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Manelwen · 05-20-2002, 02:08 PM

He blinked and suddenly realized that he was in the middle of the orcish camp still, his hands bound to the pole that he leaned heavily on for support. How long had he been unconscious? Suddenly, his eyes focused on the mudcaked boots that stood in front of him. Keldin's eyes slowly followed up the legs to the large chest, then to the ugly puckered and scared face of the orc. A ruthless smile showed crooked, broken and black teeth, and the eyes that were probably once a beautiful blue, where black with unhindered hate for the elf that was helpless to all the orc wanted to do. The dagger was wrapped tightly in one gloved fist, but the arm hung limply at his side, the point stuck out, to show Keldin the threat.

"So you are awake, filthy elf?" The orc spat, his cruel eyes drilling into Keldin's.

Attempting to get on his feet, he realised that the ropes around his wrists were attached to a small peg at the base, refraining him from moving. "I wish it were not so, but I suppose I am awake." Keldin grumbled, vainly trying to twist his wrists free of the rope, but the cord bit deeper into his flesh, and he could feel the warm blood coarsing down his hands.

"You are going to wish you never woke, elf, for I am going to mess your pretty face up." The dagger came up slowly, the shadow of it fell on Keldin's face.

Slowly, the elf drew a breath, throwing his head back as far as it could go before it hit the wooden post, and he opened his mouth. Out poured the most beautiful sound; a sound that was enchanting, yet, mournful, it called.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon
sí di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!"

The orc recoilded as if it had been struck, clutching its ears, it dropped the knife. Keldin's foot quickly darted out and pulled the knife to him until he was sitting on his haunches, the knife under him. Slowly, he turned, dragging the knife to lean against the post. As he turned, the knife cut the ropes and he grabbed it, without even thinking, plunging it into the crying orc's heaving chest. It let out a piercing scream before it stilled.

"Where is she?" Keldin muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the camp for the tall dark haired elf.

05-20-2002, 02:08 PM	#127
Manelwen Haunting Spirit Join Date: Apr 2002 Location: Alqualondë Posts: 78	He blinked and suddenly realized that he was in the middle of the orcish camp still, his hands bound to the pole that he leaned heavily on for support. How long had he been unconscious? Suddenly, his eyes focused on the mudcaked boots that stood in front of him. Keldin's eyes slowly followed up the legs to the large chest, then to the ugly puckered and scared face of the orc. A ruthless smile showed crooked, broken and black teeth, and the eyes that were probably once a beautiful blue, where black with unhindered hate for the elf that was helpless to all the orc wanted to do. The dagger was wrapped tightly in one gloved fist, but the arm hung limply at his side, the point stuck out, to show Keldin the threat. "So you are awake, filthy elf?" The orc spat, his cruel eyes drilling into Keldin's. Attempting to get on his feet, he realised that the ropes around his wrists were attached to a small peg at the base, refraining him from moving. "I wish it were not so, but I suppose I am awake." Keldin grumbled, vainly trying to twist his wrists free of the rope, but the cord bit deeper into his flesh, and he could feel the warm blood coarsing down his hands. "You are going to wish you never woke, elf, for I am going to mess your pretty face up." The dagger came up slowly, the shadow of it fell on Keldin's face. Slowly, the elf drew a breath, throwing his head back as far as it could go before it hit the wooden post, and he opened his mouth. Out poured the most beautiful sound; a sound that was enchanting, yet, mournful, it called. "A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon sí di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!" The orc recoilded as if it had been struck, clutching its ears, it dropped the knife. Keldin's foot quickly darted out and pulled the knife to him until he was sitting on his haunches, the knife under him. Slowly, he turned, dragging the knife to lean against the post. As he turned, the knife cut the ropes and he grabbed it, without even thinking, plunging it into the crying orc's heaving chest. It let out a piercing scream before it stilled. "Where is she?" Keldin muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the camp for the tall dark haired elf. __________________ Victory favors neither the righteous nor the wicked. It favors the prepared.