, on the bottom floor, and was about ten metres from Fionel, so close she could see the anger in his eyes.

"Ah, there he is. Rhunnaro, I call you once again to join the Hunt."

"I will not Hunt this year, my Lord." The easterlings voice was quiet and quite mild.

"What?" Ekatrans reply was just as quiet, but menacing, his expression black. Rhunnaro took a deep breath, and Fionel could see he was shaking.

"I will not-" He started again, but then paused, looking at Fionel. Her eyes were intently on him. For a moment she could see him wondering if he recognised her, then he looked at Desolyn, whose face mirrored her own determination...and her own plea to him. He paused. Was that a nod? Fionel didnt have time to wonder before he nodded more definitely, at Ekatran this time.

"My Lord, I come."

[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro had come down to the front of the Hall, taking a seat in the shadows, to read what thoughts played on the faces of the Hunted. He knew already what lay in the minds of the Hunters – the screams of their victims as they begged for death and the feel of their warm blood spilling onto the Hunter’s hands.

Ekatran called his name. In that instant his path was set. He did not stand and come forward. Again, Ekatran called him, and seeing now where he sat he thought to shame him as a coward.

‘I will not hunt the slaves again this year,’ he said. Though spoken low, his words carried in the silent hall. He unclenched his fists, knowing anger would do him no good here. Like a tightly gathered storm, Ekatran’s eyes snapped with sharp menace.

‘What?’ he asked, giving Rhûnnaro the chance to recoup his stand.

A slave’s eyes caught his own, and the torches in the hall flickered wildly for just a moment. The wind horses, even here in this place of darkness, they bring hope . . . and an answer to those who know how to ride them, he thought. The hint of a cold smile lay behind his eyes.

Face set in an unreadable mask, the anger now gone from him, he stepped forward, nodding slightly at Ekatran.

‘My Lord, I come.’ he answered firmly. His thoughts echoing his resolve. Yes, I will hunt this one last time . . .

[ April 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Frodess]

Dorlas went to where the others had come, grinning from ear to ear. He stared at the Hunted, plans forming in his mind. He knew that he would be selected again. Who wouldn't select a man with such skills and virility as he?

He awaited the finish of the ceremony, his mind off in the glory of the Hunt and the win.

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel listened, trying not to hear what she heard. But yes, Ranchard, that horrible lunatic was chosen. This would be harder than she thought. Much harder. Hope was beginning to loosen its hold in her mind.

Next, Rhunnaro was called up. Rhunnaro, surprisingly, didn't come. Lord Ekatran even called him a coward, after which he stood up and said he wasn't going on the hunt. This was very surprising, thought Lanbriel.

The hunt would bring many unexpected surprises, she thought.

[Arien]

Shivana sat patiently next to Ranchard who was now rather annoying her. He kept muttering to himself and rocking back and forth. But she tried to put it out of her mind for as long as she could. The slaves sat on the stone ground the one called Fionel, had dared to stare at her as she walked up. Now Fionel's face was pointed to the floor. Where it belongs! How dare she stare at me, insolent slave. Shivana thought in her mind.

The last two times she had been on the hunt she had choosen the slave she would hunt. Mentally in her mind she looked at each of them. Drained souls. Audacious hearts. Anxious eyes. Fionel was definately going to be one of the one's her egotism would be punished. But there was also that elf. A challenge she thought. Fionel looked at Shivana again and their eyes met.

There was an intense burning in Shivana's eyes, this would be the one she would kill.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Envinyatar]

He returned to his rooms after the choosing was done, slipping quietly through the shadows. For the other Easterlings, this would be a night of raucous camaraderie as they told stories of previous hunts and drank to the success and pleasure of this new one.

His steps brought him quickly to his quarters, and entering, he barred the door securely behind him. Once more he looked over his preparations for tomorrow. From beneath his bed he brought out a small cache of hand weapons he had not thought to bring earler. Now, he slipped them into the pack, hidden beneath the food and water. He nodded to himself, running through his mind the list of items he was taking. All was in readiness.

On his bed laid out in order was all he would need. A methodical man, tomorrow he would pick them up one by one and gird himself for the Hunt.

But until then, until the drums and horns announced the start of it, he would sit here, on the floor, in the unlit room - legs crossed, body held alert. His eyes, unfocused, stared into the depths of the darkness, thoughts flying eastward . . .

Tonight would be for himself alone, and for his thoughts . . . not until tomorrow, at noon, would he give himself to the Hunt . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel snuck another look at the Hunters, eyeing them up, seeing which would be a bigger threat. Her eyes swept over them, barely giving them a glance each, until she reached the female whose eyes she had met before. Their gazes clashed, and Fionel realised with a shiver that the Huntress had been watching her before. Once again that instinct came into her mind to look away, to hide, to make herself as small and insignificant as possible, but it was only for a second this time. There was a stronger will in her mind, and she forced herself to meet the Shivana's eyes, and to hold them. The easterling did the same, and Fionel saw her jaw stiffen slightly.

They seemed to keep each others gaze for years, but it was actually only a few second later that the drum began to boom once more, and the pipes once more began to play their haunting melody. But it was only when a whip cracked over her head, then onto her back, that Fionel looked away, distracted from her oponents gaze by the pain. She flinched and started to turn, before she was dragged up by both arms to her feet by the easterling behind her.

"Face your master, slave." He hissed in her ear. "I will deal with you later."

"You can't." Fionel knew it was a mistake saying those few words, but it was true; an overseer could do nothing to a slave that had been chosen for the Hunt. Wait a minute...an overseer couldnt, but...

"I can do what I like, slave!" He snarled, and it was then that Fionel realised that he was a soldier, rather than just an overseer. Not just any old soldier- from his clothes is was obvious he was of a high position. "Thats right. And you will feel my whip!" He hissed at her, before dragging her away.

Fionel struggled briefly, before being dragged off the platform with the rest of the slaves. But as they were taken away to the room where they would be given a small briefing on where they were to go, the soldier muttered something to the others about having to 'deal' with the 'unruly ones'. Fionel wondered for a second why it was 'ones' rather than one, when she saw another soldier come the same way with a struggling Desolyn. Evidently she hadnt stood for Ekatran either. Fionel was gratified to see the soldier's arm was bleeding slightly, a horse-shoe of red against his pale skin. So Desolyn had bitten him- good for her, but it certainly wasnt going to make it any easier for either of them.

The soldier who had brought Fionel in flicked his whip in the air as if warming it up, while the other held Fionels hands, pressing her against the wall with her arms above her head, so she was unable to defend herself against the whip. With a crack, the whip laid into her back. The slave bit down the cry which sprung to her lips, clenching her teeth. When he whipped her the second time, she felt the blood being drawn on her back, mirrored by the blood that ran down her chin as she bit her lip.

"Wait." The quiet voice came from the doorway, behind Fionel, but the third stroke hit her before the soldier processed the word. The soldier turned, then she heard him gasp.

"Sorry sir." He said stiffly.

"Leave." The male easterling voice was still quiet and calm, and it sounded vaguely familiar to Fionel. But when the man released her and marched quickly away out of the room, she didnt have time to see the mans face before he slipped away. She only saw a pair of brown eyes, but in those eyes there was none of the hate usually seen in easterling eyes when they looked at slaves, instead there was almost...pity. Before she could say anything, he was gone. The second guard hauled both Fionel and Desolyn up, and pushed them each into the single cells where they would spend the night before the hunt. Fionel looked around at the walls that had been the last thing in Nurn seen by so many other slaves before they were led out, blindfolded, quarry for a cruel game. She winced at the pain from the whiplashes, and for the first time wondere whether her insolence had been worth it, for the Hunt would be even harder with this. She was just thankful the man, whoever he was, had intervened before it became too serious. She leant her back tenderly against the wall, and closed her eyes, slipping into an uneasy sleep plagued by the face of Shivana and the desolate cries of the hundreds of doomed slaves who had gone out for the Hunt before her, whose ghosts kept her company in this lonely cell...

[Envinyatar]

‘Fionel.’ That was her name, he thought. He recognized her, from the fields and once he recalled he had seen her serving at Ekatran’s house. No wonder she had been chosen for the hunt. Ekatran wanted to be rid of her.

‘I wonder what she knows of him, having been in close contact with him and his family. Servants often know more about their masters than their masters think they could. She could be useful.’ A fleeting smile came and went on the smooth features of his face.

His mind worked over the slave – late teens he thought, very near his daughter’s age; too thin, as were all the slaves; but the thinness belied strong muscles produced by years of hard work. He wondered what sort of weapon she was skilled with. ‘A long knife would fit in that one’s hands, I think.’

Envinyatar made his way back to his quarters. He opened the pack into which he had placed his cache of weapons. His eyes narrowed as he counted the number and kind in each compartment. Perhaps a few more, he thought. A cushion of steel for his plans . . .

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Arien]

Shivana walked to her room, she would eat, get her things ready and go to sleep. That’s what she always did. Hunters each walked to their separate rooms, Shivana’s was the final one. As she creaked open the door she heard her name being called. It was Kavita.

“Shivana, good luck for tomorrow,” she said ,“ though you do not need it, it will be those slaves who need it.” she paused for a while, “ just remember to come back alive!”

Shivana punched her in the arm, “of course I will. Who do you think I am?” Shivana drew her dagger and pointed it at Kavita’s heart, “how dare you say I will not come back, how dare think that!” she whispered through her breath. Kavita just stood there, her hand on one hip.

“Yeah, ok, whatever,” she said pushing the dagger away, “good luck.” she said as she left the corridor. Kavita knew if it was anyone else Shivana would have killed them. But she was a friend, and Shivana was not about kill a friend especially one as loyal as Kavita.

Shivana watched as Kavita left down the corridor and then she went into her room. There was food there and all she would need for the hunt. She liked to travel light, it was far more easier to live off food in the wild then take a whole pack of food. And even if there was no food she would last longer than any slave would. She filled a large canteen with water and then another small one that slipped into her belt. And another that went into her belt she filled with ale. She took it off and placed it on the side with her cloak and shoes.

She then had a bath, just because she worked with slaves didn’t mean she had to smell like them. After she got ready to sleep she sat by her window. The sky was clear tonight and the stars shone down. She looked down onto the street where a slave was being beat by a new solider. Well she could hardly call it beating more of a gentle hitting on the back. She was getting tired of watching this new boy and decided to show him how it was done. She quickly got dressed and went outside to the street.

“What are you doing?” she asked nearly shouting at him.

“Sorry, he was out of line, telling me I am insolent, sorry!” he said awkwardly.

“Stop apologising fool .” she said taking her dagger from her belt. She shoved it into the slaves heart and he fell instantly to the ground. She pulled her blood soaked dagger out and wiped it on the soliders crisp new uniform.

He stared appauled for a moment. “What should I say happened ?” he asked.

“Happened?… Make something up and make it interesting! And I was not here, if I find out you have ratted me out I will kill you and all you love. Don't doubt me boy, you dare doubt me and I will kill yo now!”

“Yes, ok, yes.”

“Take it away,” she said pointing to the slave, “and you might want to get that cleaned up, you head guard will not be too pleased to find your clothes in a mess.” she said as she walked away pointing at his uniform. She went back to her room and bathed again and cleaned her dagger, and this time she went to her bed. She could not wait until the morning. So she slept peacefully awaiting the hunt.

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Mattius]

Ranchard danced into his room, and such a room! Illustrous materials and colours were what the other hunters were used to but Ranchard had spent years in the wild and the earth had been his bed. He saw a full hot bath in the corner of the room and dismissed it, he had given up taking baths a long time ago.

The food was a different matter however and Ranchard began to eat from the table greedily using his hands to shovel it into his mouth. After his meal he wandered over to the balcony and looked out onto the street below, a woman was yelling at a young soldier and a slave was stood near by. Without warning the woman stabbed the slave in the heart and watched him as he dropped dead. Ranchard gave off a manic laugh to himself and watched with pleasent glee as the woman turned around and revealed herself to be the one who was chosen after him for the Hunt. In his primitive mind, Ranchard knew he would get along well with her.

[ April 23, 2003: Message edited by: Mattius ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel and most of the other slaves, all except two were led off to different cabins. They were expected to wait there until the hunt began.

Lanbriel knew she would succeed, she had to. Yes, she had a dagger. She would devise a plan with the other slaves, and kill off at least one hunter if not more.

Revenge. Revenge was the second most important thing on Lanbriel's mental list. The first thing on the list was freedom, getting back to her village. The second thing she would do was... The second thing would be a large troop of soldiers from her village coming to Nurn, enslaving them for a change. To see how that would feel.

Someone coughed near her, and Lanbriel's number two on her list abruptly vanished from her head. She suddenly realized that by enslaving these terrible people, she would be no better than them. No. There had to be another way to teach them a lesson.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel must have slept during that fitful night, for the next thing she knew was the sound of the door being pulled open. She half opened her eyes, expecting to be hit by the daylight, before realising it was still dark. She had only had a few hours sleep then. The slave forced herself to get up before the guards reached her, but they pulled her up anyway. Fionel cried out in surprise as a dirty black cloth was produced and tied around her eyes, completely blocking any light there may have been. As soon as it was tied behind her head and secured, one guard took a more secure hold on her right arm, pulling her ahead. She was unsure of her footing, but the man, or woman more likely, from the gentleness, was careful, not speaking, but making sure she didnt loose her footing. She was led, blind to everything, out of the cell.

"Why are you doing this?" She murmered to her guide. Another guard heard and struck her head, almost making her loose her balance, caught completely unaware as she was.

"Don't talk slave, or we'll gag you as well." His voice was harsh, but Fionel could hear how tired he was. So he wasnt one of the Hunters then, for they would all be as eager as hounds before a hunt.

Fionel tried to keep track of where she was as she was led along. Up one, two, three, four steps....down a stone corridor...right...left...right again...

It was impossible. Fionel didn't know the buildings in Nurn well anyway, and guessed they were leading her a more complicated way anyway and was soon she was utterly lost. So that was what the blindfold was for- she now had no idea of where she was, and, depending on where the slaves were allowed to set off for the Hunt, would probably have lost her bearings completely.

Eventually she felt the night air on her face, but also a little warmth, although no light penetrated the opaque blindfold. The sun must be coming up then, or would be soon. For that was when the quarry would set off; at sunrise, with no horses or weapons and only a little food. And six hours later, the Hunters would follow, on horseback... The thought and the hopelessness of what she was up against made Fionel shiver. How had she ever thought she would be able to get away? It was impossible...

The sound of voices made Fionel's head turn instinctively, although of course it was no use. As she identified the excited voices, she started to turn pale; easterlings. It seemed half of Nurn had turned up, even at this early hour, to see them off. She felt another prescence near her, right beside her left arm, but couldnt identify who it was before the voice spoke.

"Hey, watch it!"

She flicked through her memory for the vaguely familiar voice, before coming up with the owner of the voice: the nanny, the girl who looked after those easterling children, although she couldnt quite remember her name, only the child's voice, calling after her. What was it- High? Hay?Something like that. So the other slaves were here as well.

She felt grass underneath her thin soled shoes, and a bundle was pushed into her hands, which she almost dropped. Her food supply, it had to be by the feel of it. But it felt so little... Ekatrans voice now made her sit up, suddenly feeling vulnerable, blind as she was. His voice was muffled, and she couldnt quite hear what he was saying. She was breathing faster now, panicking, realising how hopeless this was, and she felt like she would faint, felt like when they set her off to run, she couldnt be able to stay upright, let alone run....

Then the blindfold was whipped off.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven had not gotten any sleep, or very little sleep, that night in her temporary cell. She eventually stopped trying to do so, and just sat in the dank cell waiting for the morning to come. Haven was still in shock of her being picked. Every year she had watched the slaves get chosen for the hunt, and every year Haven had not been chosen. It never even crossed her mind that she should or would be chosen.

Sometime before dawn, two guards burst into Haven’s cell. Before she could say anything and before the guards even said anything, one of the easterlings flicked a dusty black scrap of fabric from his pocket. The man blindfolded Haven and grabbed her arm, shoving her out of the cell. Darkness swept Haven, but it didn’t bother her; she had played blindfolded games often with Jamilah and Jovanna.

Haven let her steps loudly ring down the corridors she was being led along until the clip-clop of her pounding feet was muffled by the ground outside. Haven lost track of wherever the guards were leading her, and ultimately decided that she didn’t care where she was going.

A dull roar became louder and louder as the guards neared their destination. The people of Nurn had excitedly showed up to watch the prey scramble off, only to be caught and killed. Haven’s head turned every which way as she tried to keep track of every sound she heard, and one annoyed guard used the palm of his hand to smack Haven on the back of her head.

“Hey, watch it!” was all Haven could reply with, for she was used to the leniency of the palace nobles, not the harsh ways of the outdoor overseers. Haven was shoved into a spot in between two people, probably fellow slaves. Before Haven had time to say something or blurt out a question, something was shoved into her hands. What is this? She wondered, but didn’t bother to guess.

Seconds later, someone roughly ripped the blindfold from Haven’s eyes, and Haven stumbled back as into her vision came several hundreds of Easterlings and Slaves alike in a great mass of viewers. In a line carefully made straight in front of Lord Ekatran, were the chosen ones. The first girl who had been called stood next to Haven, though Haven didn’t even think to remember her name. Haven was good with remembering faces, not names. The woman on her other side was an elf, which surprised Haven a little.

“You are the quarry for the great hunters of my kind,” Lord Ekatran spoke loudly enough to overcome the splitting sound of the crowd. The people fell silent as he began to speak, and watched with the awe and wonder that captivated them each and every year at the sendoff. After his calming of the people, Ekatran strolled down the line of slaves, looking at each one carefully, remembering what they look like.

“These are the chosen, my great hunters. They will accompany me on my hunt, and you will be their quarry, and mine,” Ekatran continued, in a booming voice that almost sent Haven stumbling.

“You have served well, and you are chosen now to be our prey. Run as you might, you will not escape your doom.” Ekatran began to bore Haven, but the girl seriously began to wonder if that meant it was time to run.

“You have six hours!” Ekatran bellowed, and at this the overseer behind him or her shoved each slave forward.

“I guess this means we go?” Haven wondered aloud, looking confused towards the other slaves.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Ekatran finished his speech with a flourish. Fionel had known what was coming beforehand, and had gone down into the read position to be able to get off quickly. But now she wasnt so sure. The other slaves were looking around in confusion, wondering whether they should go, beginning to group together like hens, to the amusement of the people of Nurn.

"Run!"

"Nah, if they dont run, it will be easier for the hunters to catch them!"

"Exactly- they want their sport! And so do we- run, slaves! This is gonna be the fastest Hunt in history!"

"Go on, idiots, even you should be able to get it into your brains that you have to go now!"

"The flag will be raised in a second, then they can really go."

The second to last voice made Fionel turn, although she wasnt sure why. Looking for the owner of the voice, she met the cocky, arrogant gaze of Shivana, the easterling woman who had challenged her with her eyes before. She met the gaze, holding it, but Shivana's grin only grew wider. A shiver ran down Fionel's spine: in those eyes, beside the eagerness, the readyness to chase, the arrogance...was something deeper. Animal even. And once again Fionel felt afraid.

"Fionel!" Desolyn's voice made Fionel look around, just as the countdown started. She got herself once more into a ready position. After three, the flag rose, and Desolyn was first off, running over the dry grass. Fionel sprung up after her, grabbing the girl beside her as she went: she had been looking around, as if searching for something, and for a moment Fionel saw a deep longing in her eyes. Haven, that was her name. Oh, the irony...

Haven pulled her arm away, but Fionel clung on, trying to make her run. Fionel thought she could see tears in the girls eyes as she replied, desperately. "I cant see them! Jamilah and Jovanna..."

"Come on, Hay, this isn't the time for you to be playing Nursemaid any more."

The girl glared back at her, angry, but was also surprised. "Hay?" She whispered.

Fionel felt sorry for her once more, over the resentment against this pet slave of Ekatran's palace, but there wasnt time. This girl was about her age, she looked younger even, maybe because of her easy life in the palace, but Fionel felt somehow responsible for her, and she was determined to get her away. "I will not have casualties this soon! Come on, Haven!"

The girl seemed to snap out of it, and she began to run as well; they would run until they were out of sight at least, then they would be able to rest. Fionel looked back, making sure all the slaves had gone, and indeed the last, an elf, ran by her other side...but as she was looking back, she once more met the eyes of Shivana. The Hunter was watching her, and as Fionel looked at her, she licked her lips, a hungry, feral expression on her face.

The animal in Fionel took over then. Haven was off already. Turning fast, Fionel ran as hard as she could, her mind just filled with one word: Run, run, RUN...

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel was woken by the voice of a guard. She had a few hours of sleep, unlike the other slaves. She knew she had one good ability: she was able to quench down her anxieties very far, to almost get rid of them. She was very happy she fell asleep, because she knew she would need it.

The guard kicked her in the side, and withstanding but wincing from the pain, Lanbriel managed to get up. From some pocket the guard revealed a black cloth, and as quickly as he had revealed it-he had tied it around her eyes. He had blindfolded her.

Another guard came over and pushed her to the door. Then, the first guard took her and pulled her by the arm to the loud noises of the crowd ahead.

They took the most mazed turns and paths, so Lanbriel, however hard she tried, could not keep track of their road. They finally arrived at their destination, Lanbriel could tell because of all the noise. She was led over to the center of the crowd; she assumed that was where all the slaves were lined up. Then, she was put into a line with the other slaves.

Suddenly, a guard whipped her blindfold off. Lanbriel whined on the inside because the guard just "happened" to hurt her ear in the process. Then, Lord Ekatran started to speak.

“You are the quarry for the great hunters of my kind,” He said, then walked up and down the line of slaves, overlooking each face.
“These are the chosen, my great hunters. They will accompany me on my hunt, and you will be their quarry, and mine. You have served well, and you are chosen now to be our prey. Run as you might, you will not escape your doom.”

Then, as if the greatest winds in all Middle Earth gathered up inside, his deep voice toned: “You have six hours!” And the flag was raised.

Lanbriel was pushed off then. She started running, running off, outrunning the other slaves. She closed her mind and saw her one destination in her eyes: freedom.

[Orual]

"...You have six hours!"

Despite her attempts at calm, Dôranna's heart was racing. She could hear her blood pounding in her temples, and her breath came quick and shallow. Her ice-blue eyes swept over the crowd, bloodthirsty and eager for the Hunt to begin, and she swallowed hard. It was easy enough to be defiant when it was only one Easterling being faced, but these thousands...she twisted a lock of blonde hair around her finger, and touched her already-sunburnt nose regretfully.

The jeers of the crowd put Dôranna into a cold sweat. How could they be so eager to see her die? Shivana's voice made her scowl. Of course they couldn't go yet. The flag was not down. She took a deep breath and tried to quell her anger.

"I guess this means we go?" asked Haven, beside her. Dôranna glanced at her, then concentrated on finding the best position from which to run. Her light shoes would do well for speed, but already the hard ground made her feet hurt. She could not think about that. These six hours could be the most important in her life.

The flag went down, and Dôranna was off.

[Envinyatar]

An Elf, five young women, and a crippled man. Rhûnnaro shook his head at this group. They would need all the favors the gods could grant to escape with their lives. He wondered who would pick up the lead for them. All had been slaves so long that even now, with death staring them in the face, they looked about as if to find an overseer to tell them what to do.

He fingered the light coil of rope that hung across his chest. The smoothness of its tight weave pushed his thoughts to memories of his wife and children. His wife’s cheek was smooth to his lips as he bent down from his horse to kiss her in farewell. And the soft fingers of his sons and daughter played against his palm as they reached up softly to say good-bye, their brown eyes entreating him not to go.

Rhûnaro pulled himself back to the present, and watched the expressions on the faces of this year’s hunters. Not much different than other years. There was a feral gleam in their eyes, and he half expected them to lick their lips in anticipation of the blood yet to be spilled. He wondered if the Dark Lord picked servants such as these whom he could keep glutted with promises of carnage and wanton viciousness because they were so easily placed under his thumb by the desire for such license.

The flag whipped down, cutting the clear morning air.

He stood at the far outskirts of the slavering crowd of Easterlings, watching as the slaves ran toward him helter-skelter to the outskirts of the town. His hand slipped to his belt and he drew out something small. He whistled sharply, catching the attention for a brief moment of the short haired, grey eyed girl who led the pack. He tipped his chin up as she neared, flipping the object in a tight arc to her.

She caught it deftly, and ran on . . .

[Beruthiel]

Santiara had only slept for a short while the whole night and before she knew what was happening, guards pushed her out of the cell and blindfolded her. She was led down through what seemed to be a maze, turning left and right until she felt dizzy.

Finally they brought her to where the other slaves were and Lord Ekratran made his speech. She felt like spitting in his face, the way he spoke aggrivated her. Pronouncing each word so slowly and precisely as though he thought the slaves wouldn't understand.
"...You have six hours!"

The slaves huddled together and she heard the crowd laugh and shout at them. The others were muttering quickly, their voices filled with fear. Santiara herself was shaking and she couldn't get words to come out of her mouth as she stared at the crowd of Easterlings.

The flag went down and they were off. Running as fast as she could, trying to forget the aches and pains all over her body. She wore no shoes and her feet pounded on the hard ground, hurting them so badly she had to hold back her tears. The only thing that kept her going was the one word that was imprinted in her mind, Freedom...

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel ran on in the dark. The only thing that forced her on was her stronger-than-ever will for freedom. At the head of the misshaped line, she saw the one called Fionel. Lanbriel herself was not far behind, and she noticed that as Fionel ran, a hunter passed her a small object. It was too dark to tell what the object was, so Lanbriel ran on pretending not to notice.

She saw all the slaves running around her, all rushing, all tiring themselves out. They were trying to get as far away from that wreched place as possible. Lanbriel knew that soon, many would find themselves too tired, hungry, and weak to keep going. This is why she was running slower than usual. If she ran on instinct, she would be far ahead of the others. But she knew, she knew that soon instinct would be the only thing between life and death.

She just had to keep up this pace. She had to control her freedom-longing legs... She knew she would make it.

[ April 28, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

With every step Fionel took, she expected to be called back, for the Hunters to be chasing them already, to be tricked an trapped like a cornered rabbit. Her heart was thudding noisily in her ears, not from the running, but from the idea of running- running away from Nurn. And getting away.

It was only when she had passed the flag bearer that she looked back. She had by now passed the others in the group, or 'herd' as the easterlings called the quarry for the Hunt- the easterlings called them a herd, but among the slaves, they were known as a pack. Turning, she looked back at the towers of the city, above the usual, low slung buildings; somewhere back there would be the rest of the slaves, who would be waking in about an hour to begin another day of their endless, hard, useless existence. But not Fionel. She turned around again, but as she did so, her eye caught a movement, a quick movement of one hand of an easterling man. Expecting a whip, despite the strict prohibitance of anyone physically harming the slaves as the had the head start- not that anyone would really object, but it was thought of as spoiling the sport- Fionel met his eyes. The man tipped his chin up and flipped the object he held in his hand towards her, making it spin in the air.

Fionel caught the small object easily, looking at the man for a moment with a question on her face. But there was no time. He simply nodded to her, and, accepting this though puzzling over it, she ran on.

***

The exhileration and adrenaline rush was had died down after they had run for over an hour and a half, but was not completely gone, understandably. Fionel cursed herself silently- she hadnt paced herself, and it was she who had been leading the pack. Behind her, she could hear ragged breath. They had slowed down now- before they had been running on the adrenaline rush, and its incredible what a chance like this will do for your speed. But they were tiring, all of them, and Fionel couldnt pretend she wasnt in pain herself, her back aching. She guessed Desolyn must be feeling the same, and they werent the only ones. Haven seemed to be having the hardest time though. Evidently playing nursemaid hadnt put much emphasis on running, fast and for a long period like this. Fionel slowed to a slow jog, turning and holding up one hand with one finger up to the group behind her, sub conciously using the movement the overseers used in Nurn to signal that they should stop. She saw a look of resentment cross Desolyn's face, and for a moment the other looked like she was about to argue, but even the fiery Desolyn was tired.

Fionel managed to get her breath back enough to form a sentence. "We'll stop for a while, about 15 minutes- it's all we can spare."

As she said this, they all stopped, slowing to a walk, though there was no talking from the tired slaves. Fionel sighed as she surveyed them. An Elf, five women, including herself, and a crippled man. Then she turned and walked a few metres away, sitting gratefully in the dust. She had wanted this stop for another reason- to look at the object, which she had clutched protectively in her hand since it had been thrown to her by the mysterious easterling. She clicked her fingers as she remembered who he was- the easterling picked for the Hunt who hadnt come, the Hunter who had claimed he 'didnt want to hunt.' He had come up, but Fionel remembered the feeling she had had when their eyes met then, as if he was a fellow feeler...No, he was an easterling. But she also remembered the figure who had come to Fionel and Desolyn when they were being whipped, and who had stopped that. Could it be that much of a coincidence, two easterlings like this? She doubted it.

What she held in her hand was a piece of paper, weighted with a small, bone paperknife to give it weight and folded several times, now soggy from her sweaty palm. She unfolded it once, and as she did, she caught sight of words, written carefully and neatly, in the common tongue.

I will follow you.
You are not alone.

Fionel almost laughed as she read the first line, almost threw down the bit of paper and tore it into shreds. So he was a flaming Hunter- well, of course he was going to be ruddy well following them! He didnt really have a choice! But the second line...

"You're hurt."

The voice made Fionel jump up like a scalded shock, instinctively holding out the knife in front of her.

"Where in perdition did you get that from?" The woman behind her exclaimed, but quite quietly; not a fool then. Fionel lowered the knife almost guiltily, looking around t make sure no one had heard, then glared angrily at the woman. Her gaze was met by an intensly curious, dark green one.

"You were looking?" She demanded.

"You're back is bleeding, Fionel. Seriously." The woman's voice was quiet, but she had the grace to look a little guilty. Fionel could feel the blood on her back, and had no doubt that her top would soon turn red from the faded dust colour that it was now, but she wouldnt be deterred from her main point.

"Thats irrelevant to this conversation!" She too kept her voice low, so to others it would look like they were just talking. She had the knife hidden by now. "You looked?"

"I didnt see, if its a help. Listen, I saw Rhunnaro throw it to you, and I-"

"Rhunnaro? That was his name!" Fionel clicked her fingers, then turned back to the girl, who was looking a little confused. "Never mind. Its...it doesnt seem to be very important."

"You havent opened it yet."

"Not that you would know, as you havent looked, obviously." Fionel grinned, and the other looked more sheepish. She held out her hand. "Fionel. I dont believe we've been properly introduced."

The other took it. "Lanbriel."

They shook, then both turned back to the piece of paper. Glancing once more at Lanbriel, with whom she already felt fellow feeling, she unfolded it fully. She gasped, then her smile widened even further.

What she held was a map.

"Yes...." She murmered.

[kittiewhirl1677]

"A...a map? Why would an easterling want to give you a map?"

Fionel shrugged, apparently not wanting to be very forward about her reply. Lanbriel understood that Fionel must know something about that other Easterling, something she didn't want to share, not just yet. But from what she had seen, she knew that the slaves still had a chance for survival...

Lanbriel turned away, and took a long look around. Nurn was now a small dot in the distance.

"Wow, if we keep going like this in a few minutes, we'll be very, very far away from Nurn."

"Not that far from the hunters following on their horses."
Fionel replied.

Lanbriel sighed and looked at the sky. She wished that soon, she would be up there, in the clouds, relaxing, not worried about anything, not running away to save her desperate life...

[Brinniel]

Desolyn crouched over and stared at the map, deep in thought. The question Lanbriel had asked repeated in her head again and again. Why would an Easterling give Fionel a map? Did he actually want to help or was this some sort of trick?

She argued with herself on this matter for some time before making her decision. They had to take advantage of this map. That, or be caught.

"We can't keep running like this," Desolyn said aloud suddenly. She had not spoken since they had started running, and all the other slaves turned their heads to her; many had just noticed her presence. "The Easterlings will come on horseback and catch up with us quickly. Those who are weaker and cannot run, like Turos here, will not stand a chance. And even those who are stronger and faster will eventually tire, and then meet their doom. We cannot run."
Fionel looked at Desolyn and nodded. "I agree with you there. Running will do us no good. That is what the Easterlings want us to do."
"Well, what do we do, then?" asked someone.
Fionel stared back down at the map. "I'm not sure," she said blankly. "I'm thinking..."
"I have plan," Desolyn interrupted.
"Oh no," Lanbriel groaned. "Not another one your plans. Your plans always fail."
Desolyn glared at her. "Why would you say that?"
"Because you have attempted to escape Nurn six times and have not once succeeded. Who says you'll be successful this time?"
Desolyn wanted to argue, but she resisted. She knew Lanbriel was not trying to be rude, but she was just frightened. They all were. "Well, do you want to hear my idea or not?" she sighed.
"I am willing to hear whatever you have to say," said the elf quietly.
"Aye," Haven agreed. "I will have to second that."
"Alright then," Desolyn nodded. "I was thinking about what Fionel said. The Easterlings want us to run and they expect us to. But what if...what if we did what the Easterlings least expected?"
"You want us to resist?" someone asked.
"That's crazy!" Lanbriel said. "The Easterlings are ten times stronger than us. We will all be killed in a second."
"Not necessarily," Des continued. "Not if we use the map."
Blank stares came from all directions. But in the corner of her eye, Des could see Fionel smile.

[Envinyatar]

He slipped quietly away from the crowd once the runners had passed and made his way down an alley between two of the dingy clapboard buildings. Chokyi had a small place tucked away at the end of the passageway, behind a tall grey fence, whose outer face was cracked and peeling. Rhûnnaro paused in the shadows afforded by a twisted tree that struggled for life each season in the brief sunlight of this wooden canyon.

Pushing his slender form against the fence, he quieted his breath, listening intently for the sound of any footsteps following. There were none, only the sound of the breeze rattling the dry leaves of the tree’s sere crown. He slid along the surface of the fence, and slipped through the barely opened gate.

He was expected. At a word from the one legged man sitting in the chair on the veranda the wolf-hound at the entry way barely raised his head to him, though his yellow eyes followed Rhûnnaro’s every move closely. Chokyi motioned Rhûnnaro to come up and sit with him, as Tenzin, Chokyi’s son, barred the gate.

‘Bring our guest some sweet-grass tea, son of my heart.’ Tenzin smiled at his father, and bowed his head slightly to Rhûnnaro. ‘And a plate of thick dates and those honeyed figs, my little falcon.’

Tenzin and Rhûnnaro exchanged smiles at the request. Tenzin was anything but little. A tall, slender man of twenty now, his thick black hair in a long plait down his back. He would make a fine son in law, he thought to himself, watching the young man’s deft movements as he prepared the tea. Polite, respectful, a strong spirit.

As if reading his guest’s mind, Chokyi remarked, ‘That one has a strong spirit, does he not?’ He leaned in close to Rhûnnaro, observing him with shrewd eyes. ‘You have a daughter his age, or so I recall.’

Having heard his father’s question, Tenzin averted his eyes from Rhûnnaro as he served him his tea, then placed the plate of dates and figs between the two. Rhûnnaro smiled, acknowledging the truth of Chokyi’s statements, then changed the subject to avoid further embarrassment to the young man.

‘Today is the day of the Hunt,’ he began. ‘Were you able to acquire what I needed?’

Chokyi sat back in his chair and laced his fingers across the top of his ample girth. He was one of the procurers of goods not readily available at the shops in Nurn, or more precisely, goods whose purchase need be kept from common knowledge, and especially from those in positions of authority. He was also a countryman of Rhûnnaro’s, and so doubly bound to secrecy.

‘I do have them,’ he said, ‘but we have not discussed the price yet.’

Rhûnnaro slid a small bag of gold coins across the table. ‘There is ample payment here, enough to keep you at ease for a long time.’ He sat back, waiting for the receipt of the merchandise to finalize the deal. A look of surprise, replaced by a frown, met the return of the gold to him by Chokyi.

‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘You ask for more gold?’ His eyes narrowed at the merchant.

Chokyi leaned forward and put his hand gently on Rhûnnaro’s arm. ‘Not gold in payment, countryman.’ He motioned with a nod of his head toward Tenzin. ‘My son. I wish for you to take him with you. Home. To Rhûn.’

There was an uneasy silence, broken by a cry from Tenzin. ‘But this is my home, father. With you.’

‘You know what the healer said Tenzin; I will not last the summer. Our clan will take you in.’ He looked carefully at Rhûnnaro. ‘And if your luck holds, this good man’s daughter will take you for her husband. He placed his hand on his son’s. ‘Have we struck bargain, then, Rhûnnaro?’

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Not necessarily," Des continued. "Not if we use the map."

Fionel smiled slightly. So Desolyn had a plan, well, more than the rest of them. She opened her mouth to ask Desolyn for details, before something struck her.

"How long have we been here?" She asked suddenly. The others looked at her.

"About half an hour. Wh- Oh." Haven's eyes suddenly grew wide. Fionel nodded, standing.

"We need to get going again. We cant stay, and soon they will be off. If we head West North West, roughly the direction we're going now, we can cross the mountains and head for-"

"What?" Desolyn cut in now. "You would run again? There is no need to run from them!"

"Desolyn, I know you have a plan, but if we run, we may have a chance!"

"What chance? Fionel, you and I were both field workers, and are both strong- others here are not! We dont have a chance if we run in this way- they call us a herd, like a mindless herd of cows, but we are not! We are not." Her voice had been rising, but now she calmed down again, her voice quiet as she said the last sentence. Fionel sighed, and dropped her head back, letting it rest there, her eyes closed, then brought it back up to look at Desolyn. The woman's eyes were burning; Des had determination of steel, and if she had a plan, it was all they had.

Fionel sighed, then chanced a smile. "Tell everyone what you have in mind, Des. We can make this work- we've got to."

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel stood, watching Fionel and Desolyn argue. When they mentioned that they were standing around for half an hour, Lanbriel gasped and a few slaves glanced at her. She stared down at the ground, thinking that whatever plan Desolyn had would probably fail in the end. They had no chance. At all. Or... did they?

Lanbriel finally decided that if there was a chance, she would have to listen to the other girl's plan, even if she had doubts.

[Envinyatar]

The farewells between father and son were brief. Rhûnnaro stepped back from the verandah as the son embraced his father for the last time, and spoke low to him. The father nodded his head slowly, as Tenzin made his promises, then kissed him on each cheek and stepped back. Both their eyes were dry. The time for tears would be later, for each alone when time did not press in on them and privacy was afforded by more fortunate occasion.

Chokyi bid his son pack his bag and bedroll and make ready to go. ‘Leave us for a little while, son of my heart. There are things I need to speak of with Rhûnnaro.’ Tenzin bowed and withdrew, leaving the older men to their words.

‘I have no brother left in Rhûn. Only two sisters.’ He spoke their names to Rhûnnaro and the description of where they lived. Rhûnnaro in turn repeated the instructions word for word, until he had gotten them firmly set in his mind. ‘I will name you my spirit-brother,’ continued Chokyi. ‘You will be Tenzin’s father-uncle and look after him. I will look to you to represent him to your daughter.’

He sighed and winced a little as a brief spasm of pain gripped him. It eased as he readjusted himself in his chair. ‘He is an honorable young man, with many fine qualities. But then you will come to find that out as he travels with you.’ He reached across the table, to where Rhûnnaro sat once again, and clasped his wrist. ‘Bring him safe to the land of the wind-horses, my friend. Let him grow up a man of Rhûn, and not some stunted, half-man, such as these we find ourselves among.’ Rhûnnaro nodded his head ‘yes’, and clasped the other man’s hand tightly.

Tenzin returned, his bedroll secured to his bulging pack. At his belt hung a long-knife and a large pouch. He bent to kiss his father good-bye one last time. From round his neck, Chokyi took the slender cord that held the small, carved green stone pony. ‘Look for me in the Spring, my little falcon – when the wind ripples through the green tipped grasses on the high plains.’ He placed the necklace over his son’s head and tucked it beneath his shirt. Just over his heart it hung. ‘Listen closely, then, and I will whisper to you what I have learned since you left.’

He placed his hand over Tenzin’s heart then thrust up his chin, pointing to where Rhûnnaro now stood by the gate. ‘Leave, Tenzin. The serving girl will look after me.’ He waved his son on, murmuring under his breath. ‘Go now. Do not look back. I will be there before you.’

Rhûnnaro and Tenzin made their way quickly down the alleyway and back to the older man’s quarters. They loaded up Rhûnnaro’s horse and one he found for Tenzin’s use. The two large rolls of merchandise from Chokyi, wrapped in soft hides and tied with cords, were secured to Rhûnnaro’s horse, just behind the saddle.

‘I will call you simply, Boy, as we travel together. There is no need for anyone to know your true name. And you will call me only Rhûnnaro, and make no mention of your father.’ He mounted up, and bade Tenzin do so also. ‘You will be my servant. Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut, unless there is need to speak with me, and then only in private if you can. Act simple Let them jeer at you for your dull mind, if need be.’

He led the two of them out to where the Hunters were to gather. ‘They are nothing but ghosts, pass through them like a swift wind.’

Tenzin slumped in his saddle, head bowed down. He loosed his hair, and shook it round his head, so that it fell in unkempt tangles before his eyes. His mouth went slack, his expression dull. His gaze seemed fixed stupidly on the ground over which his horse trod. Yet from beneath the seeming riot of his hair, his sharp eyes took in all as they passed.

[Brinniel]

Desolyn studied the map carefully. Her thoughts were all jumbled together and she wasn't sure how exactly she would explain this plan of her's without confusion. But finally Desolyn spoke.

"We are heading northwest. Is that right?" she asked Fionel, pointing to the map.
The girl nodded in response.
"I see," Desolyn continued. "We'll need to change directions then."
"Why would we do that?" Haven asked. "Going northwest will be faster. It's the best path."
"Not necessarily," Des replied. "Northwest is the direction the hunters expect us to take. They'll search that direction first. Besides, no direction is faster when we have to cross the Ephel Duath."
"Well, what direction do you propose we go then?" Fionel asked.
"West. And perhaps slightly south too. When we reach the edge of the mountains we will stop and prepare for the hunters to come."
"And then what will we do?" asked Lanbriel. "Attack them? With what? Rocks?" The girl folded her arms, looking rather irritated.
"We don't need weapons to fight back at the Easterlings," Desolyn said. "All we need is something that they don't have: intelligence. We can trick them; set traps."
"What kind of traps?" Haven asked.
Des shook her head. "I don't know. That's the part of the plan I don't have yet. I'd have to see our surroundings first."
Desolyn's response caused Lanbriel to frown even more.
"I don't know this will work, Des," Fionel said. "The hunters are all good trackers. They will find out quickly that we have changed directions."
"Not if we cover up our tracks," Des responded. She looked over at the elf who stood quietly. "Perhaps our only elf can help us with that if she is light-footed enough."
The elf looked at the girl in surprise. "Me?" she asked.
Des nodded.
"It still wouldn't work," Lanbriel argued. "They'll track our scent."
"That's what dirt is for," Desolyn said. "So, what do you all say? Do we use the plan or not?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel regarded Desolyn for a moment. The sun was rising ever higher in the sky and it seemed that every second would bring the attack of the easterlings closer to them. Then she nodded to Desolyn.

"Go on then, Des. Im behind you. Who else is with us?"

The group all seemed to agree, although Fionel was not sure whether she saw more than a little rebelliousness in their eyes. That could be a problem, but later...

"It may not be as hard as may be thought to set these traps- bear in mind they will be set for horses, not for men, who would be right up close and may inspect the ground a little more closely on foot. Pitfalls maybe- they do not have to be very deep, just enough to spook a horse, and narrow enough so that when the horse tries to wrench its foot back out, it may get it stuck and panic even more, possibly even unseating his rider and injuring the Hunter or horse, or maybe even both." Fionel smiled. She could see this coming together. "But is there much point in having us all going to set these traps together, with a few people wandering aimlessly? Maybe we could actually have the chance to get some people straight off, possibly even away, if they were quick about it. If anyone is seriously injured, they may be able to go by a different route, while stronger and more daring people here may be able to set the traps- I for one will do that- then get away in...." She paused, inspecting the map once more, and her flare faltered suddenly. "Hang on a minute- where else will we be able to go?"

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel stood among the confusion. Desolyn's plan, she thought was crazy. Actually, the idea of running away was twice as crazy. Desolyn's plan may have not had a chance, but it gave the slaves something to do, something to lay their hopes on. While on the other hand, running away would make them frightened and much more vulnerable.

"I guess I see now. There is a certain... potential in your plan." Lanbriel nodded finally.

"I don't guarantee it's going to work, but it has a better chance of succeeding than just... just running away." Desolyn replied, trying to reassure the girl as much as she could.

"Yes, but one problem." Lanbriel continued. "The hunters you know, they could set traps too. I mean, your first thought about this would probably be something like 'They wouldn't want to set a trap! They would just simply catch us and kill us with their knives and swords.' But then again, if they figure out we're using traps, they could set up a backfire. Something like that."

"I guess I see your point, but we all realized that the moment I told you the plan!" Desolyn pointed out.

"Yes, but I thought maybe if we first decide on how to rid them of their weapons, they'll slowly start coming down to a level of defencelessness just like ours. Then we rid them of their horses, and the rest is obvious."

Lanbriel looked for understanding faces among the group of slaves, but most of the slaves were still decyphering her message, slowly, in their head.

Yes, she sometimes had a kind of manner to blabber or just spill it all out in one shot, and it would take a second time to explain it. She just hoped that she didn't have to take a second shot at this. They didn't have the time.

[Gorothlammothiel]

Lord Ekatran stood still and silent. His eyes focused on a distant object which none of the others cared to look upon. They sat and stood around, though not as silent as he.

Final preparations for the hunt were being made. Each of the hunters had equipped themselves. Kherug with blade, bow and spear, Shivana with her daggers. Dorlas and Ranchard had equally equipped themselves with a variety of weapons. As his horse was brought to him Ekatran looked down to the sword at his side as he secured his bow on his back. Taking the reign from the slave he turned his attention to those who would be accompanying him. Dorlas, who was no newcomer to the tradition stood ready whilst Ranchard sat eagerly waiting for the hunt to begin.

It was Shivana who broke the silence, directing her question to the group in hope of an answer. "Which way are we to travel?" Rhunnaro turned. "North-east, they will head in that direction" Shivana repeated the given answer in a whisper "North-east"

"They wil not head that way" interupted Dorlas without raising his head or gaze. Shivana shot a glare. "The slaves have more intelligence than you would give them credit for. North-east would be the first choice but they will expect that would also be our path." continued Dorlas. Rhunnaro seemed angered at this comment, "And why do you suggest they would expect that of us, Dorlas?" he fired back.

"Because he has hunted before." Ekatran stood behind Rhunnaro and Ranchard having approached them without making a sound. They turned quickly. Ekatran looked to the sky and the high red sun. "Noon approaches" he stated as he mounted his steed. Turning and grinning to Dorlas, "Let the hunt begin. We head west."

[Mattius]

Ranchard laughed to himself and licked his lips in anticipation. At last, he thought to himself, decades of waiting and now it was his turn. He grabbed his horses' reins and threw himself onto the animal leaving it whimpering under his massive weight.

The others did not look as excited or at least hid their feelings better. Ranchard wore a sinister smile, one he was well known for, and played with his blades, cutting his arms here and there to make sure they were sharp enough. He licked up his blood that trickled down his hands.

"Let the hunt begin. We head west," spoke their obvious leader. The others fell in line behind him as they began a fast trot, second by second gaining ground on the slaves.

[ May 08, 2003: Message edited by: Mattius ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven ran a quivering hand through her tangled black hair. Beads and colorful threads were woven into the curls, curtesy of Jamilah and Jovanna. Haven couldn't stand the waiting anymore. She had never truly wanted to leave her home in the palace. Of course, there had always been the issue of the treating of slaves...but that didn't effect Haven with Jamilah and Jovanna. The little girls were like...shields against the more cruel of the easterling people. That was the barrier between Haven and the field workers. And yet field workers were now her companions.

I want to go home! Haven whined to herself. At least in the palace she was safe from death. Out here on the Hunt it was death by murder or death by lack of supplies. Haven had never kept close watch of the Hunt, but she certainly would have heard tell if ever some slave had made it out of the Hunt alive. Haven didn't like the idea of not having a choice. Wait! What am I thinking?

Haven began to pace around as the slight arguments and the planning continued. She looked up at the sun more than once in her search for calm. Haven never found any trace of calmness in her when she was under stress, she merely began to snap at people like she had done the day before with the toddler Malha.

"We've been here too long," Haven breathed suddenly, after what seemed like long minutes of non-stop pacing. No one had heard her, and Haven raised her voice. "We have been here for far too long! Almost an hour! We don't have enough time. If setting up traps is our plan, I will help with that."

Haven didn't see any point in running anymore. It was do or die at that point, and the slaves wouldn't let each other down. Haven saw little risk in helping out with the traps, for there was no where for Haven to go anyway. If she lived, she wouldn't be able to go back to her mildly comfortable life with Kara and her family, and there was nothing else in Middle-Earth for her.

"We should get moving. What is our plan then?" Haven asked, hoping for a clear explanation after having tuned out during her pacing.

[Envinyatar]

‘West, it is then,’ said Rhûnnaro as he mounted his horse. He looked to where the sun now stood in the sky, His brow furrowed, wondering if the girl had taken the time yet to look at what he'd thrown her.

‘Come, Boy,’ he barked at Tenzing, who fumbled at the straps to his packs as he tried to adjust them more securely to the back of his saddle. The packs fell to the ground, and precious moments were lost as Tenzing stumbled about repacking and relashing them. The other Hunters did not wait for them, but hurried on behind Ekatran.

The two fell farther behind as Rhûnnaro continued to chastise the younger man for his slowness. Tenzing winced and slackened his mount's pace even further as the barrage of the older man’s words hit him.

[Arien]

Shivana mounted her horse delicately. She steadied him, while she tied her long hair out of her face. When she had done this she checked that she was all equipped and ready to go. Daggers, food, water……anything else?……No.. She gently pulled the reins of the horse and followed behind the other in a fast gallop. Ekatran was leading them and the rest of the company pursued him obediently from behind. Ranchard was just ahead of her behind Ekatran and the rest behind her apart from that man and his boy, she could not see them any more.

So they were travelling West, if the slaves go too far which Shivana doubted it would be too hard to take the horses over the mountain range. Anyway, she hated to have to ride, she always preferred to run. She could sprit swiftly across the plains and could run for long distances without tiring. It was her deadliest weapon, the slaves would never know what hit them. But she was tied to the horse and if she did not use it she could be put off the hunt as easily as she had been put on. Gladly would others take her place.

They sped on , the wind blew in her face and hair. Her eyes were filled with passion as the glare of the morning sun hit them, she could feel the kill. She could not wait.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel came back at a walking pace from setting one of the three traps now out, horse pits- about a metre deep, about half that wide, with an uneven bottom, almost guaranteed to break a horse's leg. As she came back, she heard Haven speak. Fionel took note of Haven's words and, although she still felt a little resentment against this cosy palace worker, she agreed. Quickening her pace to almost a jog, she arrived with them. Desolyn and Santiara, who had dug the other two traps, had already just arrived.

"She is right."

Desolyn looked at her, surprised and a little irritated. "No...no, we won't run, we need to set the traps."

"We've set a few, quite well spaced, the hunters no doubt will sprawl out, and unless the ride in single file, if they ride this way, at least one of the horses will be saying goodbye to their leg." She spread her hands and sighed. "I don't want to be ever running either. But they will set off in about three hours. We need to at least get a little more distance between us and them."

"For how long?" Now it was the man Turos who spoke up. "We cant all keep going forever, and I'm well aware that I will not be able to- damn leg."

Fionel shrugged, her face still hopeless, but she would have her way.

"I agree. We need to keep going forward. There's no way to go back, after all." Haven had spoken up this time. Fionel smiled slightly at her, but she wondered about the last few words. There's no way to go back...Would the girl want to? Fionel once more took in Haven; her skin paler than the rest of them, her hair longer, braided and beaded. She had looked after the children in the palace- there was a distinct difference between palace slaves and field workers. Indeed, Fionel had heard many a joke among those she worked with that the field slaves may as well bow to 'Ekatran's pets', and even as she stood there, in the middle of a group, she was still alone, isolated. There was such a chasm between Haven and the rest...but it wasnt unbridgeable. Hatred for Ekatran had flashed in Haven's eyes when she was called, only quelled for the children who she cared for- the children of the enemy, children who would grow up to be just like their mothers and fathers. The children of Nurn didnt really see the slaves as people- the guttersnipes had thrown stones and mud at Fionel as she walked through the city in the time when she worked in the palace, and those in the palace sneered at her, whispered and giggling meanly about Fionel's clothing and appearance. But none of it really meant anything to them- the palace children didnt see a girl their age or a few years older, they saw another piece of furniture. The gutter children saw a target, just a part of their game, like the stones they threw and the chipped glass marbles they played with.

But she wasnt completely invisible was she? And one girl had found that out, when Fionel had finally snapped at her. Glancing once more at Haven, Fionel wondered if she too had met the little brat who had got her thrown back to the fields.

"Fionel?"

Fionel almost jumped as she heard her name said by the elven girl, her voice hesitant and soft, like quiet music to the ears. "Hmm?"

"We're going." Desolyn answered this time. She didnt look happy, but she didnt look resentful either. It seemed she must have seen the sense in running, for a while, but the others also wore the same expression- they all still held faith in Desolyn's plan. The had to. "We will run." She now addressed the whole group. "Not too fast, say a jog, so you can keep going for longer. We will go for about two hours, then we will rest once more."

Fionel nodded. "Fine, great. I suggest we run in pairs, so you have someone to keep to speed with. We arent just a mindless herd like they think." She ended with a small side smile.

They were small murmers of agreement, and then everyone started to shuffle into place. Fionel and Desolyn originally ended up together. Fionel smiled at Desolyn, glad, like a school child who has been picked to be on a team, then her smile faded slightly. She glanced back, the other following her gaze. Her voice was low when she spoke. "No, we cannot go together. You and I both know we are some of the strongest in this group, Des, and we need to lead them, helping them keep up as well. There are others who may not be able to keep going as well, for whatever reason."

Des's eyes strayed to Manituros. She nodded. "Do you want to take the front or the back?"

Fionel had her eyes on the one who she had picked as her own partner, still alone. "I will lead, if thats alright with you."

Des nodded, spreading a hand forward with a smile. "Be my guest."

Fionel returned the smile, gratified, then turned back and walked to the one who she had chosen. She grinned at her warmly, wanting to dispell any bad feeling or anxiety. "Running with anyone, Hay?"

[Beruthiel]

Santiara sighed in relief, finally the group was moving again. She didn't like the idea of standing around waiting for the hunters to catch up with them. The traps had been set and hopefully would slow the hunters down a bit. Time seemed to slip away like water and every second she turned back towards Nurn in fear of the sound of galloping hoofs.

Santiara did believe that Desolyn's plan would work, she didn't really have much of a choice and she had remained quiet while the everyone else had discussed it. She honestly didn't think they'd have much of a chance if they had simply tried to run away from the hunters.

The slaves were splitting into pairs, Des had gone with Turos and Fionel was talking to Haven. She noticed Dôranna and Lanbriel were still left, meaning one of them would have to run alone.

Thinking it over quickly she walked over to them. "Dôranna, Lanbriel. I don't think I've really introduced myself, I'm Santiara." She said. "We'll be running soon and were supposed to be in pairs but I think we can all run as a three can't we?"

[ May 12, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Running with anyone, Hay?"

Haven winced at the nickname. She'd never hear it from Jamilah or Jovanna again. Haven...Hay...smiled grimly at Fionel as she considered what to say.

"I don't run very fast," was all Haven could say, warning the other girl of her speed. Sure, Haven had spent long hours chasing children around the palace halls...but that was nothing compared to the runnning they had done even in the short time that morning.

"No matter. We can pace each other. I'll make sure you don't fall behind, and your rate can keep me from going to fast and tiring myself out. That's what having partners is for." Fionel replied decidedly, and turned to see if the rest of the group was ready. Desolyn had paired with Turos, and apparently Lanbriel, Santiara, and Dôranna would be running together in a group of three.

"Everyone knows where we're headed?" Desolyn asked, and everyone nodded. "Don't go too fast, you'll tire yourselves out. Don't go too slow, the hunters are leaving soon. Just...run."

With that, the groups began their jog. Some groups were faster than others. Desolyn and Turos were brought up the rear of the group of slaves, Desolyn running slowly so as not to rush Turos with his leg. The group of three ran a bit faster than Desolyn and Turos, at a steady pace that would be easily kept. Fionel and Haven ran as quickly as they could but still running at a jog, since Haven had rested and wouldn't tire for a while.

Varda help us. Haven thought grimly as the group made its way across the dusty, short grasslands of Nurn.

[Amanaduial the archer]

A grim look of determination had settled across Haven's face. She didnt run very fast, true, but she could still keep up at a moderate jog, which was all they needed.

Fionel glanced at the girl. She had seen her almost seem to wince when Fionel had called her Hay. Another mistake. They ran on in silence, as did the others, Fionel and Haven at the front, Doranna, Santiara and Lanbriel behind them, with Desolyn and Turos at the back. The conversation was not extensive, as it used up valuable energy, but there still seemed to be a much better atmosphere between the threesome than between Fionel and Haven. Fionel sighed. She had resented Haven at the start, but she couldnt hold a grudge against her, just because she was fortunate to have held a more luxurious job. Besides, they did have some things in common...

"I'm sorry for calling you Hay, Haven." Fionel said finally. Haven looked at her surprised, and almost stumbled. Her eyes seemed incredibly sad for a moment.

"No...no, its...never mind." Haven sighed and once more they lapsed into silence, but this time with both struggling to find a subject. Eru, this is going to be a long journey...

[kittiewhirl1677]

A slave named Santiara approached Lanbriel, asking her if she, and the elf Doranna wanted to run as a threesome. Lanbriel nodded cheerfully.

"Sure, I don't think anyone will mind if there's one threesome among us all."

They soon started running, keeping a steady pace. Lanbriel kept telling herself, not too slow, not too fast. It was all she could do from either dropping for a long, pleasant rest or speeding up as if to win a hundred mile marathon.

Doranna and Santiara didn't talk much at the start, but Lanbriel understood why the silence was kept. They needed so much energy to concentrate on their current job, that talking was just going to throw all that energy away. Still, Lanbriel felt that the air between the group was too silent, and that some conversation was needed.

"So," the girl asked, "Were you two surprised to get chosen? Or was it something that was sure to happen?"

Lanbriel tried to sound friendly, and smiled, as the girls thought through the sudden question.

[Envinyatar]

‘I think that skink travels faster than we do.’ Tenzing smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the bright afternoon sun. Rhûnnaro sat astride his plodding horse, his eyes following the zig-zag trail of the little lizard. It paused for a moment in its rapid striding, its long, tapered tail lashing back and forth as it paused to taste the scents the hot breeze brought it. Soon it was gone, a blur of blue-black streaked with long, golden stripes, seeking shelter and protection.

They had dropped far behind the line of other hunters. Rhûnnaro pulled his much folded map from the inner pocket of his vest. He brought his mount alongside Tenzing's and pointed to a spot in the Shadow Mountains where there was a narrow pass, just southwest of the two hunters' present position. ‘We can cross here, then go north here and east to our homeland.’ His slim brown finger traced the route.

Tenzing’s eyes widened as he watched the line traced through Minas Tirith. ‘Will we be welcomed there?’

‘I cannot say for certain. It is a port city, and has traded much with places not too far distant from Rhûn. They have a taste for Dorwinion wines I have heard. If need be we can pass ourselves off as traders from the Sea of Rhun, seeking to establish new trade contacts in Gondor.’

Rhûnnaro, motioning for Tenzing to follow, turned his horse in the direction of the pass and picked up his speed.

[Orual]

Dôranna had been concentrating on keeping her breathing deep and regular, and on keeping her strides long and smooth. She was not an excellent runner, as her peers in Lorién and Rivendell measured it, but she was certainly one of the fastest among the Hunted.

"So," Lanbriel asked suddenly, "were you two surprised to get chosen? Or was it something that was sure to happen?"

Dôranna laughed, a little roughly. "It was not a surprise at all. I had heard rumours that I was to be chosen, but it was only a matter of time. I'd evaded it for a long time. I've been a slave longer than any of you have been alive."

Santiara looked away uncomfortably, and Lanbriel's green eyes were a little wary. Dôranna frowned, and regretted her words. She should not have been so harsh; Lanbriel was a girl, and Santiara scarcely more than one herself. She said, more gently: "No, I was not surprised. I was only lucky that I wasn't chosen sooner." She looked around at her fellow Hunted, and her mouth hardened into a thin line. As far as she could tell, the eldest was Manituros, and he was not even thirty. Had she known his parents? Yes, actually, she supposed that she had. If he was the same man she thought he was, she had helped his grandmother when she was giving birth to his mother. She sighed heavily. Life and death, and death, and death...how old was the girl, Haven? Thirteen? No, fifteen. She remembered now. Too much pain. Too much death.

"Dôranna?" Lanbriel's hesitant voice broke into her thoughts, and she suddenly realized that there was a hot tear running down her cheek. "Are you all right?"

"I'll be all right if you are," Dôranna replied, trying to sound stoic. She just hoped that she didn't sound as shaken as she really was.

[Envinyatar]

Several hours of steady riding brought them nearer the Outer Fence of Mordor. The Shadow Mountains were rightly named as they loomed tall and craggy above the broad ashy plain. The sun, in its westward course, threw the shadows of the range eastward, reaching out for both the hunters and the hunted alike.

Late afternoon was tending toward evening as Rhûnnaro called a halt to their progress. They had traveled more westerly than south thus far and in the distance they saw, where the evening shadows had not yet hidden things from view, a small cloud of ash taken up on the breeze and above, the circling of a lone scavenger bird.

‘Look!’ Rhûnnaro’s head nodded toward the small disturbance. ‘The death bird circles lazily and keeps his sharp eyes fixed on something of interest below.’

‘The slaves have no water or food. They must have run all day and now are starting to lag. Do you think it is them, or the Hunters?’ Tenzin sat easily on his horse, his eyes sweeping the western edge of the mountains for any other clues.

‘Not the Hunters. The cloud of dust would be larger from the movement of the horses. I think they are farther north of us, having moved directly west of where we started.’ Rhûnnaro narrowed his eyes, as if to pierce the small dusty cloud. ‘Perhaps the girl made use of the map I tossed her.’ He loosed the long knife at his belt, making it an easy draw.

‘Have your bow ready. Let us see who travels there before us. Perhaps they can be useful to us.’

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The sun had gone down further by the time they approached their quarry. Five sets of hastening footprints became clearer in the ashy ground, with one other showing the larger prints of one who dragged his right leg somewhat. The slaves, exhausted from their day of running, had thrown themselves down in the shallow protection afforded by an outcropping of rocks which formed a small semicircular barrier from prying eyes to the east and north.

Rhûnnaro pulled two small bags from his saddle pack, and secured them to his belt. He clasped his knfe in his teeth and motioning Tenzin to stay back on his horse, arrow nocked in readiness, he climbed quietly up the rocky structure and looked down into the shadows at the sleeping slaves.

He threw the two bags into their midst while crying out in a loud voice. ‘Stand, slaves, and speak to me . . .

[ May 15, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel heard footsteps, but lay still. It could be one of the others....Valar, please let it be one of the others...

Then something heavy dropped on the ground less than a metre from her feet by the sound of it. No, not one of the others, they don't have anything that heavy. She reached out and grasped the nearest thing to hand, her eyes still closed so the moonlight could not reflect against them. Alright, Fionel, after three, stand and confront them...

One.
Two.
Thre-

"Stand slaves and speak to me."

The voice made Fionel jump and she swore. A man's voice, and an easterling at that. She turned and stood in one smooth movement, the sharp stone in front of her. Luckily it was quite weighty, and sharp enough to inflict some damage. But what she saw in front of her shocked her completely. She gasped, then managed to speak.

"You!" She exclaimed. "The...the man who gave m-us the map." She fumbled in her belt and pulled out the folded piece of paper. She looked back at the man, and his familiar features were quite calm, calm and handsome. But his voice...that too was familiar. Her mind's eye zipped back to the cloaked figure who had stopped the soldiers whipping her after the ceremony. She examined his face carefully. "What is it that you want?"

Envinyatar's post

‘I want you to wake the others and get them to eat. You will need the energy if you are to escape from the Hunters.’ He stepped closer to the edge of the overhang and threw down two small waterskins. She caught them easily and lowered them to the ground. ‘Drink sparingly,’ he warned her. ‘The nearest water is a small stream a half-days journey from here, where you can refill them.’

He motioned for her to climb up to where he stood. Taking her map, he pointed out their position. Then, moving his finger from there to a position south and west, he showed her the narrowing in the chain of mountains. ‘This is where the River Poros runs down to the Great River, the Anduin as those in the West call it. My boy and I are heading there, and then straight west to the Anduin and Minas Tirith. If you wish you may join us.’

Rhûnnaro directed her attention to the other sack he had thrown down. ‘Arm them. You will have need of them before the journey is through.’

The short, sharp call of a bush-bird made him crouch low – a warning signal from Tenzin. ‘Get down!’ he hissed. Grasping her arm, he pulled her close beside him. ‘Something comes. Go back and wake the others. I’ll see to it.’


[ May 19, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[ May 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Mattius]

Ranchard had broken away from the main group of Hunters, Ekatran had allowed him to but warned him to be cautious. Grunting Ranchard had turned his horse away and sped off.

And now it seemed to have paid off.

Ranchard sat at the top of a small hill looking down on the slaves and a... hunter? What was happening thought the bulky man scatching his head. He decided to make his way slowly down to get a closer look.

Sliding down like a snake he approched the group in complete silence. In his teeth he had his curved knife and now Ranchard lay but ten feet from the other Hunter who had his back to him. He tried to listen to what was being said but the whispers were too low for even his ears to make out. Thoughts began swimming in his mind, why was the hunter talking to them, should he attack him, attack a slave, stay hidden or perhaps go back and find Ekatran? Eventually Ranchard's numerous animal instincts kicked in and he decided to fight, the traitor would die first.

Inch by inch he slowly raised his massive body in silence, until he was crouching. He took the knife from his teeth and pointed it out in front of him ready to strike. Suddenly like a coiled spring he sprinted towards the other easterling, still in silence. As the blade was inches from the back of the victim a slave caught sight of him and let out a scream. Rhûnnaro spun and caught Ranchard's outstrechted arm before landing a punch on the hunters face. As Ranchard fell backwards Rhûnnaro continued to attack him before Ranchard finally fell over in pain. Rhûnnaro took some rope from his pack.

"Help me tie him up," he said to the slaves.

[Envinyatar]

He had not had time to descend back to the floor of the plain from the rocky outcropping before the man sprang at him. He heard the cry of the slave and turned quickly. Moonlight glinted against the swiftly advancing blade. He stepped to the side to avoid the steely bite, throwing up his arm to catch the arm that held the blade and deflect it. He swung his fist, meeting the jaw of the attacker. Then pounced on the downed man, giving him several hard blows to the head.

‘Ranchard!’ he spat out.

Rhûnnaro took the coil of thin, strong rope that hung across his chest. Throwing it to the girl who had come up near them, her small knife drawn, he told her to tie him up. ‘Help her,’ he ordered the other slaves who had drawn near . . .

[ May 19, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Arien]

It was now what seemed the middle of the night, and Shivana lifted her head from the rough ground. She gazed a round for a second.

"Get up!" she shouted, standing up and looking around frantically. The others ceased to do this, "Getup, get up!" she shouted breaking the silence for the second time. They finally lifted their heads, but the other hunters seemed none to happy. They turned on her, their faces full with irritation.

“What Shivana? Are the bugs bitting?” Kherug said, taunting her with his sarcastic words. She drew her dagger, poised to throw it but she felt a hand on her shoulder holding her back. She tried to resist it but the grip was too strong. She turned around to see the stern face of Ekatran.

“No, you will not fight him.” she lowered her dagger down to her side, and shot a look of sheer malaice towards Kherug. But she would not dare disobey Ekatran. “ Now what is it you have to say? Why did you wake us?” hi9s voice boomed loudly across the warn night air.

“Look around you!” she said trying not to sound too cynical towards Ekatran.

“What?” asked Dorlas, speaking for the first time since they had left.

“She is right, did you see them leave?” asked Ekatran, he seemed to be the only other that noticed the other threes disappearance.

“No, I did not. Did any of you two see them leave?” she said quietly. Now they had seem to caught on and they looked round.

“Er…..no,” said Dorlas, Kherug shook his head.

“Then I say we continue, leave them to their hunting. I doubt they will find anything. We will still head west in the morning, towards the mountains.” and with that final comment from Ekatran, the now four hunters fell to their beds and lay til morning.

[ May 20, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel awoke from a long, dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes, and looked around. The other slaves were still asleep. She decided, that since there was nothing better to do, she would keep the guard. She was about to get up when somebody's footsteps came slowly, approaching her position. Suddenly, a man cried to the slaves. Lanbriel wanted to gasp, but the better of her senses kept her quiet.

The man, she realized was a one of the easterlings - a hunter. She moaned to herself, thinking that they were caught. Then, to her surprise, Fionel stood up and began talking to the hunter. She showed him her map, and he was seemingly pointing at some position. Lanbriel guessed that it was theirs. Suddenly, she noticed a shadow creeping across the moonlit gound behind the hunter.

Before her thoughts had time to tell her what it was, she saw it. She saw the blade, the gleaming, silver blade, shimmering in the moonlight. And where was the blade headed? Directly for the hunter. Her first reaction was a scream.

"Watch out!"

She shouted. She had only realized that she had prevented a killing of a bitter enemy when the hunter turned around, and somehow managed to get rid of the blade and punch the attacking man in the jaw. She then came up to him.

"Why are you here? You're a hunter!"

He just ignored her, and reached for some rope wrapped about the fallen man's chest. Then, he threw the rope to Lanbriel and gestured for her to tie the rope around the man on the ground. After his command for the other slaves to help her, they all rushed in like waves wash in to beach-rocks.

[ May 20, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[ May 20, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel stepped back as the slaves rushed forward, all grabbing the ropes and trying to wrap it as tightly around the fallen hunter as tightly, quickly and, yes, painfully as possible. She stepped back, but didnt stand too close to Rhunnaro, simply watching him. His dark eyes turned towards her and she became all the surer that he was the one who had stopped her beating. He smiled slightly, and Fionel found herself once again thinking of how he actually saw her, how he saw all the slaves. Animals? Prey? Why, did they even seem human to him at all?

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She had just noticed the other man, standing behind Rhunnaro, olive skinned and handsome. Dont be ridiculous. She snapped at herself. But it would be so nice to be loved again...

She looked back at Rhunnaro, shaking herself mentally. A pause, then she spoke. "Sir-" She stopped herself, then carried on. She would not call any easterling sir, but this man had earned her respect, although for what reason, she did not know. "Did you...on the night of the Hunt...were you behind the stage? I mean...were you in the back corridors?"

Rhunnaro frowned slightly, but still retained that half smile, his expression saying that he had certainly not expected this question. "An odd question, lady. Why is it that you ask?"

Lady?! Vala, how long is it since last you were called that?! "If you were and are who I think you may be, I think you will know."

Rhunnaro let his smile widen slightly, then opened his mouth to answer. "I-"

A strange, almost inhuman sound rent the air, and Fionel whirled around to see the fallen man writhing like a beast. Some of the slaves were stepping back slightly- habit told them that they should not be doing this to their master- but Desolyn and Lanbriel clung on, one on each arm. Fionel didnt hesitate, and neither did Rhunnaro, as they approached quickly, and the other man who Rhunnaro was with handed Fionel a weapon- a sword. She had never held one before, but unsheathed it quickly, holding it out with a perfectly steady hand, the tip only inches from the fallen man's chin.

"Stay very still." She said quietly. But the insanity that Fionel had seen in his eyes also ruled Ranchard's mind, and still she tried to shake Desolyn and Lanbriel off. He moved slightly to one side, shaking his head, and Fionel moved the sword- her sword- at the same time, causing the tip to nick his cheek, drawing a small line of blood along just under his eye. He gasped and snarled at her. The other slaves also gasped- first blood.

"Well I did tell you to stay still." Fionel said, her voice still calm. But there was a sense of unease was growing in her- she had enjoyed that. She was almost tempted to cut the man again, to make him hurt for the pain his race had caused, but then she sensed Rhunnaro watching her very carefully. And she saw the madness inside Ranchard's eyes... Suddenly, the anger she had expected came into play and she moved the sword forward, until it was right under Ranchard's chin. "If you don't stay still, I will make you feel the pain of your own whips!" She turned to Rhunnaro. "Alright, just what exactly are we supposed to do now?!"

[Envinyatar]

‘Now?,’ he said, turning to Tenzin, and motioning him closer, ‘Now we gag him. I don’t want his cries alerting anyone.’ Tenzin pulled his knife and cut cloth from Ranchard’s clothing. Shoving a wad of it in the protesting man’s mouth he bound it in with another strip tied securely at the back of his head.

Rhûnnaro crouched down close to Ranchard. His face expressionless, no hint of mercy in his eyes. Tenzin and he turned him to his stomach, and wrenching his massive arms behind his back, bound them together, his thumbs caught painful in loops that sent stabbing pain through him if he moved them overmuch. His ankles were bound tightly with rope, and once done, they hauled him to a sitting position, propping his back against the rocks.

Tenzin leaned in and spoke quietly, in their own language, to Rhûnnaro. The older man’s head nodded once as Tenzin drew away, walking rapidly toward his horse.

‘He will brew a little draught for him, something to tame the beast that rides him. Ranchard will sleep while you eat,’ he told the cluster of slaves that stood a little way off, frightened.

He held his hand out for the sword that the girl still clung to, its point resting on the ashy ground. ‘You know my name, Lady, do you not? But I have quite forgotten yours. My apologies.’ He smiled at her, his eyes glinting with amusement in the moonlight . . .

*^*^*^*^*^*

‘Here,’ Tenzin said, throwing a kindling flint to one of women. ‘Gather some sticks, get a small fire going. I will need hot water for infusing the herbs. . .’

[ May 20, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven had been the only one of the slaves not to help bind the crazy Ranchard to the ground. She had been to scared. The noises that had awoken her from a fitful, restless sleep had frightened and shocked the palace slave into paralysis. Haven waited while her fellow slaves tied back the writhing hunter, rocking back and forth to comfort herself.

This is too much. I can't do this anymore! Haven wailed to herself, watching intently in case she should have to jump up and bolt away if Ranchard escaped. The other slaves hardly noticed her uninvolvement with the capturing of Rancherd, but for that Haven was at least a bit glad.

"Here," one of the two seemingly friendly hunters had said to Haven, tossing a strange rock to her. "Gather some sticks, get a small fire going. I will need hot water for infusing the herbs. . ."

Haven's brows were raised in confusion. She pointed to herself, and mouthed 'Me?' to the hunter.

"Yes you! Now get moving," he replied, and Haven scurried off into the darkness, looking for dry twigs.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel hung onto the sword tightly, possesive of it. Its mine, no easterling will take this away from me as well...

Realising suddenly, she blushed slightly in the darkness, and held the sword out to him, the pommel towards him, leaving her body open to an attack- all he would need to do was push to sword forward. In this way, she showed her trust.

Rhunnaro took the sword from her, inclining his head. "You know my name, Lady, do you not? But I have quite forgotten yours. My apologies."

Was that amusement in his eyes? Was he playing with her? Fionel controlled herself, forcing herself not to blush, for he would be able to see even in thr darkness. "My name is Fionel. And although you do not know me, my thanks to you, for tonight and for...for the Night of the Selection."

Rhunnaro watched her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight as if he was wondering whether to admit it. Then he smiled back, his quiet, calm smile. "My pleasure, Lady. These things have gone on for far too long without anyone doing anything."

Fionel couldnt hold back the blush this time, and looked towards Ranchard at this moment. She felt her lip curl up into a sneer as she looked at him. "The...man. What shall we do with him?"

Rhunnaro's eyes hardened now, the amusement and friendliness gone. "I care not. He is not himself- has not been for years. Some insanity rides him, the same that is inside all the Hunters."

Fionel shot a glance at the man, but he seemed not to have noticed the irony in what he had said. She tried to build up the courage to say something, but there was a strange feeling inside her stopping her. It was not the feeling of a master and a slave, it was something else...her face began to redden again, but Haven distracted the moment then, as she ran back. Fionel turned, and felt her hand clench where the outline of the sword had been, and she felt so vulnerable.

"Hunters! Hunters...they..they are coming, and....and...Hunters!" She stammered, out of breath, before coming to the definite conclusion. Fionel shot a look at Rhunnaro, and the man lost his composure for once, swearing quietly under his breath. Then he turned, speaking to Tenzin in their own tongue, but not too loud. Fionel closed her eyes. Just when it was going well...

[kittiewhirl1677]

They were gathering food, herbs, and wood for fire. Lanbriel looked around herself, trying to find something to do.

Ever since the two friendly hunters had joined them, she started feeling safer. She was still suspicious, but as time passed, she began to enjoy the hunters. They were the first people in a long while who actually adressed the slaves as if they were equals.

Now, she thought, I think we might have a chance with all these weapons and supplies at our hands.

She smiled at this happy thought, and walked over to the older hunter.

"Anything I can do to help?"

She asked.

"A few others already went to find more wood for our fire, but you may certainly join them."

"Thankyou... Rhunnaro? Is it not?"

She dismissed herself from his company, and walked off into the woods.

She also managed to grab a medium-lengthed dagger on the way, which looked more like a short sword. She didn't get many chances to practice her skill with any kind of weapon, but she had watched the soldiers practice their skills with a blade and had learned a few things.

Satisfied with her supply, she quickly advanced into the thick bushes and trees ahead of her. She was still aware of the possibility that the hunters had tracked them all the way. She kept glancing about her, thinking that she was being tracked. Although renewed after the sleep, Lanbriel still felt worn out and tired, and the increasing number of logs she carried didn't help her much.

--*--*--*--*--

She had been picking up logs, bringing them to the campsite, and going back for more. Back and forth like this for a long time. She had then finally gone back for her final handfull of logs, when suddenly, she heared hooves approaching. She knew that the only people who would be around in the forest at this time, with horses- many horses at that, were... the hunters! She looked back at the path she had came from.

No, it would take too long to run back. Even running at her fastest speed would kill her. They would hear her, and go faster. No, she had to hide.

She looked about her frantically, and noticed a tree with a hollow spot in the middle. She carefully made her way to the giant trunk, avoiding to fall over any unseen roots.

She couldn't really tell what was where in this dark. Especially since the trees blocked off any light the moon would have to offer.

Then,she felt her way across the roots. Hand over hand, she managed to climb up the protruding branches. Some were too small, and she felt their weak grips start to fail.

She was almost there, when it happened. She had underestimated the strength of a small, leefless branch when it started to break. The loud, crackling sound grew ever louder as the branch started to bang against the leaves of the other branches and the tree itself. Lanbriel quickly took off her hand, and attempted to grasp another branch.

Now, the branch attatched to her other hand started failing too. She quickly swung her free hand at the opening-but missed. Then, she tried it again. The second attempt succeeded, and she quickly swung her other hand over and into the hollow depth of the tree. She then used all the strength she could muster, and threw her body deep down, into the dark, leafy trunk.

She tried to move, but that only made her faint faster. She thought she had probably broken a leg, or an arm. She couldn't tell now. Darkness took her.

[ May 21, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Orual]

Dôranna shot a scowl back at the camp as she left to collect firewood. Why was Rhunnaro helping them? It made no sense. No sense at all. And why, in the name of all that was holy, why was Fionel trusting him? Well, yes, he had helped them dispose of Ranchard, but it could all be a front. It could all have been planned. Being overly trusting was a good thing, if you felt like dying.

She swatted a branch away from her face, and cursed under her breath as it tangled in her hair. Her legs ached, her nose was still stinging from the day's fresh sunburn, and she was in a sullen temper. Still, she felt more alive than she had in ages. She had a purpose now, a mission. Something to live for, maybe.

She shook her head to clear it of those foolish thoughts. There was no time for idle dreaming, not while Rhunnaro was in the camp, and the other Hunters Valar-only-knew how close. She had firewood to collect, and it wouldn't collect itself while her head was up in the clouds.

Suddenly she heard a great cracking sound from overhead, and she whipped out her dagger, breathing hard. A crash came after it, and she ran over, her knife still in her hand, to where the sound came from.

She pushed the brush aside and peered cautiously out from behind a near-dead tree, and gasped when she saw Lanbriel, sprawled out on the ground. She quickly approached, knelt down, and checked the girl's pulse. She was alive, but unconscious. Dôranna heaved a sigh of relief, and began feeling for broken bones. She had only gotten up to Lanbriel's left forearm when she heard something in the distance. Not far enough away for comfort, though, and the Elf froze, her dagger ready. She narrowed her ice-blue eyes, and stood in front of Lanbriel, preparing herself to do something she had not done in a long time, something that she dearly hoped that she remembered how to do: fight.

[ May 21, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel stirred slightly, thinking that she was in a long, terrible dream. She carefully opened her eyes, and looked about. She saw someone in front of her- but her blurred vision wouldn't give way, so she could not make out who it was. In the distance, she heard sounds of hooves. Then, something made her realize what had happened.

She quickly gathered herself up, and rubbing her sores, stood behind the other girl, who she finally recognized as Doranna. The elf looked back, surprised at Lanbriel's sudden comeback.

"They... they're coming." Lanbriel whispered to the other girl.

"I know. And there's nothing, nothing we can do."

Lanbriel hated to admit it, but unless the others suddenly realised that the two were missing and quickly managed to come to their aid, they were definately dead.

"I've got an idea. Pick up some rocks, throw them as far as you can. Deeper into the forest. It will lead the hunters away from us."

Lanbriel whispered quickly, still keeping in touch with the continuous beat of the horses' hooves.

"Here, I found a large one."

Lanbriel quickly motioned for Doranna to help her pick it up. Since they had been standing on a hill, their task was more than clear. Together, they lifted the rock, and threw it as high up as they could. Luckily, the hill was long and steep. The rock flew a for a long time, and at the distant bottom, made a loud crashing noise. Then, as this hill was still pretty steep in that area, the rock kept rolling down. Luckily for the two girls, it made some very loud noises banging into trees and other huge stones on the way.

At first, Lanbriel was afraid that the rock didn't make any impact at all in the hunter's direction. But gradually, she noticed that the sound of hooves was growing fainter.

"We did it!"

Lanbriel whispered, still carefull to not suddenly give in their position. They truly had succeeded, because in no time, they heard a loud voice screaming,

"Search! They could not have gotten far."

This distraction proved to be enough. As quick as rabbits, the girls shot off to the camping area.

"THE HUNTERS!"

They cried in unsion.

"They're coming!"

Fionel was the first to approach, Haven by her side.

"We know, Haven heared them approaching."

"We... I.... I heared them coming, and I tried to climb a tree and... I..."

Lanbriel breathlessely tried to tell Fionel, but she just couldn't seem to finish.

"Here, have some water."

The two girls quickly drank the cool, refreshing liquid. Then they quickly told the story, and they all immediately began to plan and prepare.

[Arien]

The hunters continued. They had awoken with no sign of the other three returning, and Ekatran had made it clear that they were not going to wait for them. Shivana did not totally agree with this, but she would not dare challenge him, ever. Before they had left she sat and watched the sun rise. As she did, she toyed with her daggers, slowly spinning them mindlessly, as she stared into the hot rising sun. Her eyes had glinted with hate, she wanted to kill. It had been too long since she had last done it and animals did not satisfy her hunger. She slowly lifted one of her daggers and placed it against her left hand. Then cupping her hand around it, she cut her self slowly. Blood oozed from her clenched fist, and she laughed. She watched it drip momentarily, then when Ekatran’s command came to leave she got up and went to her horse.

It had been a while now and the cut was forming a crimson scab across her hand. She had done it because she was bored, and she had to hold herself back from attacking that smart mouthed Kherug.

“Stop,” whispered Ekatran, bringing his horse to a halt. The other quickly obeyed his command. “Listen,” they all were silent and listened to the hanging morning air. They heard soft footsteps, and then they quickly moved to the forest.

“Into the forest!” shouted Dorlas. And the galloped off in that direction. Shivana hung behind, her eyes searching the area. She could not see anything, though she knew there was something there. She quickly followed the rest into the forest.

[Gorothlammothiel]

Dorlas had led the hunters into thick forest, and Kherug rode swiftly behind him. Ekatran rode hard, but stayed behind them, he was uncomfortable in these woods and slowed his pace.

Shivana approached from behind. "My Lord?" she questionned. He shot an icy glare at her then looked upon her hand. Noticing, she clenched her fist around the reins of her horse. "Ranchard" Ekatran started, "I gave him leave, but he was to return. Yet still he remains alone and apart." Shivana could see an ager building in Ekatran's eyes towards Ranchard. She dared not disobey his orders however much she disagreed with them and she pitied the hunter who had.

A snap distracted Ekatran's attention. It came from a small distance ahead of them. Another, Shivana heard it this time and took a dagger from her belt. Ekatran drew his bow and quickly placed an arrow ready to fire. Aiming into the distance he waited. A movement in the leaves ahead prompted Ekatran to fire, but it was nothing more than the breeze. He lowered his bow. "Ahead" he ordered, "quickly" and with that he rode hard, Shivana followed behind.

No more than a minute or two later Ekatran came upon Dorlas, down from his horse, standing next to a fallen Kherug and his steed. Shivana approached and stepped down, a smile came across her face at the sight of a fallen Kherug. Ekatran also dismounted. Pushing the horse aside, Ekatran approached Kherug. "What happened?" he demanded. Kherug was holding at his arm. "Traps my lord" was his quick reply, "the horse fell pray and I along with it." He bowed his head. It seemed his pride was the only real damage from his fall. Ekatran pulled him up and used his bow to push around the soil a little. Brushing a few leaves he saw the reminants of traps.

"Well laid for a horse at speed. We've some clever slaves this year." Ekatran was infuriated. "A path leads this way" someone commented quietly. "Nay" he shot back, "they would take a path that led into trees to camp. We leave the horses here and make way in that direction on foot." He pointed into the forest directly between two larger trees at which the land seemed to steep downhill.

[Envinyatar]

Chaos had broken out among the slaves. There were cries raised that the Hunters were approaching. ‘No time now for those herbs, Tenzin. Grab your pack and get to your horse.’

Rhûnnaro took to his own mount and surveyed the increasingly disordered scene. Of the seven slaves, two were missing. The rest were in an escalating state of panic, as they began running without direction from the camp. His voice was tight and low, barely audible over the cries of the slaves. ‘We cannot stay to be caught by Ekatran and his madmen. We will head further west into the foothills. Perhaps the girl . . . Fionel . . . can get herself and the others to us.’ He planted the sword she had used earlier upright in the ground. ‘She may have need of this,’ he thought to himself.

Tenzin had brought round his horse, and stood ready to mount up. He paused, pulling his own blade from the sheath at his belt. ‘What about him? Shall I kill him?’

‘Leave him. Let’s go.’

The two rode quickly from the clearing and into the cover of the trees, passing several wild-eyed slaves. One slave, the lone man, limped slowly along as they drew up on him. His right side dragged, and he was bent and tired from the long distance they had already come.

Rhûnnaro pulled his horse beside him and the man halted in his limping advance, looking up into the eyes of the man from Rhûn with hazel eyes quiet and sad, but without fear. An instant of understanding passed between the two men, and Rhûnnaro reached down his hand to grasp the other’s forearm. Moments later, Turos was mounted behind him.

‘Stay quiet. And grasp my belt on either side. We travel quickly.’

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Arien]

Shivana dismounted her horse and examined the area quickly, no slave trap was going to get her. She walked along slowly searching the ground and the surrounding trees.

“What are you doing?” asked Ekatran, “Why do you leave your horse?” He looked very irritable now and she really did not want to upset him.

“My lord, I am searching for traps…..” she turned back round and quickened her pace “…..and slaves,” she whispered to herself. For a few yards she jogged until she came to a smallish clearing. Ahead she could see a figure struggling on the ground. She broke into a run and came up to the person. It was Ranchard.

“Hello…” she said half laughing at the bonds around him, “slaves too much for you to handle eh?” She stood above him with one hand on her hip, she tilted her head to the side. “Not quite the killer Ekatran thought you were? Not surprised….too full of yourself. ” she smiled as he struggled to untie himself. “Want some help?” she bent down behind him when she heard Ekatran’s voice.

“Stop Shivana!”

[ May 23, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

OCC: The end of this post is about ten minutes before Arien's post.

"This way, quickly, don't panic!" Fionel yelled. Absolutely no attention was paid to her voice of reason. She was about to open her mouth again, when two sticks, abandoned by Haven, caught her eye, forming an idea. Oh, cruel it was, certainly, and unfair, but by Eru it would get them moving...

Grabbing the sticks she held one diagonally across the other, and smacked it down hard, producing a whip-like sound. That was the point- and it worked. The sound of the whip made the slaves quiet immediately, out of habit. Fionel threw the sticks down, but there was no time to apologise. She turned to see if she could spot Rhunnaro or his companion, but as she did so, she stumbled against an object sticking straight up in the ground. A sword- her sword- its hilt pointing slightly in one direction. Fionel followed the way it pointed and, sure enough, saw the two horses making off- but there were three figures. Squinting she saw that one of them held his leg oddly- so Turos was with them. Good. Turning back to the slaves, she waved in that direction.

"Go! Rhunnaro will help us, if we follow him! Go!" Or I hope he will... The slaves surged past her and she followed, in the midst of them. But as Desolyn passed her, Fionel saw the look of disgust on her face- Fionel would pay for the stick trick. But she put it out of her mind for the moment, concentrating on taking her own advice and following the horsemen. But there seemed to be a smaller number of them than before...She did a quick check. Turos was with Rhunnaro, herself, Desolyn, Haven, Santiara...that was only five! She ran through in her mind and realised, even in her panicky state, that Dôranna and Lanbriel were missing.

"Two of us are missing- I'm going back." Fionel turned and began to go and the others, confused, turned with her. Fionel looked desperately at Desolyn and, rolling her eyes, the other took charge, calling to the rest to keep going and follow her. Fionel nodded and turned back. She jogged fast to the camp and scanned the empty clearing, then began to go around the outskirts of the forest. She heard breathing and turned to see Haven- the girl had followed her. She grinned and dipped her head to her, then got back to searching. At that moment, with excellent timing, Lanbriel and Dôranna shot out of the forest, eyes wide, panting. They stuttered and stammered for a moment, before Fionel handed them the water container which she had had the prescence of mind to bring. They gulped at the water and hastily told their story. Fionel nodded grimly. "You did well, and thought quickly. You may have bought us some extra time." She pointed in the direction the others were running. "Go, follow them and Rhunnaro- they will help. I know you're tired, but please. We're coming as well."

Haven also nodded, but there was a strange distraction in her eyes. Suddenly they sharpened, and for a moment were almost pleading. "You will come as well, won't you? Don't leave us Fionel, don't turn to the Hunters."

Fionel stared at her, shocked, then outraged. "How dare you? How could I? And why would you think that-" She looked closely. The impassive look had once more come over Haven's eyes. A shiver ran down Fionel's spine- the Hunt was affected some of them mentally as well as straining them physically. Her voice became more gentle, and she opened her mouth to say she would come as well, when she caught sight of Ranchard.

He was still bound and gagged, and sat on the floor, no longer straining wildly, but watching them, his eyes bright and cruel. Fionel thought of the things she had heard of him, the things he had done, both to animals...and to slaves. He was sitting in the shade of a tree, and from the West, where the others were running, he would not be able to be seen. A glitter in the corner of her vision reminded her that the sword was still there. She paused, the jerked as if she had heard something in the woods, causing the others to do the same. She turned to them, almost working on auto-pilot as a part of her brain which she had never known existed started to come into play, but her voice was perfectly convincing. "They come nearer- go, I will draw them off then follow. Don't worry," She cut off Lanbriel's protests. "I will be fine, I can run fast and I will...do some damage to the Hunters. Go!"

They hovered for a moment, but all three were keen to get away, and this over ruled their concern. Lanbriel grasped Fionel's hands for a moment in a silent blessing, then they were off.

Fionel headed into the forest, counted to five as she waited, then came out. She drew the sword slowly from the ground, she turned to face Ranchard. She paced slowly towards him, the sword still lowered, its point to the ground. Ranchard was still watching her, his eyes impassive and arrogant- he still saw her as nothing, not even a threat, even when she held the sword. When she spoke, the slave's voice was quiet, and a perfect calm had settled over her.

"Are you scared, Ranchard?"

He still just looked at her.

"Are you scared of me, Ranchard, slavemaster?"

Still nothing. She raised the sword, and pointed it towards him, her arm steady. She felt oddly excited, and for the first time, she saw an edge of doubt and, yes, fear in her eyes.

"Do you feel what your victims felt? Oh, but what about now?" Saying so, she nicked his cheek with the tip of the sword, and the shock made the big man reel. Fionel couldnt help the grin which came onto her face.

What if...

The tip of the sword was centimetres from his face, and she moved it slowly from left to right to left, watching his eyes follow it.

What if...

She had the power to make this sadistic creature pay for all the time she had been there, all the family she had lost, all the friends they had killed...

What if....

A noise distracted her, a noise from the forest, and she jerked forward as if something in her had changed. Her arm suddenly began to shake as she realised what she had almost done, and she almost dropped the sword. Aye, what if...what if she had lost her soul there, what if she had killed him...

What if she had become as bad as him?

Grasping the sword still, she turned and ran.

[Beruthiel]

Santiara watched as Fionel ran off to the forest to find Lanbriel and Dôranna.
Moments later Haven turned around and ran after her. "Haven!" She cried out to her, "Fionel is fine on her own! Don't go!" but the girl had already ran on without listening to her. She was about to follow her but she looked ahead and saw that Des and Rhûnnaro were getting further and further away.
Reluctantly she turned her back to the forest and ran after Des and the Easterling man.

"Desolyn!" she panted when she finally caught up with her. "Haven went after Fionel, I tried to stop her but she couldn't hear me."

[ May 23, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]

[Frodess]

Dorlas sensed something was about to happen. He could not help but smile at this insanity. Perhaps he would catch one of those fools. Yes, those fools. He grinned to himself and looked to Shivanna. She was stretched out like a cat ready to pounce. Something told him--not for the first time--that sheb would have made a better wife. . .but that was nothing. Now was the time for glory.

"For Galéwyn!" cried he in his eagerness, and whipped up his horse. Yes, he would have at least one. . .or at least scare the thing so that it would run and make the Hunt that much sweeter.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel ran, head down, arms working frantically, not even taking her own advice to go at a normal pace. She had heard them, so close...she swore she had almost been able to hear the horses breathing. She had never thought she could be this afraid, but when they had been that close...

She was only a few paces behind the rest when she heard the Hunters erupt out of the forest. She didn't dare turn around, she simply kept on running, the others around her doing the same. The clearing where the Hunters were was only ten minutes behind her by foot; that distance would be easily eaten up by the horses hooves. It would be easier to just give up now...No! She would not give in, and neither would the others, not until the bitter end, and to be sure that couldnt be far away now...

"They...they aren't catching u-up." Santiara panted. "Should..shouldn't they have...caught up...now?"

Fionel glanced at the other and saw a pleading look in her eyes- the girl wanted - needed - to know where the Hunters were, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her eyes silently asked Fionel to do it for her. As if I asked for leadership... Fionel took a breath...but she couldnt do it. She just couldnt do it.

A hill was rising in front of them, and it was only about 20 metres until they would go over the top, putting them out of the sight of the Hunters- not that it would help much. Fionel put on a final spurt, although her legs screamed in protest, and threw herself over, landing on her side, breathing heavily, not able to run for the moment. Seconds later the others did the same, all in a similar state. As they lay there, panting, Fionel shot another look at Santiara. The girl nodded, and together, the pair looked over the top. And below them a grisly sight could be seen coming into play. Something had indeed delayed the Hunters, for they had found Ranchard...

[Gorothlammothiel]

“Stop Shivana!”

Ekatran stepped forward as Shivana reclined from the bound Ranchard. "Not quite the hunter I thought you were indeed, Ranchard" he forced the words from his mouth as he contined to walk nearer to him. Ekatran drew his sword from the scabbard at his side.

Holding it at length in front of him Ekatran pushed the blade towards Ranchards face. He ran the cold metal edge along his chin and followed it round to the other side, pushing the head as he went. He noticed blood on one side of Ranchards face, a recent wound. Ekatran let out a laugh.

"Not only do you allow yourself to be captured by them, you let one of the slaves draw your blood? I was mistaken earlier Shivana" he turned to her who was now standing behind him, keeping out of the way. She had heard the stories. Ekatran continued, "I was mistaken, we do not have clever slaves," he turned back to Ranchard, "we've incompetent hunters!" Ekatran's voice seemed to echo through the trees.

He stepped back, his feet fell upon a object which was foreign to the forest floor. Bending down he moved away the leaves and raised a small blade. There was blood on the end. Ekatran stood up. "This? This is what they used?" He forced the blade closer to Ranchard's face, who was clearly now becomming uncomftable and fearful. "The slaves carried no weapons, this blade is one of our own!" he was becoming enraged. He studied it for a moment, then let out a deep breath and clenched the blade firmly in his hand. A crimson stream flowed heavily from the grasp. "Rhunnaro."

That sudden realisation seemed to be the last justification Ekatran needed. Whether it was Ranchard's current situation or the disobedience of Rhunnaro, he didn't care. He dropped the blade and raised his own, paying no heed to the blood which poured from his palm. Stepping again to Ranchard he pushed the blade to his face though was clever to not break the skin, yet. Leaning into Ranchard's face Ekatran opened his mouth to whisper something to him...

"Ekatran, no"

The outburst from behind him caused Ekatran to turn round with great force, and anger, though still pressing the blade firmly against Ranchard's neck.

[Envinyatar]

The horses picked their way through the dense cover of the trees. The branches were thick above the three silent riders, cutting out the dim light from above. Ahead they saw a greater light. A clearing, it was, near the edge of the foothills, a rocky outcropping defining its farther edge.

‘Bring the horses round to the opposite side there, out of sight for any who approach.’ The two urged their horses round the edge of the clearing, taking care not to leave tracks in the dirt and grassy areas where the trees had stopped.

‘We can regroup here. When there is a little more light, I’ll go back and find the others.’ Or what remains of them . . . he thought grimly to himself.

Turos was assisted to the ground. He and Tenzin shared a few sips from a water skin and a piece of traveler’s bread, then rested, their backs against the stone in the rocky lee.

Rhûnnaro climbed to the top of the rocks, keeping low, his senses alert for any sounds or movement from the east.

[Beruthiel]

Santiara's legs were aching from running up the hill, her feet were covered in blisters from her sandals which were slowly falling apart. The slaves were sprawled on the ground, all of them so tired from running.

Fionel hadn't said anything but the look in her eyes had told Santiara more than enough. The hunters had been close behind her alright, she could see the fear in her eyes.

"We can't stay here long." She said quietly, voicing what everyone was thinking, but even the thought of running again made her feel sick. Peeking back down the hill, Santiara could hear a shout...A hunter.

[ May 24, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven panted uncontrollably. The second she had thrown herself over the hill was the second she let every muscle relax. She let herself roll halfway down the hill, and watched as a few of the other slaves came tumbling after. They all laid there, sprawling over the hill, tired to the point of temporary paralysis.

This is too much. Haven thought to herself. It was all too much to bear...almost. Haven felt like sleeping, but her aching leg muscles were in so much pain she could only lay wide-eyed and stare at the sky. Haven felt like screaming with all her frustration, but did not want to confuse any of her fellow slaves.

"We can't stay here long." Haven almost thought she had only imagined Santiara's voice nearby. The girl's voice echoed in Haven's ears and sounded eerily strange in the silence that had enveloped Haven's senses. Just as Santiara had spoken, a loud cry rang out over the hilltop.

"We've got to go," Haven heavily breathed out the words, the words everyone feared to hear one more time and still acknowledged as the only thing to do. "Now."

No one but Haven made an immediate move to leave. Haven felt as though she was the most run-down of all the slaves, and still she knew that every other slave in the group wanted freedom - and they wouldn't get it by sitting around catching their breath. Haven had the distinct urge to discard her torn sandals, but knew that would be foolish, and only a sign to the hunters of which way they had gone.

"Get up!" Haven cried wearily. Fionel jumped up, and the other slaves followed her example. Everyone followed Fionel's example. It was as if there had been some silent unanimous vote that she be the role model of the hunted slaves. "Lets go!"

[ May 25, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel ran on, not looking back - afraid to see who, or what was behind her, looking ahead, to the free lands that could be hers to wander someday. If only...if only she made it now.

The slaves were coming upon a hill. She saw the front ones jumping right over it. She followed their example, and soon enough felt herself rolling crazily down the other side. Although this was causing her much pain, ripping open old whip-scars, her muscles didn't have the power to stop her. She just let herself reach the bottom, and lie there for a few seconds.

Then she suddenly realized what she was doing. Only two or three seconds had passed since she reached the bottom, and she was already half asleep.

"No!" She said quietly, getting up.

She looked around herself. Beside her, a few of the slaves were cautiously getting up. At the top of the hill were Fionel and Santiara, looking over, apparently to check on the hopefully negative process of the hunters.

Forcing every muscle in her body to obey, she carefully got on all fours, and clambered up the hill. The hill was small, so she got to the top quickly. She popped her head up beside the two slaves, and looked over at the partly grassy terrain ahead.

At first, there was not much to see as part of the field was covered with lush, thick foliage. But in the distance, she could vaguely make out the hazy forms of people. Hunters, she thought.

But what was delaying them? For surely, they would have caught up with the slave-group by now...
Suddenly, she heard a loud cry. The hunters had found Ranchard! At that moment of realization, Haven shouted "Get up!"

Fionel instantly did so, and following her were the rest of the slaves. As quick as speeding arrows, they darted off into the vast, grassy land ahead of them.

[ May 25, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"We've got to go. Now."

Fionel opened her eyes and looked at Haven. The girl's eyes were wild, and she had now stood.

"Get up!" Haven's voice was weary but anxious and she looked as if at any moment she would flee, as if any small noise would make her run. Fionel gazed at her wearily, then got to her feet. As soon as she did so, the others also got up. She tugged the sword from the ground where she had deposited it and, because she didnt have a sheath, would just have to be content holding it. She sensed the others looking at it, with a mixture of awe, fear, and resentment, but Haven's next call distracted from it, although it was shouted over her shoulder as she had already set off. "Lets go!"

"Aye, we head West- that is the direction Rhunnaro and Tenzin went, and Turos, and the direction Minas Tirith lies." Fionel agreed. The map was emblazened on her mind, hope in a solid form. So, with many a-sigh, they set off running once more, but soon were met by Rhunnaro. A look of complete astonishment settled itself on the Rhun man's features, and he stared at Fionel as if she was a ghost, holding his horse by its halter. Fionel had never been so glad to see anyone, and she saw something like what she felt in the man's eyes. No, surely she must have imagined it...

"Alive? All of you, alive?" He asked, incredulous. Fionel grinned at him and held out her sword.

"It would take more than that to get rid of us yet, Rhunnaro."

He returned the smile and took her sword, sliding it into a sheath attached to his saddle. Mounting up once again, he trotted with them running around him back to Tenzin and Turos. Fionel took out the map, holding it up to him.

"I suggest we keep on heading West. That way, if I'm right, we should soon reach the Morgul road, and by following the roads, we should be able to get to Minas Tirith, and be able to cross the Mountains of Shadow. But we could have a problem getting over, just a group of slaves..." She looked up at him, her eyes hopeful, but subtly so, but when she next spoke it almost seemed as if she had changed the subject. "In which direction are you headed?"

[Envinyatar]

The map was burned into his memory, but he took it from her anyway, and listened to her words. Rhûnnaro reined in his mount, and got down. The slaves gathered round, keeping a certain distance from him. He motioned them closer, and crouched down, spreading the map on the ground.

‘This is where Tenzin and I are bound. Here where the Shadow Mountains narrow and the river runs down from the mountains to The Harad Road.’ His finger tapped lightly at a point just south of their present position. ‘We will not follow the river once we have left the mountains, but will cut straight west, through Southern Ithilien until we reach The Great River, the Anduin.’

He looked up at Fionel to see if she were following his line of thought. She traced with her slim finger the route to the crossing at Pelargir and then moved north to Minas Tirith.

‘Yes, we should be safe there, on the western side of the Anduin’ he told her. His finger took up the route she had followed and continued it on north, moving east through Northern Ithilien, coming to rest just northeast of the Eastern Sea, in the steppes of Rhûn. 'We will stop in Minas Tirith only long enough to rest and replenish our supplies, then we are bound through the Brown Lands to our home, here at the eastern borders of these plains, in the foothills of the great mountains.’

He watched her face as he spoke, picking up a fleeting expression of hope and then hesitancy.

‘We will see you to Minas Tirith if that is your desire, to travel with us.’ He paused for a moment considering his next words. ‘You had not thought beyond escape, had you? What will you do when you are in that great stone city. Who will take you in? Have you family there to see to you?’

She looked uncomfortable at the question. ‘No need to answer that now. But is something you should consider. You would not wish to trade slavery of one sort for slavery of another.’

He stood and rolling the map returned it to her. Mounting his horse, he motioned them forward, taking them back swiftly to where Tenzin and Turos waited.

[ May 27, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Orual]

Dôranna walked along with the company, twisting her hair into a bun and pulling it back out, twisting and pulling, twisting and pulling. She had the feeling that if she did not occupy her hands somehow, she would end up strangling someone.

The incident with Lanbriel had put her off of her ease, and when she was not fiddling with her hair she found herself fingering the hilt of her dagger. But what bothered her most was Rhûnnaro. After he had laid out his plans, it hit her that he really wanted to help them. Or at least wasn't out to kill them. It puzzled her, and intrigued her. What could he get out of it? From her experience, Easterlings only did anything when they could get something out of it.

She walked forward in the line that Rhûnnaro had set up, shooting him a penetrating look. He returned it calmly, and to her embarrassment she looked down. A perplexing man, indeed. She kicked at the ground a little, then concentrated on keeping up with the others.

[ May 26, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro halted at the edges of the clearing and gave a sharp whistle, the call of a small hawk as it signals its approach to its partner. He was answered in kind, and then proceeded around the clearing to the rocky outcropping where the two others waited. He let the slaves go first, keeping their tired, ragged line in sight, reminding them to stay off the grass and dirt of the clearing.

Tenzin came round the rocks, shading his eyes as they approached, and waved to Rhûnnaro. His eyes fell on the young woman who led the group. Her grey eyes met his, as she unconsciously ran her fingers tiredly through her short, cropped hair, and looking away quickly, wiped the dust from her cheeks in afterthought.

The young man approached and held out a skin of water to her, leaning toward her, speaking something softly.

Rhûnnaro took in the scene with interest, his sharp brown eyes missing nothing . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

Leading the line of slaves around the rocks, Fionel squinted against the sun to see a man come our from behind the rocks. He waved to Rhunnaro, then his eyes turned to the group of slaves.

They had been moving for several hours, kept going by Rhunnaro, and the sun had been beating down harder than the days before. Fionel's back ached where the whips of the easterlings had stung her, especially those inflicted on the day of and the day before the Hunt Selection. Late afternoon approached now though, and the sun was less harsh than it had been. As they came into the clearing, most of the slaves slowed at the site of Turos and Tenzin, some approaching the cripple with excitement, telling him of what had gone on. But Tenzin stood alone for a while. Fionel, still walking slowly, watched him from under her eyelashes, before looking up, realising he was watching her, her grey gaze returning his. She ran her hands through her hair subconciously, and looked away, knowing she must look a right state, brushing her hands across her cheeks in an attempt to brush away the dirt, wishing she had a mirror. But why? Why do you wish you had a mirror, he is just an easterling...

Or was he? She turned as she heard him stop beside her, and he held a water-skin out to her, his soft brown eyes still on her.

"A drink, Lady?" His voice was soft and seemed almost musical.

"Fionel. My name is Fionel." Fionel smiled slightly nervously and took the water-skin from him. As she did so, her fingers brushed against his, and she looked down, pulling back her fingers nervously, out of habit, murmering an apology or something. As she looked, she saw his fingers were indeed very slim and long, like her own, skilled fingers. Getting a grip on herself she took the skin, drinking from it thirstily, then handed it back. He smiled, his teeth very white against his tanned face. Why am I noticing all the details?! She tried to remember what she had heard of Tenzin...a healer, was he?

"Thank you. I...thankyou." She smiled again, that nervous, uncharacteristic smile, and he inclined his head to her, attaching the skin to his belt again. Rhunnaro gave a bird-like whistle again, one hand pointing in the direction they were going, and Tenzin nodded at him, before moving off to get his horse. Fionel watched him go, then resumed her walking again- it was impossible to move fast in the heat. But her mind was troubled; Rhunnaro's words kept returning to her.

"You had not thought beyond escape, had you? What will you do when you are in that great stone city. Who will take you in? Have you family there to see to you?"

No, no family. The easterling slave catchers had been very thorough, taking all the young men and women in the village, including her two older brothers and her mother, and she had never seen them again, as they were taken to a different part of Nurn, a place where there were thousands of slaves, and it was impossible to find just one. Her father had caused trouble, seriously injuring an easterling, and they had dealt with it in the only way they seemed to know how. No, she had no family any more.

You would not wish to trade slavery of one sort for slavery of another

Fionel mused on those words. She knew what slavery it was that he talked off, one that especially used young women, but she hadn't even thought about it. The White City had seemed so inviting, and when Fionel thought of the trips she and her mother had made there when she was a child, it had seemed to be a haven, where all would be well and they would be safe, and life would be perfect...

How had she thought that could ever be? Who would even look at them now? Was there even a chance that anyone would look at the tanned, scarred young woman in ragged clothing and remember Elsa the trader's daughter? Not a chance.

"So what do you think you will do when you reach Minas Tirith?"

Her thoughts, spoken aloud from directly beside her ear, made Fionel jump, startled, and she staggered slightly on a rock on the ground. Tenzin's arm shot out instinctively, catching her around her waist. She stiffened, then relaxed, her hand on his arm, and for a moment they remained so, Fionel looking into the man's sharp eyes. Then she straightened up, muttering a curt thanks, and continued walking, confused by this young man's kindness and by the way he had reflected her thoughts...confused by the way she had felt when he caught her...

[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro urged them more deeply into the thick scrubby forest that outlined the margins of the foothills. There would be more cover for them, more opportunity to hide if needed, or to attack.

Tenzin led the group, Turos mounted behind him. Rhûnnaro brought up the rear of the ragged column. Five young women and one Elf. The going was slow, they were weary, growing more tired by the moment, their steps stumbling.

His horse arched his neck and shook insistently at his bridle, pulling his head to the left. Rhûnnaro reined him in and lifting his head, took in the scents carried on the south wind. The rich green smell of trees overlaid a myriad of other odors. Next came the thick deep smell of the forest floor - a mixture of decaying leaves, and the scents of animals marking their territories, and dark rich dirt. Something faint broke through briefly here and there. A fresh scent. He took a long deep breath and closed his eyes to sort it out.

Water! Nearby and to the south. He whistled sharply to Tenzin, motioning him to turn left.

The women were nearly done in by the time they reached the small stream flowing out of the base of a rocky hillock. Tenzin signaled a stop and they stumbled toward the water, kneeling down on the bank, scooping it up to slake their thirst.

‘’We’ll rest here for a while. Fill the waterskins, and get something from the pack that Tenzin hands round to take the hunger from your bellies. We’ll push on again soon.’

They were silent, their remaining energy bent on chewing the dried meats and hard waybread. Footsore and hot from their exertions, they sat for the most part with their feet dangling in the little stream.

Rhûnnaro watched as Tenzin took round a small pot of herbed unguent for their sores and blisters, speaking quietly to each one, most hesitant still at taking something from an Easterling.

When he was done, the older man called the younger to him. ‘While we have time, we should tip the arrows. We may need them soon.’ Tenzin, nodding agreement, went quickly to fetch the quiver of black fletched arrows and the sealed crock he had brought, carefully wrapped in layers of thick cloth.

While he was doing this, Rhûnnaro called for the group’s attention. ‘You saw, from the map that Fionel has, where Tenzin and I are bound. I need to know who will choose to go with us to Minas Tirith and who wishes to strike out on their own.’ He looked from person to person, meeting their gaze with his own. ‘I have no wish to keep you with me if that is not your choice. Though I must tell you I think it unwise to leave the group. There is safety in greater numbers should we have to face the Hunters.’

The expressions on the faces of the young women were guarded, and they said nothing as he spoke.

‘You are not my slaves,’ he continued, ‘and I will no longer be your master. Make your decisions and come to me within the hour. We will arm those who wish to go in another direction and give you some food. And after that is done, those who are still with us will leave, traveling south and west, further into the mountains.’

He withdrew, leaving them to talk among themselves, and came to where Tenzin sat on the ground, a distance away, dipping the heads of the arrows into the black oily liquid in the jar, and resting them carefully on a flat rock to dry.

[Brinniel]

The slaves talked among themselves, each eagerly making up their minds on what they would do next. None had expected to get this far and at this point, any wrong move could be fatal.

As the slaves spoke in their excited voices, Desolyn sat alone several feet away, hugging her knees as she grimaced in pain. The Hunt had taken its toll on her. The wounds on her back had reopened multiple times, bleeding through her tunic. Her knees ached from weariness of travel. And though Desolyn's feet were calloused from never wearing shoes, they still blistered and bled constantly. Fearing that her blood may mark a trail, Des had earlier binded her feet in haste with pieces of her rags, but she soon discovered that it was useless, as the rags were almost immediately torn to shreds. To make it worse, Desolyn now found herself in an internal struggle. She had heard what Rhunnaro had asked Fionel earlier and ever since, the question troubled her greatly.

"You had not thought beyond escape, had you? What will you do when you are in that great stone city. Who will take you in? Have you family there to see to you?"

All her life, Des had dreamed of escape, but she had never once thought of succeeding. What would she do once she reached Minas Tirith? Being born into slavery, her mother was the only family Desolyn ever knew and she was long dead. Who would take her in? Being dark-skinned, Des looked no less an easterling than those who hunted her. Would any Gondorian ever trust or accept her for who she was? And as she thought harder about it, Desolyn began to become even more troubled. What was freedom, anyway? She had never experienced it before. What did a free person do? Whatever opportunities a free person had, Des knew she was more limited than the average human. She was illiterate and had no skills in anything except for farming. And at this point, even farming seemed useless with no money to buy land.

Desolyn now began to wonder why she ever wanted to escape bondage. What was the point? To become a beggar on the streets? At least as a slave she was given food and shelter. Perhaps Des should give up altogether and let the hunters have her. She thought about how happy they would be to finally have a kill. The girl shuddered. No, she couldn't let that happen.

Desolyn glanced over at the group of slaves, then at Turos. He was listening carefully to what each slave had to say, nodding every once and a while. He did not voice much in opinion; he hardly ever did. Sadness welled up inside Desolyn as she thought of this man. Before the accident, Turos always seemed so cheerful and even enthusiastic about his work. He was a strong man and was favored by the easterlings. But now the easterlings found him useless, and as it seemed, so did he. Attempting to push her own troubles aside, Des thought of the troubles of Turos. I suppose I could be worse off, she thought to herself. But even so, Desolyn could not help but think of what would become of herself.

[ May 28, 2003: Message edited by: Brinniel ]

[Orual]

Dôranna smiled as she spoke with the others, talking about what she would do when she got home, where she would go first, what the first thing she would say to her parents would be. Well, she told most of it, anyway. She did not mention her fiancé. She wasn't ready yet.

She glanced around idly, and her eyes caught on Desolyn, sitting by herself a few yards away. The young woman--Dôranna no longer thought of any of her companions as 'girls' or 'boys', not after she had seen them in action--the young woman was hugging her knees to her, a weary and pained look in her eyes. The Elf excused herself from the conversation and crawled over to Desolyn. She winced at the blood that caked the rags on the woman's feet, and she was sure that that was not the extent of her injuries. Her own body was not in the best shape, but she had managed to get away with minimal damage.

"Does it hurt much?" Dôranna asked sympathetically. Startled out of her thoughts, Desolyn just frowned at her for a moment, and Dôranna noticed some light blood stains on her back. "I have some small skill in healing. My mother taught me how. I wish I had better herbs with me, but nothing useful grows in Nurn." She struggled with herself for a moment, trying to force the bitterness out of her voice. "I can't fix it all, but I might be able to make it hurt a little less." She sat on her heels, waiting for Desolyn's response.

[Envinyatar]

The two men worked quickly on the arrows. There were fifteen of the black feathered shafts with the sharp, barbed metal tips, each having to be dipped three times in the thick, oily substance and allowed to dry between coatings. Once done, Tenzin corked the small crock securely, taking care not to get any of the substance on his fingers, then secured the cork with leather lashings, and placed the crock safely back in its wrappings and into his pack.

‘Take your salve round once again, Tenzin. Some did not use it the first time, and they will need it if we are to push on. Have them see to their feet, and put some on the cuts I see bleeding through the backs of their shirts. We will need to travel swiftly, and they cannot be held back by pain.’ He looked toward the group which sat a distance away, noting that Turos sat quietly on the edges.

‘Ask the man, Turos, to come to me. I would speak with him.’

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel sat by a tree, her legs crossed. She looked up at the sky, her last reminder of what freedom was. Rhunnaro had told them to think about what they were to do: seek their own individual paths, or to come with the group.

She didn't know what to do. What would be the point of going to Minas Tirith? Her father was long dead, and her mother had disappeared when she was but a child. All her family had either died in battle or lived too far off.

She had no money, nothing to help her start her life anew. She at least could have had something to sell, but no. Other than her ripped, dirty clothes, and her rusty, chipped dagger she had nothing.

Maybe, maybe she could start her life in the wilderness, once they got out of Nurn? Maybe she could build a shelter and live out her days there. By that time, the hunt would be over, and she would be free. She would have no need for people, as they would have no need for her.

No, these thoughts would be for another time. When she was poor and hungry, maybe that's when she would put this backup plan in use.

She suddenly relized that she had gone from staring up at the sky to twiddling a giant, soft green leaf in her hands. The leaf was comfortable to hold. All this was making her a little agitated, thinking about her future. She needed to tear at something. Without thinking, she started trying to rip the leaf.

No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't give! It was soft, pleasant to the touch, but it just wouldn't rip! Suddenly, she had an idea. She looked up at the tree she was leaning on. There were tons of similar-looking leaves up above! She ripped a few off, and wrapped them about one of her worst injuries - on her arm. There was a gash, still slightly bleeding, from when she had rolled down the hill. She wrapped the leaves around her arm, where the gash was, and tied it all with a strong piece of the long grass.

Her idea worked! The leaf stayed firmly in place. It worked like a miracle. It was soft, preventing any uncomfort to the wound, and strong, not ripping no matter what she did to it. The grass held it firm and tight, but not too tight.
She was not very good at healing, but she did have some teaching a little before she was taken into slavery. They would all apply their own medicines, but at least she had finally found a good bandage.
She stood up, and shouted to the rest of the slaves.
"I think I found what you all need."

No more needed to be said, as she waved her wrapped arm at the others. They all came rushing around her, trying to be the first ones to see how the bandage worked.

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Ah, excitement. Well, she's using her brain anyway."

Fionel opened her eyes and turned her head to see Tenzin's thin lipped smile. She nodded and closed her eyes again. There was a slightly put off silence, before Tenzin spoke again. "Your back- I can see it is bleeding, the same as Desolyn's. Have you put anything on it yet?"

Fionel shook her head then, as an afterthought, replied. "No, I think maybe it would be best left alone. It will heal in time."

"And if that time was shorter?" He persisted. "I have some healing knowledge, and some salve. Have you need of some?"

Fionel opened her eyes, surprised, and stared at the young man who held out the small pot of salve suspiciously. He would help her? But why? Once again the question which had been growing in her mind came back: why were Rhunnaro and Tenzin helping them anyway? But the salve would be cooling and her back was sore, each mark almost as painful now they had split as they had been when first inflicted. After a moment, she nodded, taking the salve from him. But how was she going to get to her back? She scooped out an amount of the salve and scraped it off onto one of the large rubbery leaves which lay around, so it acted as a palette. Then she handed the pot back to Tenzin in quite a definite motion. "Thankyou." She said, gratefully but firmly.

She began to apply the lotion to her feet and it was indeed very cooling on the blistered and the scrapes where the cheap sandals had rubbed or given in completely. She closed her eyes once more, sighing happily as she massaged it into her feet, living in the moment. But when she opened her eyes again to get some more, Turos was still there. Haven't you got others to help? Said her look, but Tenzin remained unmoving, looking past her at the group around the leaves, now binding the makeshift bandages onto the cuts on their limbs. So he had seen them, and she was last. She eyed Tenzin warily and he seemed to sense her gaze and returned it. She looked away quickly, once more out of habit of not meeting the eyes of the easterlings.

She finished her feet and, with some difficulty, began on her back. She winced as one ragged nail scraped one of the rawer cuts, but carried on, although it was difficult to reach all of her back. It soon became evident that, as she had suspected, she would not be able to reach all of her back, or not well. Turos turned back to her and his look was almost exasperated, but the proud Fionel was not prepared to ask for help from an easterling. Once again to her surprise, Tenzin offered it.

"Oh, come here." He unscrewed the lid of the salve and walked towards her, kneeling down behind her. Fionel quickly scrabbled away.

"No, no- I will do fine, thankyou."

"Fionel, we need to move fast, and Rhunnaro specifically said that you all can't be held back by pain, in back or foot." Once more he moved around. This time Fionel's arm shot out, catching him on the arm, more a reflex than anything else, her ragged nails, scratching his arm. He moved back a step, hand on arm, then took it off and raised an eyebrow at the slave on the ground.

"Ouch?"

Fionel sighed, almost ashamed of what she had done. "That was...unnecessary. I'm.." She couldnt bring herself to apologise, but he seemed to see it anyway, inclining his head. He tried again, more hesitantly this time. "May I?"

Fionel eyed him warily again, then nodded. "Please."

Tenzin moved around behind her, kneeling up, the salve in his hand. He scooped a small amount onto his fingers and, very carefully and slowly, as if he was worried Fionel would bolt or lash out again, began to rub it into her back. At first she stiffened, then relaxed as the lashes began to feel better. After a few rather awkward moments, Tenzin withdrew.

"Done." Fionel thought she could hear a hint of a smile in his voice and smiled sheepishly at him. He returned it, and Fionel felt that something else was needed, beside her thanks.

"So you will head back to Rhun with Rhunnaro? What will you do there?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven stared out over the plains, and yet she nodded agreement or shook her head in disagreement as the other slaves discussed. What would she do? It was a fork in the road, and she had to decide which way to go. Lanbriel offered her leaf healing to the group, and Haven sat there, knowing that the only wounds she had were from running without sandals.

Haven's skills were in housework and caretaking, not hard labor and field working like all the other slaves. Perhaps some rich merchant or someone to that extent would not mind a maid, or a servant at the very least. It would not be slavery...

Oh, how Haven wished she could ask Jamilah and Jovanna what she should do. They were just children, but they always had straightforward answers. Always simple answers that were no longer than three words, but answers nonetheless. To them, no one needed a reason to do anything, just an answer.

"I want to just stay here," Haven muttered irritably. The moment she said it, she regretted it. She hoped none of the other slaves had heard, so as not to think Haven was weak. Haven just didn't want to go on anymore.

Might as well try and survive. A part of Haven thought. And that's my answer. No need for reasons.

Haven stood and walked over to the older easterling. He seemed to be waiting for someone or something, but Haven decided to tell him her decision now, lest she change her mind.

"Sir," Haven began, using the accustomed term. "I just have to know for myself, if there is a greener side. I think I'll go with you."

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Brinniel]

"There are others who have ways to ease your pain if you wish not to take up my offer," Doranna continued. She looked at Desolyn kindly.

This was the first time the elf had ever spoken to Des. The girl had always been curious about Doranna; there weren't very many elves in Nurn. She had wondered what it was like to be an elf; she had heard once that elves were immortal, and some had been living for thousands of years without even a singe wrinkle to show for it.

Looking at Doranna brought answers to the questions Desolyn had about elves. She could tell by the weariness in Doranna's face that the elf had been a slave longer than any of the slaves had even lived. She had seen more and she knew more. Staring into the elf's eyes, Des could see that Doranna had experienced much more pain than the girl had ever felt. And still, the elf was willing to do whatever she could to help the girl.

Desolyn had heard that elves were excellent healers, and she thought that though Doranna may not be able to heal her wounds, whatever she did would be more helpful than Tenzin's salve. Besides, Des felt more comfortable knowing that another slave would be touching her wounds rather than an easterling.

Desolyn gave the elf a small smile. "I would greatly appreciate anything you can do to ease my pain, Doranna."

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: Brinniel ]

[Envinyatar]

‘Yes,’ he said, securing the top back on the pot of salve, ‘I am traveling back to Rhûn. My family . . . my mother is there. I have not seen her in five years.’ Tenzin fingered the greenstone carved horse that hung on a slender cord about his neck, looking down at the ground with saddened eyes for the briefest of moments and remembering the brief touch of his father’s fingers as he placed it over his head. ‘It was my father’s wish that Rhûnnaro see me safely back there with her.’

‘What will I do? I am one of three children. My two sisters are older than I, and already have chosen their husbands. They will have their own pieces of land now, beneath the wide blue skies of our valley, and fine fat babies for Uncle Tenzin to play with and give sweets to.’ His face lit up when he spoke of this, the desire strong in him to be there among them once again.

‘And one day,’ he went on, speaking low, and almost to himself, ‘a woman will choose me for her husband, and there will be the lively cries of my own sons and daughters, ringing through our own house. I will be a healer among my people, for I have studied that art here, and have some small talent for it.’

He picked up a small stick which lay on the ground beside him, and drew a series of random designs in the dirt, his face a study in considered certainty. ‘My wife will have her own garden, and the running of our house. And some craft of her own which she treasures and makes her glad.’ He laid the stick down carefully across the designs, his brown eyes looking thoughtfully at her face. ‘We will be happy,’ he said with quiet assurance, ‘and far from the shadows of this place.’

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Rhûnnaro listened as the woman spoke to him. ‘I just have to know for myself, if there is a greener side. I think I'll go with you.’

She was one of the younger there, if not the youngest he thought. Thin, too thin. Black curls that framed an open face. Her eyes, though, looked old, and fearful, even now, that she had made her decision. He talked to her gently – there was some shadow that sat heavy on her at times, and he feared she might bolt at a misspoke word.

‘How far do you wish to travel with us . . . Haven, is it not?’ He recalled that this was the name Tenzin had given her, after he had circulated among them, tending to their wounds.

‘It is a long journey from here to the high, green plains of Rhûn and many green places lie scattered along the way. How far do you wish to come?’

Turos approached, limping slowly toward where the two stood talking. He heard the last words that passed between Haven and the man, and nodded his head thoughtfully. Seeing Turos draw near, Rhûnnaro excused himself from Haven and went to speak with him.

‘I have something I would like you to do. We need to make some weapons that have a longer range than these knives.’ He pulled a small leather bundle from his pack which lay propped against the rock, well away from the river. In it were six blades, each a hand-span in length with sturdy wooden grips.

‘If you’ll sharpen these,’ he handed Turos a whetstone, a small bottle of oil, and a soft leather cloth, ‘then Tenzin and I will cut staves for them, and we can bind them to the ends with leather lashings.’ ‘Can you do this for us?’ he asked.

Turos nodded his assent and sat down on the ground, the fingers of his left hand working the edges of the knives deftly over the oiled stone, wiping them clean on the leather cloth.

Rhûnnaro, seeing Tenzin otherwise engaged in conversation with Fionel, went himself a little ways into the woods to cut and trim some thick, long staves. When he returned, he asked the group to take one each and a knife, and cut some strips for leather bindings from the sack in which he had stored the knives.

‘Bind them tightly,’ he instructed them. ‘We may need them soon.’ ‘Gather up what you have, when you are done. We should leave soon before the hunters draw too near . . .’

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel smiled to see Tenzin so happy at what seemed to be such a simple thing, but something puzzled her as well.

"A woman will choose you to be her husband? Does the wife always choose the husband? I would have thought it would be the other way around." She inquired.

[ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Beruthiel]

Santiara sat in silence as the others sat and talked. She lay back, her legs stretched out in front of her and her head lying on the ground. Her feet had almost gone numb from all the bruises and cuts, a result of the running. Her whole body ached but since they had rested for a while now, she had become rather accustomed to it.

Her mind wandered as the others chatted, thinking over things that had happened and things that may happen. She looked over each of the slaves and then Rhunnaro and Tenzin. Her brown eyes watching them talk and listen. The Easterling man caught her eye but she looked away quickly. She wasn’t sure what to think of him, whether to trust him or not. No matter what she thought they were following his plan anyway. She recalled him saying something about Minas Tirith and asking them what they were going to do when they got there.

She hadn’t really thought much of after the Hunt. She had always imagined that as soon as she escaped, everything would simply fall into place, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. What would she do? Where would she go? These and other questions raced through her mind and she tried to search for an answer.

If her parents had been with her she would have gone back to her home town, if it was even still there. She remembered how the Easterlings had burned her beautiful village. How everyone she knew had been taken to work, even the youngest children were forced to work on the fields every day. A swell of anger surged inside her as she thought of all those who had suffered and her eyes flicked up towards the two Easterlings.

She couldn’t help but think of those who were still back in the camps, working on the fields, praying for a sign of hope. Exactly how she had been until a few days ago…

Rhunnaro was talking to Turos and Tenzin and she listened to them. He then came and addressed the group giving them each a knife. When he came round to her she shook her head and pulled out her own dagger, which she had kept hidden until now. 'I'd rather use my own thanks.' She said.

The others gasped in surprise. Santiara looked down at the ground, not sure that had been such a good idea. The man was about to reply but before he could, she had already walked away.

[Orual]

"I would greatly appreciate anything you can do to ease my pain, Dôranna," Desolyn replied, smiling a little.

Dôranna took some of the salve and grabbed some dried herbs out of her pack, ground into a fine powder. "I don't have much," she said apologetically, "and I wish it wasn't dried--everything is better fresh-cut--but we use what we have, don't we." She mixed a bit of it on her hand, and lifted the back of Desolyn's shirt. "This may sting a little bit," she added apologetically as Desolyn inhaled sharply. "These are ugly, Desolyn. They might take a while to heal, but this will soothe them some--once the stinging stops--and it will protect them, some, from infection."

As she rubbed the salve onto Desolyn's wounds, Dôranna studied the back of the woman's head. She knew that Desolyn had been born a slave. What would it be like to not have a home to return to? To have no certain future? Desolyn even looked something like an Easterling. Where would she go?

Dôranna blinked and her hand faltered for a moment. For that matter, what would she do? It had been...over a hundred years, though Dôranna winced to think of it. That was a hundred years for everyone else, too, including her fiancé. What if he had moved on?

Desolyn winced as Dôranna accidentally put too much pressure on one of the wounds. "I'm sorry," the Elf said in a soft voice. She had to keep her thoughts on the present. If she wanted to survive, she did.

[Envinyatar]

Tenzin looked up from the designs he had scratched in the dirt beside him, and laughed softly. ‘Ah, yes! I had forgotten the strange customs of those beyond the borders of Rhûn. Here the men have all the say, and own the families, and their wealth.’ He drew his knees up near his chest and circled his legs with his arms. ‘Which would not be a problem were all men honorable, but they are not.’

He looked round the camp at the women, worn and sore from their travels and from the hard times their lives had dealt them. ‘It is different in my country. The lines of descent pass through the Mother’s family. Women are honored there, their voices heard in the decisions that are made. And yes, they are the ones who bear the children for the clans and keep them healthy and the clans strong, so it is their choice to make - who they will take to husband.’

Rhûnnaro had come quietly up behind the two as they spoke, listening with interest to what was said. His low voice broke in on a question Fionel was just set to ask. ‘You realize, of course, that women can be as cruel as men, as grasping, as deceitful, and as ruthless.’ He squatted down to be on a level with the two. My young friend here is idealistic, as young men should be. And as so, he bears the burden of an honorable man, whose ideals are not always met in the realities of daily life.’ His eyes hardened and he stared into the distance, remembering past histories. ‘There have been times when women in Rhûn have not lived up to the qualities we would like to see in them. Just as men here often fall short of the mark, though some it seems come dangerously close to no longer being Men at all.’

He stood, his gaze fixing on Turos, whose labors with the makeshift spears were bearing fruit. ‘Fionel, see if you can get the others up. Tenzin help her pass out the spears and let them get the heft of them in their hands. The women are strong, but small, and the spear’s length will give them some advantage against a taller foe with longer arms and a sword in hand.’

The older man watched as the two drew near Turos and collected the spears he had finished. Tenzin hung back, holding the spears as Fionel approached each of the women. ‘Good,’ he said to himself, noting how they worked together. ‘Let her take the lead, these are her companions, let her draw them into some feeling of hope.’

His eyes glinted for a moment, and a smile played lightly at the corners of his mouth as he watched the shared glances when their fingers slid over one another’s in the handling of the spears. ‘This is how young people should be,’ he thought, thinking of his own children.

Like a cloud covering over the sun, Rhûnnaro’s expression darkened, and he steeled his thoughts against these ordinary images, remembering the darkness of the men who sought them . . .

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel had finished with the few slaves who had requested her bandages, and now looked on as the other slaves recieved their spears. She gratefully accepted hers, thinking of what a great honor it was to lay hold on such a powerful weapon.

She had, as a child, been taught a very small amount on using such weapons. She had loved this training, and now missed this excersise greatly. Her skills now diminished to something near zero, she clumsily spun the spear in her hands, getting bruised on shoulder or knee every so often. As the minutes passed, her hands began to remember her training, and some skill slowly began to stableize itself.

Pausing a moment, she walked to a nearby tree and tried piercing it with her eyes...imagining a hunter in its stead. She then took the spear and tried to stab the hunter. This excersise was a good target practice, but it achieved little since the tree could not move and react to her blows. She also stopped when she realized how stupid she must have looked, standing there, screaming and hitting a tree with her spear.
Luckily, none of the slaves noticed her.

Then, she remembered something she forgot to do. Spear gripped tightly in both hands, she walked over to Rhunnaro.

"Sir, I apologize for delaying you the knowledge of my decision... I needed much time to find the right choice, because if I didn't, I could have been dead very soon..."

The man looked at her, waiting expectantly for her to reveal the nature of her choice.

"I have decided to come with you."

She then curtly bowed and walked off. She made her way to a small, treeless area and resumed her spear excersises.

[ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Arien]

“Ekatran no!” Shivana gulped, she had just realised what she had said she clasped her hand tight around her dagger ready to fight or run she did not know yet.

“Why do you stop me? Who are you to stop me?” he spat towards her face and scowled.

“We could use him……for information….then we can kill him,” she blurted out hoping that she had not gotten herself into too much trouble.

“Yes, yes good idea,” inside she was relieved but her heard exterior did not break. “I will go back to the other fools, see if they have not untangled themselves yet.” she bowed as he walked off.

Ranchard was smiling insanely, “Wont you let me go, pretty little girl? Wont you?” Shivana laughed.

“Flatter me will you? We are obviously not acquainted well enough!”

“I am higher than you, free me!” he demanded. She suddenly saw his mood change swiftly. But she didn’t care one bit. No. She dropped onto her knees in front of him, her head lolled to the side and she stared into his enraged eyes. She drew her dagger and toyed with it in front of him. She then held the dagger blade firmly in her hand again and drew blood once more. As Ranchard saw it drip his eyes lit up. And he watched as blood flowed to the floor. But her eyes were on him. Always on him. Then she spoke.

“Don’t talk down to me. Don’t be polite to me. Don’t try to make me feel nice. Don’t relax. I’ll cut the smile off your face. You think I’m afraid to react.” he just laughed at her. Bu the burning in her eyes was red hot. “ The jokes on you. I’m biding my time, looking for the spot. You think no one can reach you, no one can have what you have.” he was not a little taken a back and started to move away from her, squirming. She followed him crawling along the dusted floor. “ I’ve been planning while you were playing. I’ve been saving while your spending. The game is almost over so its time you acknowledged me. Do you want to fall not ever knowing who took you?” he stopped. Her face was just a few inches away from his, she whispered. “Tell me what happened…”

He was silent, his mind racing. “Shivana!” the she span round on the floor. “ I asked you to interrogate him! Not seduce him!”

She spat on the floor, she was furious at such a causation. “I was not!”

“Don’t speak back to me like that girl!” Ekatran’s voice rung the forest. She waited for her punishment

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel handed each of the women one of the spears Rhunnaro had handed her. They marvelled over them almost, handling them carefully, balancing them up. The slave girl realised that Rhunnaro had made the right choice giving out the long light spears- none of the slaves had had much practise with any sort of weapon, and these were quite easy to handle. Fionel knew a little of weapons of this type, having helped Ekatran and his oldest of two sons practise with ones similar to these. She weighed this one up her right hand, bringing it ever so slightly backwards and forwards very slightly, then jabbed it forward, letting herself drop forward, one leg stretched forward, leaning on the other.

Examining it, she was impressed, and saw Rhunnaro watching them, appraisal in his eyes, although they were far away. She smiled, and he blinked and came back to reality, smiling slightly although his face was still dark.

A scream rent the air. A long, drawn out scream, like a man in complete agony, in the direction they had come from. Fionel gasped not able to stop herself, and the others also jumped. The eerie sound was like an animal in pain, and it didnt sound quite human, that was what made the others react. Fionel felt a shiver run down her body for another reason. If they hadnt done it, she might have.

"Rhunnaro," She called. He looked up from his thoughts once more. "We are ready, and we should go- we need to go."

He nodded. "Aye. Onwards, then."

[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro mounted his horse quickly and drew Turos up behind him. Again Tenzin took the lead with Fionel mustering the women to get quickly to their feet and follow swiftly.

He pushed their pace as fast he dared, knowing that they were footsore already, and had not had time to eat enough to regain some strength. An hour flew by, and then another, more slowly. And then one more. Tenzin gave a sharp whistle and called a halt at the entrance to a clearing. Rhûnnaro moved forward, reaching down with his hand as he passed the line of women to motion them to gather closely near Tenzin.

The women sat down, exhaustion playing on the features of their faces. Turos was let down to hand round the water skins and the small sacks of dried food.

‘What do you think, Rhûnnaro. Would this not be a good place to meet them?’ He pointed to each side of the clearing, hemmed in by low lying thickets. ‘There are places there on each side for the women to hide and harry the riders and their horses.’ ‘And there,’ he pointed just to the side of the great tree at the end of the clearing, ‘there is a small rise of rocks, I can get a clear aim at anyone who enters with my bow.’

Rhûnnaro nodded his head slowly his eyes taking in the positions pointed out. ‘But we will need some way to draw them in. I would be wary were I to approach something like this.’ His eyes fell on Turos as the man limped round the circle of women.

‘We will need to bait the trap.’

[Gorothlammothiel]

“Don’t speak back to me like that girl!”

Ekatran ran quickly forward to them and immediatly pushed Shivana back from Ranchard with some force. She fell hard against the dusty ground but remained silent. "How dare you!" Ekatran continued, "you think I cannot see through my eyes?!" He drew his sword and held it in Shivana's direction. She sat frozen at the sight if this blade so close to her and in the hands of the enraged Ekatran. His eyes narrowed.

Ranchard began to chuckle, and it slowly grew into a laugh. Ekatran turned into his direction and Shivana let out a sigh. Ranchard's uncontrolale madness had relieved her, for a while, there was little chance Ekatran was going to forget her actions.

"You!" Ekatran crouched next to the still bound Ranchard as his laughter grew louder. "You've no business in this, you are no hunter! You were told to capture slaves, you incompetent excuse for a man!" Ranchard stopped his laughter and stared right into Shivana's eyes. "Look at me when I am talking to you!" Ekatran bellowed as he pushed Ranchard's head away from Shivana, hard. Ranchard fell to his side, his face in the dust. With his hands still bound behind his back he tried to right himself but Ekatran pushed him back down with his heel.

Supporting himself Ranchard spoke coarsely, "But my lord," he was almost hissing, "why should I look upon you when a more, capable hunter sits not so far away?" He looked over to Shivana. Ekatran's temper took a new level, "How dare you!" He thrust his blade into Ranchard's side causing him obvious pain but Ranchard refused to let it show and rather a wide grin covered his face. "Come Shivana" he spluttered out, "even a woman as you would be able to do better than this?" Ekatran pushed the icy blade further into Ranchard's side. He gasped for a large breath and then winced in pain.

"even a woman as you?" thought Shivana, a woman as her? "Come now Shivana" Ranchard taunted her. She stood up and made her way quickly to the suffering hunter and took her dagger from her boot and held it at arms length from him.

At this point the other two remaining hunters found the scene; Ranchard on the floor breathing heavily with Ekatran stood over him with his blade firmly in his side and now Shivana at his throat with the blade though she had yet to draw blood...

[Arien]

She held her blade and she smiled. She pressed the blunt side of her blade against his rough neck.

"Come on little girl!" he spoke again this time with blood spewing from his mouth, “Such a hunter as you, I mean for a woman…..”

Her temper rose, she knew he was taunting her and her blade pressed even more against his gullet. She looked up to Ekatran, who’s blade was still in Ranchard’s side. His face was as hard as stone and anger flared in his eyes. She looked to the other two behind Ekatran, they stood their watching the spectacle. Suddenly she felt a warm hand upon her face. It was Ranchards. It caressed her face slowly.

“A woman as you, so beautiful, so dangerous…”, his eyes rolled, but his hand stayed firm on her soft cheek. She pushed her dagger further so it cut his breathing. “….or are you too scared?” he gagged .

That was it, now he had done it. She pulled her dagger in one clean sweep across his neck. His hand fell and his body fell limp to the floor. Ekatran withdrew his sword. But she was not finished. She knelt beside him and continued to plunge her dagger into his body. Blood started to spray from everywhere. She was getting out of breath but she kept thrusting her dagger into his body. She did not care what the others thought, it gave her joy. Blood sprayed onto her face and she was covered in it. And finally as she drew her blade up high she stopped and dropped it. She looked into the eyes of the dead Ranchard and put her hand on his cold, bloody cheek.

“A man as you, so evil, so repulsive…” the others at them, two blood soaked bodies. But she did not care, she felt alive again. She brought her head close to his face. And then kissed his lifeless lips, she tasted the blood in her mouth and laughed, “Shame I wasn’t too scared…….” she picked her dagger up and stood up. Everything was covered in his blood and there was silence between the four.

[Envinyatar]

Kherug

Kherug, spear grasped firmly in his hand, came panting up the small rise just in time to see the scene of carnage unfolding below. He had been out scouting for the slaves’ trail, and heard the screams coming from just beyond his position.

‘Good!’ he thought as he picked up the pace. ‘They have found some of the miserable vermin at last.’ His hands itched to hold his sword in hand and cut the life from those creatures. ‘Especially that Elf!’ he hissed, his hand straying to his cheek to rub the scar there where an Elven blade had cut him in one of the unsuccessful raids to bring more slaves in.

Dorlas joined him in the sprint up the hill. He had apparently been sent to scout along a different direction. Kherug’s eyes narrowed when he saw only one victim at the bladed mercy of Ekatran and Shivana. He spat on the ground at Dorlas’ feet as they stood some distance away, watching Ekatran push his sword into the bound man. ‘That is no slave!’ he growled, pounding his spear hard on the rocky rise he stood on. ‘That is Ranchard!’ He spat again on the ground, angry that there would be no work for his own blade.

Motioning the other Easterling, he sprinted quickly to the perimeter of the slaughter. Ekatran has drawn blood, and Ranchard, even as his doom was upon him, taunted the other there. ‘Shivana,’ thought Kherug to himself, might as well taunt Him.’ He shivered, and looked quickly over his left shoulder, not wanting to draw the attention of the Dark Lord to himself, even in passing thought.

The bloody deed was soon finished, and Shivana stood, covered in blood. Kehrug stood mesmerized by the sight. The smell of blood was overwhelming, he could almost taste it in his own mouth, and feel it on his hands. He fought down the urge to strike at the nearest one to him, just to see blood flow from his own strike, and feel it as it cooled, running out of the body to death.

Kherug shuddered, and drew a deep breath, his grip on the now raised sword loosening, as he brought it down. Point now resting in the bloodied dirt, he forced his thoughts to refocus.

‘My Lord,’ he said, his voice ragged with lust for the kill. He bowed his head to Ekatran, then raised his chin and nodded in a southwesterly direction. Another breath, and then his voice was under control.

‘I have found their trail. It leads that way . . .’

[ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro

When he had come full circle, it was in front of Rhûnnaro that he stood. Turos held out the last skin of water to the Easterling and offered him a small portion of the dried meat and fruits. As they left his hands, he started to nod his head downward, averting his eyes from the overseer as a slave was required to do.

‘Turos, raise your face to mine. I would speak with you.’ Rhûnnaro spoke in a low voice, his words reaching only to the ears of the man who stood before him. Turos head came up slowly, his clear hazel eyes meeting those of the Easterling. The hint of a smile played on the lips of the older man as he watched the young man regard with him with a quiet confidence.

He is only a little older than my oldest son. he thought to himself. The smile left his face, replaced by a grave expression. ‘Fortune has not been kind to you,’ he said, his eyes sweeping over the bent and scarred body. ‘Yet I see that your spirit has not been killed by the circumstances of your life.’ His brow creased as he considered his next words. ‘As a slave all your choices were made for you, even the last choice of when you would meet your death. I wonder - can you make such a choice for yourself now. Face the possibility of your death as a free man.

Turos stood mute before him, saying neither ‘yes’ or ‘no’. His gaze stayed steady on Rhûnnaro’s face as he waited for the man to go on.

Rhûnnaro motioned him away from the group and sat down on the ground at the opening to the clearing. He bade the young man sit next to him, offering him the water and the remainder of the food. As he ate, Rhûnnaro spoke quietly to him of his plan, pointing out the area near the head of the clearing where he wished Turos to lie, drawing in the Hunters for what would seem an easy kill.

‘They will come for you, taunting and boasting as is their way. You must have the courage to cower before them like a wounded deer awaiting the touch of the blade that will end its life. We will fall on them then, and make what end we can of them.’ He brought his eyes back from the envisioned scene in the clearing to Turos, whose face bore a mixture of emotions and possibilities. ‘I cannot guarantee that you will not die. Not anymore than I can guarantee such for the rest of this little group.’ He made to get up, saying as he rose, ‘I will leave it to you to decide if you will do this. If you cannot, then we will find another way.’

He was only half-way up when his wrist was grasped in the strong grip of Turos’ left hand. Surprised at the temerity of the touch, he crouched down on a level with the younger man.

‘I heard you ask the woman, Haven, a question, just a short while ago. It is a long journey from here to the high, green plains of Rhûn, you said, and many green places lie scattered along the way. How far do you wish to come?’ Turos looked into the distance, his eyes narrowing at something just outside his range of sight. ‘I have thought about that as we traveled here. And I have my answer for you – to both your questions that you have asked this day.’

Rhûnnaro watched him as he sought to make himself clearly understood. ‘I will be the bait, my own free choice to do so. It is a small thing I can do, since I have no other way to battle the Hunters.’ Turos left hand strayed to his right arm, rubbing unconsciously the crippled useless limb which hung there. ‘And this is my other answer.’ He looked carefully at the man crouched before him. ‘I have no place to call my own. I wish to go all the way, to that last green place, with you – to your homeland, if you would have me.’

Turos looked away, then, not wanting to see the look of amusement that he feared might come from this request.

A silence fell between them, and then the clipped answer of the man from Rhûn. ‘No small thing, Turos. And yes, I will find a place for you.’

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Tenzin remounted his horse only a short time after they had arrived at the clearing. The women were taking what rest they could, and Rhûnnarro and he had discussed briefly their strategy. They could not keep pushing the women forward. The Hunters would soon draw near and it would be better to have their little band be rested and ready for battle than to spend futile time in trying to outrun them.

He headed back down the trail they had come. Moving like a shadow through the thickly grown trees and underbrush, several paces to the north of their actual path. The sun had moved a little more than a finger’s width in its arc when he heard them. He reined in his mount, and shading his eyes with his hand peered through the spaces in the limbs of the trees that hid him.

Four horses were what he counted as they picked their way closer, and one of the riders was covered in blood. He saw the dark gore covering her like some grotesque paint as she passed through the bands of sunlight that filtered through the trees. Carefully he turned his horse and headed back toward the clearing as quickly as he could . . .

[ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven and the other women had been told to get some rest, and get as much sleep as they could in what little time they had. Haven’s eyes were bloodshot and her hair was tousled and messy, but she could not bring herself to sleep. Some of the other women did, she knew, but she didn’t bother to keep track of who slept and who didn’t. Haven watched as Rhûnnaro began to speak with Turos, his hands moving occasionally to add extra emphasis to his words. When the two were finished talking, Rhûnnaro stood, and Turos stayed seated at the entrance to the clearing

Haven blinked confusedly at this, but was too exhausted to pursue an answer. Rhûnnaro left Turos and continued over to speak with Tenzin in hushed whispers so no ears could overhear. Tenzin soon remounted his horse after the conference and had gone off and out of the clearing.

Haven stood, unable to sleep and wanting something to occupy herself. She felt nervous and tense, for she knew that something was coming, presumably the hunters and the death of the slaves. The dry, short grass under Haven’s feet crunched as she walked over to Rhûnnaro, her eyes watering from exhaust.

“You should sleep while you can,” Rhûnnaro said simply. Haven shook her head slowly. Rhûnnaro had begun to prepare his sword and a long knife, and Haven squinted at the weapons.

“I can’t sleep. What is going on? How long before they find us?” Haven asked, blurting out everything she could before she had to take another breath. Rhûnnaro looked out towards the trail that Tenzin had taken away from the clearing, then turned back to Haven. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, the sound of hoof beats became an echo among the clearing. Some of the women woke up at the sounds, and groped for their newly given spears.

Tenzin’s horse galloped into the clearing, and the Easterling was slumped over. As he came closer, Haven could see that a sickly dark red liquid was trickling down from his shoulder, near the crook of his arm. When he was close enough, Tenzin leapt from his horse a bit clumsily, as though he were drowsy. The women who had woken up rushed over to join the group, and soon found the shaft of an arrow protruding from Tenzin’s back, just above his shoulder blade.

Almost all the women volunteered to help Tenzin, and as they began dress the wound Rhûnnaro cleared his throat to get the attention of the women. They acknowledged the Easterling, but continued to work on Tenzin, who seemed to be wounded harshly, but would be fine in the end.

“We need to move quickly,” said Rhûnnaro solemnly. He gestured to places around the clearing as he spoke. “I will position you around the clearing with your spears. Fionel, you can use a sword if you think you can handle one. This is it. We can’t keep running.”

[ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Envinyatar]

Tenzin’s face was pale as he directed one of the women to bring his medicine kit to him. ‘Open it if you would,’ he said in a hurried, ragged voice. ‘There in the center – that green vial. Open it for me.’ Fionel pulled the tight cork stopper from the bottle, and handed it to him, watching as he drank sparingly of the honey scented liquid. The odor of poppies perfumed the air and then passed on as he handed it back to her, and she sealed it once again. After a few moments he moved his right arm gingerly, flexing his fingers to see that they could meet his needs.

From a small parchment packet he took several large leaves, and placing them in his mouth, he chewed them carefully into a moist fibrous wad. This he slipped beneath the bandage they had bound on him, pushing it firmly over the still bleeding puncture wound. He moved with more ease now, the tincture of poppies masking the pain.

Bind the bandage on a little tighter, please’ he asked, his eyes flicking up to meet her grey ones. ‘The leaves should stop the bleeding for now, and the other will hold back the pain.’ As a last thought he took two small, ovoid leaves and chewed them slowly, then tucked the mass between his cheek and gum. ‘And these will give me the energy I do not have for the battle. I only hope it will be brief. The stimulant effects will not last a long time, and when they have gone, I will be at the mercy of any who approach.’

She offered him a skin of water, and he drank it thirstily, thanking her as she took it from him. Rhûnnaro was approaching, having shown the women where they were to hide in waiting, and Turos where he was to lie, looking helpless, and abandoned. Fionel stood, thinking to go back to her own assigned position. Tenzin's left hand reached up for hers, drawing her into a low crouch before him.

‘Wait,’ he said, taking the small carved green wind-horse on its slender cord from round his neck. He drew her nearer and placed it over her head. ‘For luck,’ he said, as she frowned at him, protesting, and made as if to give it back. His hand closed over hers which grasped the tiny charm, and pushed it gently down against her. His fingers freed the cord from her hand, the green horse falling against her heart. ‘When the battle is done, return it to me then, if you wish.’

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Rhûnnaro approached, his sword in hand. ‘Fionel, hurry! Take your position out of sight with the others.’ He bent down and looked closely at the young man. His eyes were a little glassy, the pupils large. His skin pale, with a thin sheen of fevered sweat. ‘Can you stand?’ he asked, putting his hand on Tenzin’s shoulder. The young man shook his head yes, letting the older man stand and pull him to his feet.

Tenzin flexed his fingers and raised his right arm gently to take the bow Rhûhnnaro had brought him. The older man secured the quiver of arrows in easy access of Tenzin’s left hand, then walked with him to the small rocky rise where the young man would take up his position.

Slipping quietly beneath the trees, Rhûnnaro stood still among the shadows, waiting . . .

[Beruthiel]

The slaves rushed to find their hiding places among the trees and bushes. Santiara pushed through the vegetation as quietly and fast as possible. She found a bush which was about three quarters of her height and stooped behind it. She was in the shadows and the trees above blocked most of the moonlight but as the wind blew, the trees would sway and a sliver of light would land on her. She looked up and whispered to no one in particular please help me. Help us all..

Through some gaps in the dark leaves she was able to see the clearing and if she stood up would have a clear shot at anything that was down there. She could hear the others scurrying around on the ground getting into place. All they had to do now was wait.

Her heart was beating faster and faster, now this time they would confront the hunters straight on. Not like before when they could run away. If they didn't beat them, it would be over. She shuddered at the thought of how it would end.

The wood was silent now, everyone was crouching and waiting. Santiara breathed in deeply but even that seemed to be too loud. She peeked through the leaves again, still nothing was happening. Only Turos was visible, he was lying on the ground, pretending to be helpless but in their situation Santiara didn't really think he needed to pretend. Turos was going to be the bait for the hunters. It pained Santiara to see him all alone, simply waiting for the hunters to come. She knew if anyone, he was the most likely to die. She looked away, unable to look at the man who was basically sacrifing himself for all of them.

[Amanaduial the archer]

As his hand closed over hers, Fionel decided in that instant that she would take the necklace, wouldn’t dream of refusing. Tenzin’s earnest brown eyes held hers for a moment more then his hand dropped, letting the horse fall to Fionel's chest.

"When the battle is done, return it to me then, if you wish." He said with a wan smile. Fionel smiled at him, about to question him, then Rhunnaro called to her, hurrying her into position. She scurried away obligingly, but not completely sedately- as she moved she had seen the sword which she had had earlier lying on top of the sack. Sending a glance at Rhunnaro to check he was occupied, she darted across and took the sword. Perhaps this time she would get to use it. A sudden flicker of fear and excitement ran down her spine, making her shiver, and it was, she had to admit, more excitement. As she ducked into the shadows beneath a tree, with Santiara but a few metres away, Fionel saw the other, clutching the unfamiliar spear desperately, move her lips as she stared up to the sky. Fionel did not try to decipher her words, leaving her alone to her moment of privacy. She had never really believed in the Valar, in this life as a slave or her previous one, but was there something up there to pray to? Was there someone that might look on them and help them?

Maybe better to trust the moment. Fionel glanced across at where Tenzin half-crouched, behind a rocky rise, bow in his now steady hands and a look of steely determination on his face, despite the sweat which still beaded his brow. He caught her looking, but Fionel did not look away immediately, but smiled briefly at him before turning back to watch the place beyond where Turos waited, a lone, bent figure. She fingered the little horse around her neck, turning it over between the slim fingers of her left hand.

For luck.

Better to trust the moment.

The sounds of the hunters floated towards them. They had evidently been closer than Fionel had thought, or than Rhunnaro had expected, but Tenzin must have given them a new want to follow, and quickly. The sounds of the horses hooves made the air quiver and the ground beneath Fionel soon seemed to shake. She could feel the beat beneath her, the beat that the slaves who heard of the hunt said was the very beat of death in this instance. Calls between them, jeering, mocking voices split the previously calm and peaceful air, and Fionel, glancing across, saw Beruthiel's lips still moving, faster now. Fionel looked across to Turos where he sat, her mouth dry and her hands shaking, but the man just waited, like a man awaiting an execution, a sort of resigned, sad, quietness in his eyes. Fionel raised the horse to her suddenly dry lips and kissed it- why, she was not sure, but in some way, it made her feel better.

For luck.

She was going to need it, it would seem. This plan...how could this work? Trained fighters, with horses, who hadn't walked all day, who weren't scared but intoxicated instead with the thrill of the Hunt. How could Rhunnaro have possibly thought it would work? For a moment, Fionel wondered, in an abstract way, how far she would get if she ran now. But she would never abandon those who had become her companions. Her faith in Rhunnaro held.

"Woah...well would you look at that. 'Tis our lucky day, Shivana, a second to take, and so soon afterwards." Ekatran's mocking voice made Fionel's skin crawl, even after all this time. She pressed herself closer to the earth hoping fervently that they couldn't see her, although she knew that his soul searching, piercing eyes would already be searching the clearing for anyone else. A laugh, an arrogant, cruel laugh followed his words as Shivana too took in Turos and his lonesomeness. Fionel heard the soft thump of her leather boots on the ground as she dismounted, and walked forward.

Try as she might, a kind of morbid fascination drew Fionel's eyes towards the spot where Turos was still. She had to see. In years to come, if they got through thi- when they got through this, she fiercely corrected herself, she would tell others of this, of what happened before the might easterling leader Ekatran was brought low by a band of ragged slaves.

Shivana leant down towards Turos, who tried to get up, tried to shuffle away, his eyes fixed on Shivana. Fear was in his voice when he spoke, but whether genuine or fake Fionel could not tell. "They left me. I have no alliegance to them, no, none. I-I will h-help you!" His voice quivered, and now Fionel could tell that it was indeed fake, the fear in his voice, but Shivana, in her state of mad blood lust, would not notice. Turos' eyes never once flickered back to where the others waited, never once gave any indication his story was true, never once let on that his companions were mere metres behind him. His courage was incredible.

Once again, that cruel, mocking laugh, then others joining it, and the thump of more boots on the sand. Fionel's grip on her sword became tighter. Everything seemed so sharp and clear now, so brilliantly cut against the earth and sky.

"This is it. We cannot keep running."

"You, help us? I can kill you now, any one of us could, alone." Shivana breathed in deeply. "I have already tasted blood this day. I would be glad to satisfy my hunger further."

Fionel turned to Tenzin, whose eyes were on Rhunnaro, while Santiara watched her. The signal would come in a chain, as fast as lightening. Where he stood, Fionel saw Tenzin ready the bow, although his hand on the hold left his fingers free to give the signal. Rhunnaro must have nodded to him, for his looked back at Fionel, who half nodded to Santiara to ready herself, who in turn nodded at Haven and so on. One finger stretched out....

"Please...I can help you?"

A second...

"I grow tired of your pathetic, weak words, slave." The sound of a blade being drawn.

The last finger shot out quickly, and half a milimoment later an arrow embedded itself close to Shivana's feet. Tenzin swore under his breath- his arms weren't entirely steady yet. But the Hunters had frozen into a still tableau, staring at the arrow, Shivana still holding her sword aloft. That was enough. In that moment, Fionel rallied every nerve in her body, every inch of strength and more than she possessed, and with a cry, she charged out, wielding her sword. She didn't think, just headed straight towards Shivana, sword held aloft...

[ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Arien]

This is a few moment before Amans post

Ekatran lead the way again, through the dim forest. Shivana was behind him still covered in the blood of Ranchard. She had done her best to clean herself, but she was not going to waste a precious water supply on her vanity. The other two followed behind. It was all silent, no one had said anything, at least not to her. Ekatran had not punished her for her waywardness, she smiled, maybe he was scared? What had Ranchard ment when h said a woman as her?

She did not muse over that contemplation long. She started to think about the kill. Killing Ranchard had been exciting, exhilarating and she wanted to it again. She admitted that she would get more thrill from actually hunting and catching her kill, but she had not done it in so many days she was hungry for it and would take any thing.

They were coming closer to a clearing and she could see a shape on the floor, one of the slaves the old man. They had left him! How disloyal! Then she thought, why would they leave him? Surely they would not, they would not. Her mind raced and she slowly fell to the back of the company behind Dorlas. No, there was something wrong here, it was too perfect. However she did not speak up, she just halted her horse. The others continued…

[ June 13, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

Lanbriel waited in her little spot, behind a giant fallen tree, surrounded by many wild and thick bushes. She looked around, saw the slaves positioned.

Would she die? She could. Somehow, something told her she would last through this. But still, the frightening chance made her want to stand up and run. But no, that would make far too much noise. She was cornered. She could not run, and there was no one to fight yet. She just had to crouch there, rock back and forth, hoping against hope that everyone on her side would survive.

Suddenly she heared hooves. She immediately understood - the hunters were near! She looked at their bate, Turos, knowing how he must be feeling. He was doing an incredibly brave deed, something many times braver than anything she would have done. She held her spear tightly, so tightly that if she squeezed just a bit more blood would break through her skin.

Then it happened. Ekatran, that terrible man rode on his horse into the clearing. A few other hunters rode in beside him. They started talking, very loudly, but Lanbriel was so nervous she couldn't decipher a single word. She looked around, and saw nodds passing throughout the hidden slaves. It was time.

An arrow first escaped Tenzin's bow.
Fionel suddenly shot forward, sword at ready. She ran towards the woman, the hunter nearest to Turos. A fierce, piercing cry escaped her lips. Lanbriel suddenly felt what most people suddenly feel at the start of a battle. Courage. Mad, fierce, terrible courage running through her. Her battle cry. She popped up, and jumping over the fallen tree, she surged through the bushes into the clearing, heading for one of the hunters.

[Envinyatar]

Turos lay half turned on his stomach as the hunters approached. Ekatran, a cautious man, had stopped just inside the clearing, sending Kherug in to see to the fallen slave. Turos moaned, moving the nearly useless finger of his right hand at the approaching Easterlings. ‘Masters! I will tell you where they’ve gone.’ He whispered. ‘Only take me back with you.’

His voice, barely audible, drew the sneering hunter closer. Kherug kicked at the downed man, and crouched down close to him, spitting on Turos’ face. ‘You will tell us everything, carrion! And then you will die.’ Kherug pulled his sharp point knife from the sheath at his belt and bent very close to Turos’, his mail shirt clanking as he did so. The point of his knife touched the slave just beneath his chin, and he grinned maliciously as he did so.

With a quick motion Turos rolled up on his right side, freeing his left hand which had been hidden beneath him. The glint of his knife caught the tree filtered sun, flashing as he drove it deeply into the surprised Easterling’s neck. A gurgling gasp and Kherug’s hands flew to his wound, his eyes wide with wonder at Turos. Blood ran in rivulets between his fingers, and his eyes clouded, staring fixedly at nothingness. His lifeless body keeled over, the life’s blood slowing to a trickle.

Several of the women rushed out now to surround Turos as Dorlas charged forth, his sword drawn. Faces set with grim determination, they held their spears ready, and challenged him from three sides – like a wild boar, he was, caught in a trap of determined hunters.

Turos, grasping his ribs where Kherug had kicked him, retreated from the battle arena, knowing he would only be an impediment. His arms bled from little knicks Dorlas' blade had given him before the women had driven him off. Taking the club from Rhûnnaro's nearby horse, he stood well away from the action, his eyes sweeping the small battle, looking for the opportunity to strike a blow if needed.

Rhûnnaro could see that Fionel had challenged Shivana and for the moment was holding her own against the ghastly apparition. His eyes darted to the rocky rise where Tenzing now stood, his bow drawn trying to make a shot. He could not afford to be careless with the arrow he had nocked, and waited until he had a clear shot of an Easterling.

Ekatran had remounted his horse, thinking to charge the slaves, his long sword flying in deadly arcs. Rhûnnaro ran out from behind the bushy cover, coming quickly up behind the back legs of the rearing stallion. He swung his arms in a short, powerful motion, bringing the edge of his blade powerfully against the hocks, severing the tendons. The horse screamed and fell heavily to his side, Ekatran, rolling off him, weapon in hand.

Scrambling up, the Easterling Lord brought up his sword in a defensive posture, facing the man from Rhûn. The world narrowed in - to just these two, the sounds of the other combatants fading in the ring of steel against steel . . .

[ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

At first Haven couldn’t bring herself to do it…to kill one of the hunters or even harm one of them would be to kill or harm one of Jamilah’s and Jovanna’s kin. But just as quickly as that thought fluttered through her brain, another took its place. The thought and knowledge that the slaves were her kin, her family. And at that moment, the hunters were not out to save or to protect Haven’s friends; they were out to kill her fellow slaves. Despite her years in the palace, despite her slight connection with the people trying to kill the slaves, only Fionel and the group of extremely courageous slaves knew what Haven had gone through since she was a toddler.

Haven had nothing to loose. She had nowhere to return to, and likewise had no place to look forward to if she did survive this last stand. But Fionel…and Lanbriel…Santiara, Doranna, Desolyn, and even Turos…they all had something inside them that gave them the will to fight for the right to go on. Haven didn’t think she had that, but she did have nothing to loose. She knew it was better to help her newfound friends towards their goals than waddle in her own self-pity.

Suddenly filled with a newly found reason and cause, Haven was swept with a ferocity of spirit that could not be matched by anything she had ever done before. She half-tumbled down her hill in a sprint that kicked up dust and grass with clumsiness. Several of the women had turned to surround an Easterling that had gone after Turos. Haven avoided the Easterling, for the other women had him taken care of. The caretaker darted towards Turos, and helped him half-crawl, half-limp away from the battle with Dorlas.

Turos had taken to staring wide-eyed at his hands, which were warm and dripping with the deep red blood of Kherug. Haven put a hand on his shoulder, and tried her best to comfort him, “You were extremely brave. I would never have been able to do that.”

“It is true that fate has not been kind to me…but I will not let the past control my future,” Turos breathed as he began to wipe the blood over his tunic. Haven nodded, for the Easterlings of Nurn truly were a cruel sort.

[Beruthiel]

Santiara's heart was beating faster and faster as the sound of the hunters approached. She was watching Fionel carefully, waiting for any signal to attack. The hunters entered the clearing, their horses stamping on the ground. Every move they seemed to make echoed in her ears. She was so scared that they would hear her breathing. Santiara didn’t dare look at the clearing, she didn’t want to know what they might be doing to Turos. Finally Fionel looked at Santiara, their eyes connected and Santiara knew.
It was time. There was no turning back.

A great surge of fear and adrenaline rushed through her body at the same time she knew what she had to do. She stood up and ran down the hill as fast as she could with her spear held high. The other slaves had also jumped up to attack, Fionel with her sword in hand. Turos stabbed the hunter nearest to him and Santiara suddenly froze as she saw the pool of blood collecting on the ground. She looked up into Turos’ eyes quickly before turning back to the hunters.

Another Easterling had rushed over to where the dead one lay trying to pick him up off the ground. Santiara tightened her grip on her spear and rushed over to him. As she drew closer she threw the spear as hard as she could at him. She watched as the spear flew threw the air and to her dismay it missed. The Easterling turned to her with rage and grabbed his sword off the ground and began to come towards her. Santiara was unarmed and filled with fear, ‘What am I going to do! Is this the end? Oh please someone help!’ She was only able to whisper these things and none of the other slaves could hear her.

She stumbled back to edge of the clearing when she suddenly realized, she was armed, her knife. She drew it out and watched the light reflect off it. Before the hunter knew what was happening, Santiara ran as fast as she could towards him the long knife in front of her and she charged straight into him. The knife penetrated his left arm and he screamed with pain. Santiara tried to move out of the way but his sword was in his right arm and he swung it round, cutting her across the stomach. The wound seemed to burn and Santiara could see a line of blood soaking into her clothes. She cried in pain and walked backwards, away from him.

The hunter staggered back wards, grasping his arm while the blood spilled from it. He looked up in amazement at the slave girl who had done this to him. In all his life, he had never thought it possible that a simple slave could actually hurt him.

Santiara had dropped to the floor, the pain searing through her. She watched as the blood spread through the cloth slowly. She lifted up her shirt to see the wound clearly, it wasn’t too deep but the pain was incredible. She leaned back against a log when she saw all the others fighting the hunters. She couldn’t just stay here and wait to die, if she was going to she’d rather die fighting. “Get up, just get up!” She whispered to herself and with a huge effort she picked herself off the ground, her knife still in hand.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel had made straight towards Shivana, her right hand gripping her sword tightly. As she came near, the Huntress still seemed shocked, frozen in a moment of horror that slaves could attack her, and taking advantage of this, Fionel whirled the sword around at the neck level of the Huntress.

But Shivana was fast. In a second her own sword, which had been unsheathed, was up, not completely countering Fionel's, but deflecting it, so it still caught the Huntress a blow on the shoulder with its flat. Shivana yelled, in anger more than pain.

"How dare you, slave?"

"I am not a slave any more." Fionel somehow managed to control her voice so it was not much more than a whisper, but Shivana heard. Her mocking laugh made Fionel's blood suddenly run cold.

"'I'm not a slave anymore', she says," Shivana mocked Fionel's own voice in a high, squeaky one, then returned to her own. "What do you mean by that? You have been a slave most of your life, no doubt, haven't you?"

"My past will not destroy my future." Fionel replied evenly. The pair of them were circling now, and Fionel was trying to weigh up the odds between them. She knew Shivana to have at least two long daggers concealed about her person at some time, and the one she was holding in her hand was only one of these. Fionel let her eyes flicker away from her opponent's for a second, searching her body for the other weapon.

Mistake.

In that second, Shivana's weapon shot straight forward at Fionel's chest. Fionel hadn't had any idea that she was about to move- wasn't one of the more basic rules of combat to make sure you always knew what your opponent was about to do? She gasped in shot and parried the blade ammateurly, simply whacking it with her own as she jumped backwards.

Shivana smiled her predatory grin and Fionel cursed inwardly- now the easterling knew she was an ammateur. That shot hadn't really been designed to kill, more simply to test Fionel's skills with her blade. And Fionel had failed spectacularly. She backed away uncertainly, and Shivana walked forward further, still smiling wickedly.

I need an element of surprise... Fionel strove desperately to come up with such a thing, before she thought of one. She couldn't let the smile flicker onto her own face for a moment. Shivana saw it and stopped approaching so fast- she was uncertain as to what had caused the slave to smile. Realising she had to put her back at her ease, Fionel moved back onto a ground where she knew the easterling would be happy. She gulped, her eyes seeming to beg with Shivana, and allowed a small, pleading smile to flicker onto her face, as if trying to appease the easterling, like a submissive dog who has been naughty. Shivana saw this and, in her arrogance, was fooled. She began to prepare for another strike. Fionel gasped aloud, moving back. For a fleeting milisecond, she allowed her eyes to flicker down about a metre behind her, and she saw the perfect excuse. She made sure she was always alert, but still Shivana struck, and Fionel, unpractised in sword fighting, despite her alertness, was caught off guard. She tried to move to the side, but the sword caught her in the arm. She cried out, and pulled back, causing the curved end of the blade to rip through her skin, inflicting even further pain and damage. Fionel bit her lip hard to stop herself crying out again and moved back a little, facing Shivana almost sidewards now, her head turned, her injured arm behind her and her torso protected her her right arm and sword.

But what she had thought of as a plan was tuning against her. The obstruction- a small rocky lump in the ground- which she had been going to use as an excuse to fall and use in her plan- which seemed to be falling to pieces- now turned against her. She stumbled and fell to the ground, her left arm crushed under her, inflicting yet more pain. Shivana laughed once more, her grin as wide as the range of the mountains of Mordor.

To Fionel's surprise, the easterling did not strike immediately. She plunged her sword down right beside Fionel, making the slave roll to the side, then plunged it down to the other side, but didn't aim straight at her immediately. This surprised Fionel, then horrified her. The easterling was playing with her.

But inside her tunic, Fionel allowed her hand to grasp the little piece of hope- a small, bone pen knife, the one Rhunnaro had thrown to her as they first ran from Nurn. She still had a plan...

[Brinniel]

Desolyn's knuckles turned white as she gripped her spear. She stood watching the battle, unable to find the courage to take part in it herself.
All her life, Des had waited for this moment. She had always wanted revenge on the Easterlings for the cruelties they had done to her. And now, when she finally had the chance to kill one of them, she was too scared.
Desolyn loosened her grip on the spear. The object felt awkward in her hands, for it was the first weapon she had ever held. Des had no idea how to use the spear; it felt so heavy and foreign. She figured that thrusting it into the belly of an Easterling would be easy. But what about defending herself? Desolyn lacked the skill in blocking attacks. For her, an injury would be considered lucky.

In the distance, Desolyn could see the slave Santiara battling with a hunter whom she recognized as Dorlas. She watched as the Easterling sliced his sword across the girl's stomach. This is impossible,Des thought to herself as she watched Santiara collapse in pain. How are we supposed to defeat them?

It was then she noticed Dorlas stagger back in pain, his arm bleeding. Santiara had managed to wound him. Desolyn suddenly saw things differently. She allowed memories pain and terror to flood her mind and she again thought of what she had missed out on life. A fury grew inside her stronger than ever before. Fear had escaped, and all Des felt now was her hunger for revenge. Death no longer mattered to the girl; as long as she managed to kill. And as Dorlas stood there holding his arm, she saw her opportunity.

Crying out in her own rage, Desolyn charged towards the Easterling.

[Arien]

Stupid slaves, who were they to challenge them? Insolence! Her knife was gripped firm in her hand, her heart pounding against her chest because of the excitement….fear. Fear? Fear of what, they were slaves. She cursed her self for such a thought. She slowly walked forward towards the slave. As she stared into her frightened face she realised it was the one that had dared to look at her when Ekatran had called her forward. Yes, yes this was meant to happen, this girl was meant to die, to die be the hands of Shivana.

The girl kept backing away, as she did so Shivana bent delicately down and grasped her daggers and pulled them from the soft, all the while her eyes firmly placed upon the girl.

“You know, I could kill you right now,” she said placing both in her right hand, “Like that!” she clicked her hands, “But…but that wouldn’t be fun, would it?”

Fionel did not say anything , but stared up into her eyes.

“Answer me!” she shouted, shaking her hair out of her face.

“No…no it wouldn’t..” she shuddered.

“Really?” she laughed.

Throwing her dagger, it landed right next to her hand, so close.

“Good aim you have?” Fionel said, obvious in her eyes as sucking up.

“No its not, if it was your hand would be pinned to the ground….”

She proceeded to play with the girl taunting her, despite the things around here. She would kill this girl.

[Orual]

Dôranna's ears rang with the clashing of steel, and the familiar taste of blood was in her mouth. Her head felt light, though her limbs were heavy; her dagger was an extension of her hand. She had tasted blood before, many times, after beatings and the like, but it had not been the same. It had not been in battle.

She wiped it away with her sleeve, and reveled at the crimson stain that appeared on the light-coloured fabric. Such a rush! How could her father ever have stopped? From where did his reluctance to use violence come, since he had experienced battle? Why did he leave it behind?

She could feel her dagger meeting flesh, and could hear the cries, but it was all part of a dance, it was all choreography, it was all beautiful. Her tawny hair fell around her and framed her face like a helm, and her icy eyes sparkled with a fury like she had never known before. It was too close to insanity for comfort, but she could not stop it.

Her thin-soled shoes allowed for a lot of maneuvering, and she flitted around the field like a grotesque butterfly. She stabbed and stabbed, and did not always hit, but did often enough to please her. She looked down at her blade, and it was red. She grinned, and then gasped.

Time slowed.

Slice.

Like most wounds, she did not feel it immediately when the blade ripped through her calf. She could feel the fury draining out of her eyes, and the muscles in her face went slack. Her jaw hung open as she took ragged breaths. Then the pain came, and she screamed in agony. She collapsed into a heap at the feet of whoever had done this to her. She could hear footsteps walking away from her--oh, so she was to die of blood loss, that was it--until all that remained was pain and the sounds of battle.

She touched her leg, her chest heaving with her torn gasps for air, punctuated with a sobbing she could not control, and she winced. The back of her calf was hot with blood, and she could not stand to go any higher, for fear of actually touching her wound. The muscles were torn, but she could tell that the bone was not broken. Maybe she could walk.

She staggered to her feet and fell down again. Up, down. Up, down. She repeated this several times until finally she found her balance, leaning heavily on her left leg. She limped back into battle, her dagger raised, screaming threats that she knew she could not carry out.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel kept talking in her submissive, pleading way, and the Huntress was swallowing it all. She was so close to Fionel now, bent close to her. Fionel scrambled backwards.

"Good aim you have."

"No it's not, if it was your hand would be pinned to the ground..." Shivana laughed wickedly. Fionel couldn't help the real fear she was beginning to feel, but in her hand the knife still was clutched in her right hand. But Shivana was not finished.

"If I was a good aim it would have done something like...this!" With the last word she stabbed down with her dagger. The blade shot straight through, pinning Fionel's left hand to the ground. In shock and pain, Fionel cried out. Shivana laughed and ripped the blade back out. She held the blood stained tip in front of Fionel's scared eyes, and a drop of blood dropped from the end of it. Shivana's head snaked forward and she caught the drop on the tip of her tongue. She smiled and licked her lips, but Fionel didn't take time to let the shudder she felt course through her, instead putting her plan into action. Despite her pain, everything was very clear now, and she whipped her hand straight up, straight towards Shivana's neck.

But luck was against Fionel. The easterling rose slightly, obviously about to stand, and the little knife in Fionel's hand only got her in the arm. Not a fatal blow, as intended, but a satisfying one- the pen knife went deep into Shivana's forearm. The blood coursed down, soaking through the fabric in her tunic, mirroring the blood on Fionel's own arm. The easterling cried out in agony, and Fionel couldn't help smiling herself. She scrambled to her feet, letting. Holding her sword loosely in her aching left hand, she held the little knife tightly in her left. Swooping down on the still surprised easterling, she sliced across the wound, cutting the fabric more cleanly off it. The blood flowed more strongly and Fionel laughed herself wildly. A strong exhileration flowed over her, the same as when she had stood in front of Ranchard, but this time she did not check it back.

"Who's playing with who now, Shivana?"

The Huntress was on her feet in a second though, and her dagger swung towards Fionel to be clumsily countered by the pen knife, knocking it flying from her hand. The slave had the sword in her right, good hand immediately though and once more they faced once another, circling, clutching each their injured arms, fueled by anger and adrenaline...

[Envinyatar]

They had been at it for a fair space of time. Sweat glistened on their faces, and the muscles of their arms ached with the prolonged effort. Still, Rhûnnaro danced lightly on the balls of his feet, keeping his eyes on the slim figure before him.

Ekatran was twenty years younger than he, and taller, his reach with his longsword extending out in a greater arc than the man from Rhûn. The older man felt himself to be as skilled with his blade as the younger, but those advantages of youth and size did tip the scales in Ekatran’s favor, and he felt his best chance would be simply to stay alert and press his advantage when it came to him. Added to that was the fact the beneath his dark tunic, Ekatran was known to wear full armour. Rhûnnaro’s blows glanced off the metal, bruising the younger man with their force, but not cutting him.

Ekatran advanced, his blade singing in a zig-zag pattern as he pressed forward, the tip of his longsword cutting a shallow gash in Rhûnnaro’s cheek. The older man’s blade came up deflecting a second blow meant for his neck. Ekatran’s blade slid down the other, glancing off it slightly to land firmly on Rhûnnaro’s vambrace.

The solid blow to his arm caused Rhûnnaro to stagger, leaving Ekatran a clear strike at his chest. With the weight of his body behind it, he drove the tip of his blade at the older man’s torso, Rhûnnaro’s chain mail shirt caught the blow squarely, and the force of it knocked him to the ground, his sword clattering to the ground and sliding away from him.

Ekatran, his eyes never leaving his quarry’s face, moved in for the kill, savoring the moment slowly. He raised his arms high, the longsword clasped tight in his hands, thinking to bring it down on the man before him.

Two things, then, conspired to throw his plan awry. Tenzin, seeing a clear shot at Rhûnnaro’s would be slayer, drew back his bow and let fly one of the black fletched arrows. And one of the women, seeing Rhûnnaro downed, ran spear in hand to his aid.

Ekatran, his arms raised high to strike, was focused fully on the other Easterling, and took no notice as he called in a clipped fashion to the approaching woman.

‘His arm pit! Unprotected! Strike hard!!’

[Arien]

“His arm pit! Unprotected! Strike hard!!” someone cried. In a second she threw har dagger at Fionel and pinned her already injured arm to a thick tree trunk behind her. The girl screamed in pain, but the dagger was in bedded deep into the tree through her arm and it would be a job getting it out. Now she could concentrate on the voice. She saw that Ekatran was vulnerable and one of the women was heading towards it with a useless spear. As quick as she could run Shivana bolted behind the girl, who was now just meters away from Ekatran.

“Haven!” Fionel screamed from behind her, the girl turned distracted by her friends cries. But only turned to see Shivana with her dagger held up high. She drove it down, deep into the girls chest, and withdrew it. The girl fell to the ground, blood poured out, she was still alive but no for long. Better she suffer than she kill her quickly.

“That will teach you!” she laughed, wildly and turned back to Fionel who was still stuck on the tree.

“Was that one of you little friends?….Awww, shes dying…and you cant help her,” Shivana pointed at the girl who lay spluttering blood, crying on the floor. She laughed once more and turned her attention back to Fionel.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Haven realized her mistake all too late. The nanny had not even bothered to look for someone sneaking up behind her. Haven had blindly sprinted after Ekatran to strike, and after all that, her spear had only slightly glanced off his lower shoulder. Haven had turned as her name was called by Fionel, only in time to see a female Easterling send her dagger into Haven's chest cavity.

The realization hit her much, much quicker once the dagger was withdrawn. Haven crumpled to the ground, coughing in fits of blood as more of the red liquid spilled from her chest area. It was all over. Haven's vision blurred with every crazed blink. It scared her more than anything to see her own blood pooling around her.

After one blink, Haven caught sight of Lanbriel through her fuzzy vision. The girl grabbed Haven's spear with a somber look on her face before turning away. Haven could not blame her, for it was far too late to save the caretaker. Haven's hearing was sharper in her last moments than she thought it ever had been. The sounds of weapons clashing, the sound of arrows whistling through the air, and the sound of painful cries. All of those sounds rang all too clearly through Haven's ears, causing the already convulsing girl to cringe.

Haven, frantic for air in her last moments, breathed deeply and tried to block out the sounds of battle. The sounds of children laughing and wailing came to Haven's mind first, voices instantly recognizeable as Jamilah and Jovanna. Haven smiled, and with every ounce of strength left in her, cried out "Good luck, Fionel!" until her call turned into a gurgling sound as blood spewed out in a cough. In that moment, Haven could swear she felt something beside her, but she was numb by that time, and it mattered not.

Death seemed so much colder to Haven than ever imaginable, but so comfortable after her long efforts to escape from Nurn.

[ June 17, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[kittiewhirl1677]

The fight had been going on for quite a while, with Lanbriel injuring the Easterlings here and there slightly. She had never really gotten a chance to face off with anyone, because everyone was always taken. She wouldn't just barge into someone's battle, as it would be too dangerous.

Then she saw her chance. Haven, running for Ekatran, had been stabbed by the female Easterling, Shivana. Haven was too far away, so Lanbriel could not help her. No. But she could easily harm Shivana, who hadn't noticed her hiding behind a small bush. She was heading for Fionel, who's left arm had been pinned to a tree with Shivana's dagger.

While Shivana went off to stab Haven, Fionel crept on a side of the tree where the now-returning Easterling could not see her. Saying a few taunting things to Fionel, Shivana came nearer and nearer.

Lanbriel saw her chance and drew her dagger. She was first about to draw her spear, but then she realized. If she used the spear, it would make a lot of noise hitting the tree and leaves, and the skilled Easterling would dodge such a clumsy blow. But her dagger, Lanbriel knew she could control that easily.

She saw her chance, and as Shivana was about to stab Fionel again with her dagger, Lanbriel threw out her dagger and hit Shivana straight in her torso. The blow was heavy, and sank deep into Shivana's hips. The hunter cried out, and staggered backwards away from Fionel.

Lanbriel quickly ran over to the pinned slave, and with all her might managed to tear the dagger from the girl's arm and from the tree. Fionel cried out, but the pain was soon gone from her arm and so was the dagger.

Lucky for me, Lanbriel thought, that I wasn't wounded, or I would never have succeeded in freeing Fionel's arm, or stabbing Shivana with such force.

That was definately a BIG mistake. Lanbriel didn't even notice that she took a long break to think this thought, panting from the amount of force she had to use to free Fionel. At the end of her thought, as if to counteract it, a blow met with Lanbriel's right arm. It didn't go far, as the blow's owner happened to be the weakened Shivana.

Lanbriel gasped, but didn't cry out. She had learned from watching that crying out meant to be the sign of weakness to the opponent. She just let herself inwardly wince, and keeping her face expresionless and rock-hard, brought a blow, what she thought was her last, to Shivana's right arm.

Since her hips and feet were still able to function flawlessly unlike Shivana's, she turned and ran away without being pursued. Ignoring the pain rising in waves through her arm, she concentrated on helping Haven now. Fionel could deal with Shivana on her own, she hoped.

Lanbriel approached the fallen girl. She was lying in pools of her own blood, spitting it out constantly. Lanbriel, luckily, had heard what Rhunnaro had said earlier. She had happened to loose her dagger on her way to Haven, so she picked up the other slave's with a soft, 'hope you don't mind' look on her face. But before she could strike, someone managed to strike her own left shoulder. It had been Ekatran.

[Amanaduial the archer]

The pain in Fionel's arm was unbearable. She turned her head slowly to see the long curved blade that had actually gone through her arm- it was so surreal. Had it gone through the bone? She felt herself wondering. Her thoughts were more abstract, and as the pain surrounded her, it seemed it would be easier and easier to sink into unconciousness...

But Haven's cries now rung in her ears. She forced her eyes back open to see the young, black haired girl lying, curled up, on the floor. Shivana laughed wickedly and nudged Haven with her foot. The girl rolled over slightly and coughed and Fionel realised that the pretty red liquid which was trickling out of her mouth was indeed blood. But there was so much...

Shivana turned back to where Ekatran stood, distracted by the commotion and Shivana's brutality. In this pause, Rhunnaro had managed to roll to the side, and had gone quickly to Haven's side, kneeling beside her and trying to staunch the bleeding. Shivana sneered, and exchanged a look with Ekatran.

"A heartwarming sight, isn't it, Ekatran?" She said, her voice bitter sweet. He smiled back and, very slowly, twirling his blade in his hand, began to walk towards Rhunnaro and the dying Haven.

But Fionel had other plans for them. Beside her another had appeared and, after hearing a murmered apology, she felt the dagger pulled from her arm in a desperate wrench, releasing her from the tree. Almost overwhelmed by the total white hot pain which seared through from her fingertips to her collar bone, Fionel forced herself to stay upright. Lanbriel steadied her, then she herself was pulled away by another- Shivana again. Fionel felt her mind growing fuzzy and unfocused, but made herself stay concious. Ekatran and Shivana were paying no heed to her now, the former menacingly circling Rhunnaro and Haven, the latter, who had been attempting to deal with Lanbriel, now coming back to where Haven lay. Fionel glanced around, her mind coated in cotton wool, and saw the fuzzy figure of Tenzin not far away. He saw what she meant to do, and began to raise his bow, an arrow fixed in it, drawing back the bowstring to fix his sights on the mighty Lord Ekatran as he began to taunt his pray. As for Fionel, she could no longer hear the words Ekatran or Shivana said. There were suddenly only a very few things in her world. She balanced the long, curved dagger in her hand, feeling the weight of it, measuring the distance between herself and Shivana, and all the while felt her strength draining away. Her eyes were fixed upon the spot just between Shivana's shoulder blades as she drew back the dagger. She stepped backwards, then took two quick steps forwards, to get into the motion and, with a last surge of strength, she hurled the dagger at the Hunter. She slipped as she threw it though and as the long dagger sliced through the air, Fionel fell to the ground.

The blade did indeed find its target, but Fionel did not see it as she stumbled to the floor, falling to her knees, then onto her hands. Her left arm collapsed under her and she rolled to the side. The darkness of unconciousness was coming closer and closer, and she didn't see the rest of the scene unfold. She didn't see Shivana scream and spin around, clawing at the dagger, didn't see Rhunnarp reach up and wrench it out, making Shivana fall to the ground in pain. She didn't see Shivana stop writhing, whether unconcious from pain and shock or dead she did not know, as both her wounds caused her pain and agony on the same level as Fionel- Fionel had not even noticed, in her strange, fuzzy state that Lanbriel had managed to wound her already. Nor did Fionel see said Lanbriel run towards the spot where Haven still lay, convulsing gently, her breathing shallow. If she had seen, she would have seen Ekatran try to shove the slave away from her dying companion spitefully, before his sword was knocked out of his hand by Rhunnaro, who stood like an image of vengeance solidified, forcing the Lord of Nurn to drop his weapon and step away.

But she did see Tenzin as he ran to her side, kneeling down beside her. As the darkness closed around Fionel, she reached up, her left arm trembling and burning, reaching into her tunic. With a quick wrench she pulled the knot on the cord free, her hand closed over the little green wind horse and, as Tenzin began to fumble over the wound in her arm, she held the horse out to him. Both his hands closed over her small, trembling fingers and hand, and as they did so, the darkness closed over her mind, allowing her to slip into blessed unconciousness.

[ June 17, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Brinniel]

Desolyn charged toward Dorlas expecting to catch him by surprise, but she realized she was mistaken when the Easterling brought up his sword, ready to block her attack. But Desolyn did not slow. Instead, she picked up her speed and when she reached him, her spear met his sword.
As their weapons clashed, Des could feel the man's strong arms push against her frail ones. Dorlas was no match for her.

For a second Desolyn hesitated, an action she immediately regretted. Dorlas took advantage of this situation and swung his sword at her, slashing the girl's face. Blood ran freely down the right side of Desolyn's face, blinding one eye. Dorlas swung his sword at her again, but this time Des was able to dodge the blow. Remembering the spear in her hand, the girl thrust it at the man, this time hitting his upper leg. Dorlas winced in pain, but Desolyn could see that the wound was not deep.

The Easterling lifted up his sword again and Des raised her own weapon in defense, but she soon discovered that this time neither her nor the spear were strong enough.

The hunter charged forth, his sword splintering the spear as Desolyn was thrown back into a tree. Before she was able to recover herself, Dorlas had reached her. He thrust his sword into the girl's shoulder, pinning her to the tree. The Easterling smiled as she gasped in pain, pleased to see her suffer. Chuckling, he released blade and pierced Desolyn's other shoulder. The hunter gazed at the girl, his eyes fierce, showing no signs of relent. Unable to hold his stare, Des glanced down at the ground only to discover a shiny object hidden in the dirt. A dagger. Desolyn knew it would not be much against the sword Dorlas held, but she knew she should try. Her life no longer mattered. To Desolyn, it was already over.

As Dorlas released his sword, Des dropped to the ground, snatching up the dagger. Ignoring the blow to her back, she shoved the dagger into the man's stomach. The Easterling gasped in surprise and took a step backwards, but Des did not let go of her weapon. Dorlas dropped his sword and pulled out his own dagger. He thrust the weapon into Desolyn's chest several times over in an attempt to free her, but Des only plunged her dagger into him further.
Finally, the hunter stumbled and fell, bringing the girl down with him. Dorlas then dropped his dagger and Des released her's. Weakly, she stood up and grabbed the Easterling's fallen sword. Turning back to Dorlas, she raised the sword above her head and stared down at the hunter. His eyes were marked with surprise and fear, but he no longer resisted her as he clutched his bloodied stomach in anguish. Crying out, she brought the sword down into her victim. Covered in blood and only barely alive, Dorlas twitched in his anguish. Frightened at the movement, Desolyn raised the sword and plunged it into his body again. And then again. Wild with fear and madness, she continued to hack at his now lifeless body until she could raise her arms no more.

It wasn't until Desolyn finally did stop when the agony of her wounds returned. The girl glanced down at her chest only to discover a mass of torn flesh. Clutching her ruined body, Desolyn cried out in distress. Her head began to swirl and she collapsed on top of Dorlas's corpse. Moaning, Des lay motionless as she waited for Death to claim her. I do not want to die, she realized. But it was too late for that. Darkness swept over her and Desolyn saw no more.

[ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: Brinniel ]

[Envinyatar]

Tenzin’s wound had begun to bleed again. He could feel the warm, sticky fluid seep out from beneath the dressing as he used his arm, dropping in thick gouts of dark red on the rock on which he crouched. He wiped his arm across his face, thinking to wipe the haze which shadowed his sight. The herbs he had chewed earlier had worn off, and the pain from his wound was a constant drain on what little strength he had left.

He had already loosed one arrow, but his muscles had protested at the strain of drawing back the bow, and the shaft had landed harmlessly in the dirt at Ekatran’s feet. The man had not even noticed the arrow as it hit the ground, so intent was he on his intended victim, Rhûnnaro.

A groan issued unconsciously from Tenzin’s throat as he struggled to his feet, His eyes took in the bloody tableau that lay below him. Two of the hunters were dead, one by Turos’ hand, and one by the woman, Desolyn, who now lay close to death herself, he thought, seeing her face grow pale and the blood puddle on the ground beneath her. Another of the women, Haven, had already met her death at the hands of Shivana.

Shivana he saw stagger, and fall as Rhûnnaro wrenched the dagger from her back. Then Ekatran alone stood, his attention drawn to Lanbriel who stooped near Haven, giving her comfort. It was to Ekatrans’ great misfortune that he did so.

Rhûnnaro picked up his blade from dirt where it had fallen and advanced on Ekatran. A hard blow to Ekatran’s arm knocked the sword from his grip, and it fell clattering onto the rocks and dirt at his feet. He dared not bend to pick it up, as Rhûnnaro’s eyes were on him, a cold and calculating light shining from them.

‘Surely your sense of honor will not let you kill an unarmed man.’ Ekatran’s face held an expression of contempt for the older man, and his oily voice insinuated itself into the lessening space between them.

‘My sense of honor! How thoughtful of you, my Lord, to care so much about my welfare.’ Rhûnnaro advanced to within inches of Ekatran’s torso. He could see the pulsing beat of the younger man’s heart against the tight skin of his chest.

‘No, Ekatran, I had not planned to take the life of someone whose spirit is already dead. I will leave you instead to the good graces of those you tormented for so long.’ Rhûnnaro looked impassively at the perplexed face of the young Lord and pressed the tip of his blade lightly against the man’s chest.

Turos, with Dôranna limping clumsily beside him, had come up behind Ekatran in the melee, and now stood silently behind him. Turos held a stout club he had wrenched from the saddle on Rhûnnaro’s mount, and now he brought it up in his good hand with a mighty arc.

Ekatran felt the rush of air as the club was raised, and turning slightly, a look of surprise on his face, he raised his arms in defense. They deflected the blow somewhat, but the force of it against his forearms caused him to stagger and drop his arms in pain. Dôranna reached out with a powerful swing and hit him squarely in the back of the head with the thick wooden shaft of her spear. He fell limply to the ground - his muscled body crumpling from the blow.

They were on him, then, with all the quickness they could muster. Lanbriel and Turos forced him down flat, bringing his arms up behind him. Dôranna, her knee planted squarely on the small of his back tore long strips from the hem of her shirt to bind his wrists and ankles tightly. Once done, they tackled the fallen Shivana, held down by Santiara, her knife to the Hunter’s throat. Handling her roughly as they turned her to her stomach, the women bound her securely with the rope Rhûnnaro fetched for them.

Rhûnnaro took a deep breath and sat down wearily on a rock as the others finished binding the two Hunters. His muscles ached, and his chest heaved as he sought to regain his breath. ‘We are done,’ he said, letting the breeze carry his words upward as it cooled his drenched torso.

A grief stricken cry brought his head up sharply, and he turned to see Tenzin bent over the fallen Fionel, cradling her head and shoulders in his arms. He saw the tears run down the young man’s face and fall on her pale cheeks. Tenzin’s hand cupped hers gently, as he bent close to her ear, speaking softly to her. Her eyes were shut, and the rise and fall of her breathing was barely perceptible. Rhûnnaro rose to his feet and hastened to Tenzin’s side.

‘You cannot leave me now,’ he heard the young man say to her, as he drew near. Tenzin’s finger pushed back a strand of hair from Fionel’s cheek, tucking it gently behind the shell of her ear. ‘You are free now, to choose as you wish.’ He bent close to her and kissed her on the brow tenderly. ‘Do not choose death . . .’

Rhûnnaro knelt down and gently took Fionel from Tenzin’s arms, laying her down on the ground. ‘You must pull yourself together, Tenzin.’ He turned to Turos who had come up beside them. ‘Fetch the medicine kit, Turos. You and Dôranna see to the others as best you can.’ Returning his attention to Fionel, he spoke in a blunt manner. ‘She lives still, Tenzin. Help me get her wounds cleaned and dressed, and give her some of that leaf to ease the pain . . .’

[kittiewhirl1677]

Once they had finished tying up the hunters that were still, but barely alive, Lanbriel helped the others. Desolyn was fading more and more to the shadows of death. Haven was already gone. Lanbriel couldn't bare to look at their faces. They had given up their lives, all their chances of being free so that the rest of the slaves may have had those chances.

"It's not fair!" Lanbriel stamped her foot, crying loudly. Then she dropped on the ground and sobbed. Rhunnaro approached her, telling her softly to do what she could now, and not think about what was already done.

So Lanbriel dug two holes by the side of a patch of flowers, each hole on either side of the flower patch. While the other slaves attended their living companions, Lanbriel placed the body of Haven in one of the holes. The second was for Desolyn, but somewhere, deep inside, she hoped that she could soon be able to close it up while it was empty.

She knew that that hope was a false one. She came over to Desolyn. The girl lay unconscious, surrounded by pools of blood growing larger by the minute. She called over to Turos and Doranna (as the two others tended to Fionel), wanting to hear their opinions before she certainly knew to bury the slave.

[ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: kittiewhirl1677 ]

[Orual]

Dôranna hung at the outside of the activity, fingering the torn hem of her shirt and whispering softly to herself. She knew that she must look mad, standing around with her mouth moving and no one else about, but she really didn't care just then. She was talking to her father. Apologizing for not understanding. She understood now.

Her leg felt like it was on fire, and the ache spread everywhere in her body. Her very hair seemed to hurt. But worst of all was the tightness in her chest, and that did not come from any physical wounds she had taken.

She knelt by Haven's body, stroking the girl's blood-matted hair. Eru, but it wasn't fair. She had been a child. The Elf's eyes filled with tears, which dropped onto Haven's face, cold but strangely peaceful in death. Her breath started to come unevenly, until finally she fell forward on her face and wept until there were no more tears.

Wiping her face with her filthy hands, and realizing that nothing was coming of it but mud, she glanced at the other wounded, dying. Her face contorted with pain, until she was able to control herself, and she whispered, "Hiruvalyë hîdh ab 'wanath." They all deserved peace for what they had given.

Dôranna wandered off to try and collect herself when she heard Lanbriel calling for her and Turos. She walked slowly over to the girl, who was by Desolyn. Bleeding her life away. Tears sprang afresh into Dôranna's eyes, but she forced them down. Kneeling beside Lanbriel, she put an arm around the girl's shoulders, more to comfort herself than from any indication that Lanbriel needed it. She said nothing, but felt better for the girl's presence.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial's post

Fionel felt the sunlight playing lightly on her eyelids, and the sensation seemed so pure and beautiful. Yet she did not yet open her eyes, but struggled up slightly…and the pain hit her. Pain seared through her arm, and, gasping, she opened her eyes. She heard another gasp, not her own this time, and then an exclamation.

“She wakes!”

“Yes, Tenzin, as I told you she would.” The older voice was rather more sober, although there was a smile in it. Fionel’s eyes adjusted, and as she fully regained consciousness, she coughed a few times, leaning over to one side as she felt something come up from in her throat. A concerned arm was placed around her, and she turned, wiping her mouth. Tenzin smiled down at her and quickly kissed her on the forehead, then blushed and regained his composure, allowing her to prop herself up on one elbow. Fionel was so surprised that she didn’t even notice the red on her hand where she had wiped it, and didn’t immediately notice that her arm was indeed less painful than before, although it still burned quietly. She simply stared at Tenzin, who blushed again and, in a rather uncharacteristic manner, began trying to 'explain himself' with haste.

"Forgive me, I was simply worried, I shouldn't have done it, silly of me-"

Fionel smiled, shaking her head, and he stopped. Leaning forward, she kissed him very lightly...on the cheek. She was still cautious of any easterling, but this young man...

As she leant forward, Fionel felt something swing from her chest then back again, something small and relatively light. Her left hand came up to it and she looked at it, surprised, before turning her eyes back up to Tenzin. "I gave this back to you."

He smiled. "And I didn't take it."

"But its-"

"Its a gift from me." He finished firmly. She returned the smile, then tried to get to her feet, only to be hindered by her arm as she leant on it, collapsing beneath her. She breathed in sharply, her breath hissing through her teeth, then got up more carefully. Rhunnaro tsked in an almost matronly manner from where he stood nearby, watching everything.

"Careful with that- the dressing is new, and is only held on with some of Lanbriel's leaves." He gave a satisfied nod though as he came and examined it carefully and gently. "It will suffice though."

As he stood back, Fionel saw in his expression the half smile she had heard in his voice when her eyes were still closed. She returned it rather shakily, as her arm was still aching, but more strongly than she may have done before, for she was supported by Tenzin, his arm around her shoulders so she did not fall, for she was weaker after being unconscious. But his support suddenly seemed to go much deeper than it had before, and she felt warm inside. He had kissed her...

Such thoughts were more quickly dispelled though when she saw, lying on the ground, a pair of bodies, all too painfully familiar. One was Haven. The young nursemaid was already dead- she couldn't have survived the wound. Fionel remembered the scene, Shivana's laughter still ringing in her ears as Haven fell to the ground. She looked to the side, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to dispell the image, then looked back. Doranna still knelt by the girl, her eyes shining with tears, and Fionel guessed that it was her who had closed Haven's eyes, and cleaned the blood from around her mouth. Those last few moments in which Haven had still been on This Side came back to Fionel, her last words.

"Good luck, Fionel!"

Fionel smiled and knelt on one knee before the dead girl, raising a hand to her lips and gently kissing the forefinger, a sign of respect and admiration, and sorrow. She thought of when she had first seen the girl, in the audience at the Selection, a pair of smiling, cheeky faced children on her lap and pulling at her skirt hem, and her flustered, but happy, face as she tried to sort them into some sort of order. As Fionel looked at Haven's face once more, eyes closed and peaceful face free of blood, she knew that she had indeed gone back to Jamilah and Jovanna; but she would have made a wonderful mother. Another wasted life.

As Fionel identified the second body, her eyes widened in shock. Moving swiftly to her side and gently she pushed a strand of hair from the girl's face, she realised to her horror that she had been right- it was Desolyn. Such a fiery spirit killed...but there was indeed still hope. In the slight wind which blew across the plains, a broken strand of dry, brown grass, more like hay, blew onto Desolyn's face, just below her nose. Fionel was about to brush it off, when it was blown off by another, fainter wind, and in another direction. Fionel was startled for a moment at the wind's apparent change in direction so fast, then smiled in realisation- Desolyn breathed still, however faintly. But Fionel was no fool- Desolyn's chest had been covered by Rhunnaro's cloak, and Fionel could guess how bad her wounds were. She had taken down Dorlas, but had by no means come out unscathed.

Desolyn's breathing became slightly irregular for a moment, and she gave a small half cough, but did not open her eyes. Fionel moved closer, and as Desolyn coughed again, she turned her head gently to one side so the latter could cough more freely. As she did so, a thin trickle of blood escaped Desolyn's lips, and Fionel knew that she was going. She opened her eyes, but only very slightly, so all Fionel could see was a thin, shining slit.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Brinniel's post

As she returned to consciousness, Desolyn could feel reality hit her. Pain swarmed throughout her body, like a parasite feasting on her. Every breath she took was a struggle to hang onto life a moment longer.
Choking on her own saliva, Des gave a small cough. She tasted blood. As she coughed again, she could feel another turn her head to the side. In response, Desolyn allowed a small trickle of blood to escape her mouth. She then opened her eyes very slightly only to find Fionel at her side.

“Fionel,” she said softly. “You are still alive.”
“So are you,” Fionel responded, giving a small smile.
“Only barely,” Des whispered, coughing again. “Is it over then?”
“Yes,” Fionel nodded. “We have defeated them.”
“No more fighting?”
“No more fighting.”
“Good. Then it was worth my efforts.” In an attempt to ignore her pain, Desolyn closed her eyes, feeling the wind blow across her face. She then opened them again, her vision blurred from the tears that had begun to form. “I wish I didn’t have to die,” the girl spoke, her voice barely audible.
“Don’t say that, Des,” Fionel pleaded. “You can’t give up on life, yet. You are free now. There’s still a chance you could-“
“If the wounds don’t take me, the fever that will come will,” Desolyn interrupted. “It is too late for me. I cannot be saved.”
“But you are free,” Fionel repeated.
“Sometimes freedom has its price,” Des gave a rueful smile. “And I have paid.” The girl paused before continuing. “There was never much in store for me, anyways. I was born as a slave, and therefore I was meant to be a slave. I only wish I could’ve seen the lands beyond the Shadow Mountains. And perhaps visit the place my mother was from. Edoras, I think it is called. It is in Rohan, I know.”

Desolyn could see the other girl smile, her eyes wet as she tried to hold back tears. Des then shuddered, grimacing as pain lanced through her body once more. Fionel’s smile faded.
“It hurts so much,” Desolyn whispered. Fionel took her hand and held it gently.

Slowly, Desolyn turned back her head and gazed into the sky, absorbing the brightness of it. For so long she had hated the sun, having to work under the heat of it day by day. But now, as she absorbed its warmth, Des adored the sun like no other. Giving one last smile, Desolyn let out a sigh and all feeling left her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Amanaduial's post

Desolyn tried to smile again, then sighed deeply, the rest of the breath left in her going out at once, and with its breeze extinguishing the flame of her life and as she went, a proper, peaceful expression was left on Desolyn's usually so fierce face. The tear which Fionel had been holding back for Desolyn's sake overflowed now, and she held back a sob. Tenzin's strong arm encircled her shoulder once more, and she put up her hand to link with her fingers which lay over her shoulder. Lanbriel, who had also been suppressing a sob, let it out, and Doranna, now kneeling beside her, squeezed her shoulders comfortingly.

Fionel stood, feeling suddenly purposeful. Tenzin withdrew his arm from her shoulders, and she looked at him, her face devoid of emotion. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Ekatran, dammit! Where is he? You said he was not dead, so tell me where he is." Her voice was angrier now. Tenzin stood in front of her, trying to calm her down.

"Fionel, don't. Rhunnaro, spared his life, so leave him be-"

"He. Killed. Her." Fionel said each word individually, emphasising them. "I. Will kill. Him."

She stepped around Tenzin, moving faster now; as she had turned she had seen where two figures sat, bound and gagged, away from the camp, but both struggling, awake. Fionel picked up speed now, beginning to run, as she did, snatching her sword from where it lay on Tenzin's pack where he had placed it, making towards the figures, the rage now showing on her face. The weakness which had been over her before was nothing now, or she seemed to have put it to one side, ignoring it. This she would do. He would pay for what his easterlings had done...

Just a few feet from Ekatran now, who was sideways on to her, she could see the fear in his eyes. He wasn't big and almighty now, lording over them, playing his little games and organising the Hunts. He was helpless now, at her mercy. The ruthless streak which had been glimpsed when Fionel was with Ranchard was no longer just a glimmer, it was coming right to the surface now. She raised her blade high with both hands and, gritting her teeth, began to bring it down-

-befor her hand was stayed.

Tenzin's strong, muscled right hand clutched her left one, and his touch ignited once more the burning which had been there before, from Shivana's blades. With a yelp, Fionel dropped the sword and it fell with a clang but an inch away from Ekatran's feet. Rhunnaro had also appeared behind her, and the other slaves were also gathering, surprised at Fionel's swift, mad anger. The slave girl was breathing deeply and, slowly, she turned to face them. The beast inside her was under control now, and she would not let it resurface, but her anger was still real, and her sorrow. She took another deep breath, before addressing them all, her voice calm, but not without a little venom.

"What is it that we do with them now?"

[ June 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

Her voice was edged with hatred, and made ragged by exhaustion. ‘What is it that we do with them now?’

Rhûnnaro leaned on his sword, a glint of amusement in his eyes. She caught the look and he could see her anger flare up again. He walked close to where Shivana and Ekatran sat, bound and propped against each other. Holding the flat of his sword against Ekatran’s cheek, he turned the young man’s face to one side and then to the other. Coming round to stand before Shivana, he did the same. His narrowed as he studied them. ‘Yes, this will do,’ he said quietly, holding his hand out to Tenzin.

Tenzin’s hand dropped to his belt, undoing the dagger that was sheathed there. He came forward and kneeling next to Shivana, grabbed her long dark hair in his fist, twisting it tight about his right hand, holding it securely above her head. His left arm went round her neck and he held her tightly, pinioning her head in his grip. She struggled against him, and pain shot through his wounded shoulder. He choked her even tighter and she held still.

Rhûnnaro crouched down before her, looking into her dark eyes. Even in defeat she would not surrender. He put the palm of his left hand against her forehead and pushed her firmly against Tenzin’s chest.

The tip of the dagger carved three, deep wide gashes on each of her cheeks. They ran from chin to temple, the blood from them running freely to join the old blood of the women she had tried to kill. Rhûnnaro carved a last one on her forehead, then scooped some dirt from the ground beside him into his hand, rubbing it deeply into the open cuts to stanch the blood.

‘Seven unworthy slaves defeated you, Huntress. Now each time you see your reflection you will be reminded of the battle. And others, too, will read the story of your defeat in your face, and they will laugh as you pass, whispering loudly to their companions how you were bested in the Hunt.’ Her eyes blazed at him.

‘We will take this, I think, as a sign of victory. It is an old custom in Rhûn, not often practiced now, but for this battle I will claim my right to it.” He took up his sword, and with the sharp edge chopped her hair close to her head, between Tenzin’s fist and her scalp. Tenzin laid the length of hair to one side as it came free, and pushed Shivana roughly to one side.

It was Ekatran’s turn now, and he struggled mightily at his bonds, hatred burning in his eyes. Tenzin grasped him firmly against him as Turos wrapped the fingers of his good hand round the slavemaster’s hair and yanked it up firmly.

The process was repeated, with the same precision and economy of movement as before. Rhûnnaro spoke not a word to Ekatran as he branded him and cut off his dark hair. For his part, Ekatran too was silent, and made no sounds to show he was pained in any way. He too was shoved roughly to the ground when it was done . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fionel heard the others gasp around her and Doranna for one looked away. As they marked Shivana, Fionel looked on, and it was indeed just, after all that she had done, after she had become that twisted, sadistic individual. But as Ekatran was marked...

Fionel couldn't look. She would have killed him, but just killed him, not scarred him badly for life, thereby destroying his. He was cruel, aye, and had hurt and destroyed the lives of so many...but for a short while in the city of Nurn he had shown kindness to her. She remembered how that time had been, maybe with rose tinted glasses now. She had spent four years in the House of Ekatran for two days a week, serving first simply as a low servant, scrubbing floors and making attempts to clean out the old rooms which had lain long neglected, but she had risen, in a way that was most unusual, soon serving at meals, and helping Ekatran and his son with their sword practise, although that was not exactly a treat; it was a priveledge though. She gained herself extra free time in this way and the years from when she was 16 to 17 were as happy as she could have been in slavery.

But things changed then. Ekatran's daughter, Malha, was growing up, and she possessed all the cruelty of her father, and the vanity and *****y sadisticness of her mother. Ekatran spent large amounts of time away from his only daughter, although he evidently doted on her, lavishing gifts and jewels on her so she became horribly spoilt, but she resented the way others could spend time with him. She didn't see the way Fionel was not taking pleasure in having to do sword practise with her brother and father, where the shield Fionel would hold, or the wooden sword, had a tendency to break, how she did sustain many, if not very serious, cuts from it; she only saw that this slave, this scum, was spending more time in her father's prescence than she was. And so she set out to make Fionel's life hell.

Malha was clever though. She would just do little things- in the one night that Fionel was now allowed to spend in the palace, so she could be up and at her chores without having to wait for the slave pens to be unlocked, Malha would put pins in her bed. She would find the scorpions that lived in some parts of the fields, and would put them into the cheap shoes that Fionel wore when in the palace, and in the early morning, when not fully awake, Fionel would put her feet right onto them. She would litter the floor of Fionel's room with pins- it did not have a lock, obviously- at night, would find out where she was working the next day and stand by, taunting her.

Eventually, Fionel snapped. This little brat of a child, about 10 years younger than her, was daring to do all these things to an older child, well, an adult really, something that would be unheard of in Gondor, and no one would reprimand her- Fionel herself was not allowed to even tell her off. But one day, she could not bear in any longer. As Malha stood, taunting her, mocking her, she brought up Fionel's family; the people Fionel loved most who had been torn away from her. In a second, Fionel had been down from the attic she was cleaning, and slapped Malha soundly around the face. As the girl turned to look at her, shocked, hand on her right cheek, Fionel had slapped the other one, then slapped Malha right across her thighs, as she had seen the nursemaids do with unruly children.

THe shock was gone now, and Malha ran, screaming, her yells echoing throughout the palace. They had disgusted Fionel then, and they still disgusted her now- even after a whipping, no slave would yell like that. But Ekatran would not see it like that. Roused from his bed, for it was early morning, he stormed up to where Malha led him, still sobbing fakely to hide her wicked smile, and confronted Fionel. And despite all she had done in the past few years, and the way she had been a faithful servant to him, he would only believe Malha's side of the story ("She jumped on me for no reason, when I was just helping her tidy up the attic, and she pulled my hair and slapped me, telling me I was horrible...."). Seizing a long piece of quite rounded wood, he had beaten Fionel, harder than she had been beaten since she first came to Nurn, and when he was done and her back bled and ached and felt like it would break, he had thrown her out into the fields again.

What Malha had done and how she had reacted had caused Fionel to be put into the Hunt. Her back had taken a week to heal, the only week she would have been allowed to take time off working; but Ekatran still burned with anger, and told the overseers she could rest for one day, then she must work again. He had been cruel to her then, and it had torn apart Fionel's ideas of what was right and wrong, at the time anyway, as she had worked hard and well for Ekatran, not believing everything the others told her of his personal cruelties to others...then he had done this to her.

"Come, we will move again. All have rested and we need to get moving once more." Rhunnaro's voice only half brought Fionel back to the present. She stood, sword by her feet, contemplating Ekatran, but she no longer felt anger, just an odd emptiness. The young man regarded her, chin up, still keeping his dignity despite what he had just suffered, as she always had after a beating, apart from that one beating that day. Tenzin was watching her from a few metres behind, remembering how she had run at him before, but she did not want to attack any more. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the sword, and Tenzin tensed...but all she did was cut off a length of her loose, worn tunic. It was stained with her own blood, but no matter. She stepped to the side of Ekatran and, carefully, wiped the dirt and excess blood from his face then, as a final kindness, tied the cloth around his face, she only his eyes could be seen, and most of the cuts were covered. If anyone came, they would not see the Lord humbled so.

She owed him nothing now: his kindness over that short while was now repaid. Standing, without a backward glance, she walked back to the others. Tenzin didn't say anything, but nodded to her- he didn't understand why she had done this, but he could see there must have been a good reason. Fionel smiled at him and, with his arm around her once more, they walked to where the others were preparing to leave, leaving Shivana and the great Lord Ekatran of Nurn alone.

[Envinyatar]

kittiewhirl's post

Sobbing, Lanbriel made her way to the now lifeless body of Desolyn. Slowly and gently, she pulled the fallen slave to her grave. She carefully put her in the pit. Once few words were said over her grave, she covered her up and put stones and flowers on top.

Soon they were ready to leave. Lanbriel mounted her horse and soon they were off. Feelings of anger, relief, sadness, and happiness all pulsed through her in unsion. Her anger was still at Nurn, all of its merciless inhabitants, and the need to come back and kill them all. Her relief and happiness came from the thought of freedom. She would never be enslaved and tortured like that again! Her sadness came from the fact that two of her companions were now dead, having sacrificed their lives for the freedom of others.

Lanbriel looked up at the sky, and now knew it. She could finally fly free.

[ June 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

‘We should not linger,’ said Rhûnnaro as he wiped off his blade on the leg of his breeches. ‘There are many miles left before we reach Minas Tirith. Tenzin and Turos see to the wounds of the others. Dôranna help if you can. Pick up the scattered weapons and secure them to one of the horses. Lanbriel, help me carry Desolyn to the other grave you have dug. We will cover it with stones before we leave to mark that they fell in battle. The dead hunters we’ll pile in the middle of the clearing and burn.’

He wrapped one end of each of the two lengths of hair he had taken with strips of leather and affixed them to the shaft ends of two spears. At the head of each grave he drove the points hard into the ground. They fluttered in the breeze like banners over the graves of fallen warriors, marking where the brave had fallen in battle, the victory secured.

Wood was piled on the two bodies of the dead Hunters and set alight. In the grim dancing light of the flames as it licked at the corpses, Rhûnnaro brought round the horses urging them all to mount. Fionel rode with Tenzin, his arm around her waist as she sat before him. Lanbriel, Dôranna, Santiara, and Turos each had the luxury of their own mount.

Tenzin and Fionel led the way, while Rhûnnaro followed closely on the group’s heels. ‘Just a short ride over the spine of these hills,' he called out to them, 'then we will head west to the crossing at Poros over the Great River, and North. Your new life is just ahead. Ride on, as free people . . .’

[piosenniel]

Gorothlammothiel’s post

Hours had passed since the slaves had escaped them yet Shivana and Ekatran still lay bound. Both had limited mobility thanks to the tightly knotted cloth binds and their life was slowly draining away from them as quickly as the night was creeping up on day.

Ekatran stared into the burning pyre - the bright flames reflecting in his gaze. A slight gust of wind caught a flame and sent a smoking ember across in the hunter’s direction landing on Ekatran's forearm, burning black his tanned skin. He winced at the smell of burnt flesh. Two hunters lay within those flames and Ekatran grew angry at their deaths at the hands of the 'weak' slaves that they had been pursuing. Their passing, however, did not infuriate the Lord of Nurn so much as the betrayal of one of his own - Rhunnaro.

The balance had already been in the slaves favour after Rhunnaro's disappearance and Ranchards, 'departure'. Ekatran sighed heavily at the realization of the irony now apparent over Ranchard and all thier fates. Had he and Shivana not killed Ranchard, perhaps their current situation would not of resulted the way it had.

That thought gave Ekatran all the determination he needed. It wasn't the fact that the slaves has escaped, for several had fallen which was victory enough to return to Nurn without answering questions, but the fact hat he had lost one of his own men to the slaves infuriated him so much that he 'crawled' across the dusty and bloodstained floor.

Reaching a small blade, Ekatran managed to cut the binds around his arms then quickly moved to untie those around his feet. Rubbing at his wrists his eyes caught a flicker of the pyre reflected in the blade of a sword, still lying on the ground some distance away. Still weary, he crawled over to it, pushing broken spears from the battle aside as he went. He lifted it and gripped it tightly at the hilt. He studied it closely. It wasn't his sword, it was Rhunnaro's.

Climbing to his feet and staggering, he swung the sword heavily across the the two 'banners' of spears and his and Shivana's hair, letting out a cry of anger as he brought them to the ground.

Shivana stirred. She seemed to be waking from a temporary, and recent, state of unconsciousness. Still bound, she sat herself up and looked upon the scene, and then onto Ekatran. He walked over to her and cut her arms and legs free from the bonds, then placed the blade in the empty scabbard at his side. Shivana tried to stand but promptly fell back to the floor. She had sustained more injury from the battle than he had. "My Lord," she said coarsely as she gasped for breath and swallowed hard, "we have not failed, slaves may have escaped but some died at our hands." She pointed to the cairn.

But there was no consoling the Lord Ekatran. "Nay Shivana, some lay dead indeed but so do our own!" She shook her head, "Nay Lord" but he continued, "and Ranchard and Rhunnaro?!" his voice now a shout. His anger however was no longer registering with Shivana. She was gasping for air as she lay almost motionless, dying.

Ekatran did nothing but watch as she took her last breaths and then the darkness took her. He closed her eyelids the stood and walked back from the last of his company. "She died in the thought that we were victorious in battle, but I shall not have that fate, no, mine is to be prolonged and full of torment and shame."

With that, Ekatran left the body of Shivana, the pyre and the cairn, and headed away from the battle scene towards Nurn, by foot. It was some days before Nurn was within his sights once more, but at last he could see his kingdom. The sun was high in the sky beaming down into the fields where slaves were at work. His home in sight and yet Ekatran found he could move no further.

He was weary indeed. Several days by foot with no water, but he had survived. Yet now just a few steps away from his home he fell to the ground, his face in his hands. He looked up and ran his fingers over the cloth at his face. That which the slave had tied around his cuts, forgotten until now.

"If I were to return now" he spoke as if to those he hunted with, "I would surely be shamed. To return alone would let everyone see how I had failed the hunt. The slaves would discover that and revolt against my house." He spoke quickly now, a phase of madness taking him. "No, no" he cried ripping the rag from his face, wincing in pain as the blood ran from the wounds which had scabbed through the thin woven material. "Nurn will not fall! When I don't return, no one will know the truth and a new lord named. Nurn will continue and I remain Lord Ekatran. This years hunt won't be remembered as a failure but shall be a legend, yes, yes..."

Under the heat of the sun Ekatran took Rhunnaro's blade from the scabbard at his side and stared upon it. "Rhunnaro" his voice grew low and concentrated, "you are the only one now who could reveal the truth so that it would be believed by my house. Dare you not return to Nurn during my exile." Then he paused. A thought crept across his mind and his eyes narrowed. "Yes" he whispered, "I shall not face exile, no, I will die at your hand and be found by my people. The wounds to my face shall show our battle. On your return you shall be punished for your treason and I will remain Nurn's Lord, in both legend and truth!"

With that, Ekatran thrust the heavy blade hard into his stomach. A crimson river flowed hard from him and he fell, withdrawing the blade and letting it fall from his weakening grasp at his side. He smiled, though writhing in pain, and kicked some dirt to partially cover Rhunnaro's blade. His last moment of energy was spent wiping the now steady flow of blood from the seven wounds on his face, from his mouth, then with one last cry, it ended.

[piosenniel]

Amanaduial the Archer's post
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Epilogue

The young woman sat in front of the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees in a childlike manner, the fire’s bright flames lighting her face with their warmth. The logs burnt beneath it, and for some reason, the young woman found herself remembering a time when life had not been so comfortable, and the fire that had burnt in front of her eyes had been different; the fire that burnt the bodies of those who had hunted her. For some reason, in that evening, staring into the fire, the young woman found herself taken back to that time, and all the memories with it…

They had indeed ridden to Minas Tirith. With every step the stolen horse beneath her had taken, Fionel’s heart seemed to grow lighter. Behind her lay Nurn, and all its harsh memories of cruelty and pain, with all the lost hopes of her childhood. But these hopes could come alive once more…

“Sometimes freedom has its price.”

The words Desolyn had spoken so soon before her death came back to Fionel, and she remembered how the girl had smiled as she said it. Smiled. Even as she knew she was dying. Fionel remembered her first glance of Desolyn, lying on her front in the hut, her back laced with fresh whip lashes, after another of her escape attempts.

“This is the sixth time you’ve tried to escape, Desolyn. The sixth! Honestly, I-"

“But I was so close this time, Meia, so close! If I were just a few paces ahead of them, I would’ve been free!”

“Oh, free this and free that. That’s all you ever talk about!”

The first words Fionel had heard her say to her friend. She finally had her freedom, but at such a high price. And Haven, the young nursemaid- she had paid as well, having been caught in such a position that she could not ever truly be free or happy, ever wishing to be back, among the smiling, innocent children of those who would hunt her and kill her, those who had, in the long run, taken away what chance she might have had of having children herself. So much love and turmoil had been in that young heart, for her flame of life to be put out at such an early age laid her to rest. The two little mounds had seemed so small, but the banner that flew over them was still victorious, driven in by a man who had fought for a people who were not his own, for a small band of six women and one man to whom all other hope had been destroyed.

The young woman smiled as she remembered that man, his weathered face bright as he had driven the points of those spears into the ground above the mounds. He had taken her to Rhun, taken her to a new life…

But her other companions came also to mind. Dôranna, the brave elven woman who had spent lifetimes in captivity, in the confines of Nurn, whose kin had not come looking for her…but still she had not given up hope. She had still believed that the time would come when she would be able to return to her beloved, the elf she had left behind so many years ago, who she remembered only with a thin, silver chain and a small dagger, who was the reason she clung to this life, in the hope that she would escape and return to him. When they had reached the fine, stone city of Minas Tirith, the elf had turned her horse away and, with a quiet smile, she had slipped away, her memory still holding onto that route down the old roads and rivers, to the citadel of Imladris, where her hope may have waited. Since then, Fionel had heard nothing from her, but knew that Dôranna would have found more happiness among her people than she had had in many lifetimes of men.

But others she had kept contact with. Lanbriel, the sweet and brave young woman, who had come also from the villages surrounding Gondor. She had stayed for a while in the region of Rhun, but had soon carried out her wish to travel, to see the world which had been kept from her for those years in slavery. Unlike Fionel, she had not been taken so early in her life that family would not remember her- with the blessing of all those who had come out of Nurn, Lanbriel had set off towards Gondor, to the small village from which she had originally come. Santiara had come with her, for she too had come from that region, and although she had been a slave for six years, her parents’ families still dwelt there, and the eighteen year old Santiara might still be remembered, although she had changed much now in six years. Besides, she and Lanbriel had become closer, their friendship becoming stronger until they were more like sisters. Strange how their cruel pasts could bring them together, but Fionel did not doubt that in their futures would be far different. She, like Doranna, had borne slavery quietly, but in the time of battle had shone bravely. Fionel had wished them both luck and now, seven years later, contact was still kept through occasional letters, passing through visitors to Nurn in a leisurely way, and in the most recent, Fionel had been gratified to know that not long ago, Lanbriel had given birth to her first child, a daughter, who she had called Haven.

Turos too had come to Rhun, but, unlike the two women, he had stayed. The friendship and trust between Turos and Rhunnaro had strengthened, and the pair would trust each other with their lives now, just as they had so long ago, when Turos had been the bait on which the fine thread of the Rhunnaro’s plan lay. The young man would ever remain crippled, but with the help of Rhunnaro and Tenzin, his leg was getting better. Although it would never truly heal, soon he would be able to walk with the help of one stick only occasionally. Rhunnaro had returned to the home of his family, to the wife who had thought he would never return and the children who had grown up in his absence, but, despite his apprehension as they had neared his old home, this surprise had caused his welcome to be even warmer. Turos now lived in his home, for the first time a friend in a household rather than a slave, but he had adapted well to the new lifestyle, and Fionel often saw him, still quiet and withdrawn but full of stories with which he delighted the children.

The children…

“Dad, don’t!” A shriek and a giggle. Fionel turned to see Lyn coming down the stairs. Her eldest daughter’s full name was, of course, actually Desolyn, and it seemed that in her energy and vivid passion for everything, Fionel’s friend lived on. She was pursued by two other people, one of whom was Fionel’s other child, a son, his dark hair already tied up in a stubby ponytail at the back of his head, his brown eyes bright and excited as he chased his big sister, on whom he doted. Named after his father of course.

“I’ll catch you yet, Lyn!”

Fionel turned fully at the sound of the man’s voice, jokily chasing his daughter. As he came through the door, he scooped up Desolyn, holding her up high and swinging her around, making her shriek again. He laughed with her, then, hugging her tightly, he put her back down, stroking her light brown curls which were more like her mother’s than her father’s, and which made her distinctly different from her little brother, but she was still her father’s little girl, who he adored.

As he put down his daughter, Tenzin looked up to see the young woman sitting by the fire as she turned to smile at him. His excited expression softened slightly to become more like the quiet, calm young man who Fionel had first known when fleeing from Nurn, for he had come out of himself and become so animated and full of life since their daughter was born, only a year after they came to Rhun, just eleven months since Fionel announced publicly, as was the tradition of Rhun, that he would marry her. As Desolyn and their little son chased each other away, Tenzin came to stand beside his wife. He stroked her loose, light brown hair, as he had their daughter, then ran his hand down the side of her face. Fionel leant into his hand and as it came to her chin, she looked up at him and, as he leant down, kissed him tenderly on the lips. As she looked up, her eyes also caught the sword which hung above the fireplace, where Fionel had insisted it stayed. It had been the first weapon she had ever used, and with it she had fought for her life and her friends, but more than that, it was a reminder of her companions, alive and dead, who had fought with her. Tenzin followed her gaze and smiled, kissing her again.

“It is past, Fionel.” He murmured. “You were thinking about all of it, weren’t you?”

She nodded, but didn’t speak immediately. He carried on.

“Nurn will not change you any more.”

She smiled back up at her husband again, and he knelt by her side, his arm around her. She stared into the fire, then fixed her eyes on her husband, taking his dark hand in her slim one, now healed from their wounds from those years of slavery. “Nurn made me who I was. It changed my life. It brought me to you.” She leant her head against her husband’s shoulder, nestling into it lovingly, and he rested his head against hers as she whispered the next part of her reply.

“And I don’t regret a bit of it.”