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Feanor of the Peredhil · 10-01-2005, 04:21 AM

Târik wove between scurrying guards to where he knew the kariborim of the prisoners to be located. He drew as little attention to himself as possible, striding swiftly as he clutched an officially sealed scroll with the appearance of a man following orders and with no time to tarry. He was not stopped. Though a handful of his superiors knew Târik's Faithful attitude, they were few, and his fellow guards were entirely unaware that he was very unfavored at this time.

The smell of old blood and fear-sweat mingled with the sweet scent of hay. A piercing whinny cut through the air as a painful crack echoed through the halls. Târik moved faster, dreading what scene he would discover. He turned the customary corner to find several of the King's Men surrounding the most enchanting piece of horse-flesh he had ever laid eyes on. Her gleaming coat was flecked with blood. She reared high, kicking out with her hooves. One guard was unlucky enough to meet with one. The flailing leg connected solidly with his shoulder and he flew into a wall. A whip cracked through the air, landing another hit on her flank. Târik stepped forward angrily, pulling the whip from the foolish guard.

"Fool!" he snapped, cracking the whip expertly within inches of the man's feet. "The lord Sauron does not command those such as you to do these things. Do you not see the majesty of this beast? Her gleaming flesh is not yours to corrupt, nor is her temperment yours to break to will." He turned to the rest of the guards, still bearing bloodstained whips, though looking properly cowed. The mare had come once more to earth, breathing heavily and glancing about wildly in anger. "Where have you put the rest of the prisoners' kariborim?" he demanded. "Sauron requires them, and it is you who will answer when he requires an explanation to this beasts injuries."

The guards looked at once fearful and stepped back from the horse. Târik grapsed her by the halter, covertly caressing her with his fingers beneath the leather. She calmed slightly at his touch as Târik followed the beckoning guard. Within a short time, Târik led a line of horses through the maze-like dungeons. Within moments, he had taken a subtly wrong turn and led the beasts to the open air of a rarely used ally way. Eyes alert, Târik guided the clever beasts through the mysteriously silent back ways.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Herugor had channeled his frustration at the loss of so many valuable prisoners by stabbing a handsome young guard, freshly married and much in love, through the heart. As he withdrew his long sword from the warm corpse, he glanced about. Silently, he motioned. At once, two dozen guards were surrounding him. He turned with a swish of his cloak and they followed through the darkest tunnels, footsteps echoing menacingly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Inzillomì walked several paces behind Moizandû. Her steps never faltered, though her eyes often strayed to her husband, still carried by Azarmanô, and her daughter, still mysteriously silent. As they reached the open air, she breathed a sigh of relief. The palantir was heavy in her robes.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Herugor stalked silently through the empty streets. Where moments before, the city had bustled, the ebony clad warriors of the king, following the sallow faced man caused terror that not even those living near the endless screams of the dungeons could ignore.

The sun was blotted by black clouds as the ground trembled. Wind picked at the men's cloaks as they moved, heavily armed and in formation, through the city. Herugor did not once glance behind him or hesitate as he pointed black-gloved fingers to direct his troops. Silent as their leader, the men moved into place, carefully surrounding a non-descript stairwell, long since abandoned.

They drew their weapons and waited.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Târik hesitated before rounding the last corner. The hoofbeats of the kariborim had been muffled by the hissing winds that raced along the streets of the city. He glanced toward the stairwell that Moizandû was to have led the Faithful to. Two dozen armed guards lay in wait.

10-01-2005, 04:21 AM	#93
Feanor of the Peredhil La Belle Dame sans Merci Join Date: Feb 2003 Location: perpetual uncertainty Posts: 5,517	Târik wove between scurrying guards to where he knew the kariborim of the prisoners to be located. He drew as little attention to himself as possible, striding swiftly as he clutched an officially sealed scroll with the appearance of a man following orders and with no time to tarry. He was not stopped. Though a handful of his superiors knew Târik's Faithful attitude, they were few, and his fellow guards were entirely unaware that he was very unfavored at this time. The smell of old blood and fear-sweat mingled with the sweet scent of hay. A piercing whinny cut through the air as a painful crack echoed through the halls. Târik moved faster, dreading what scene he would discover. He turned the customary corner to find several of the King's Men surrounding the most enchanting piece of horse-flesh he had ever laid eyes on. Her gleaming coat was flecked with blood. She reared high, kicking out with her hooves. One guard was unlucky enough to meet with one. The flailing leg connected solidly with his shoulder and he flew into a wall. A whip cracked through the air, landing another hit on her flank. Târik stepped forward angrily, pulling the whip from the foolish guard. "Fool!" he snapped, cracking the whip expertly within inches of the man's feet. "The lord Sauron does not command those such as you to do these things. Do you not see the majesty of this beast? Her gleaming flesh is not yours to corrupt, nor is her temperment yours to break to will." He turned to the rest of the guards, still bearing bloodstained whips, though looking properly cowed. The mare had come once more to earth, breathing heavily and glancing about wildly in anger. "Where have you put the rest of the prisoners' kariborim?" he demanded. "Sauron requires them, and it is you who will answer when he requires an explanation to this beasts injuries." The guards looked at once fearful and stepped back from the horse. Târik grapsed her by the halter, covertly caressing her with his fingers beneath the leather. She calmed slightly at his touch as Târik followed the beckoning guard. Within a short time, Târik led a line of horses through the maze-like dungeons. Within moments, he had taken a subtly wrong turn and led the beasts to the open air of a rarely used ally way. Eyes alert, Târik guided the clever beasts through the mysteriously silent back ways. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Herugor had channeled his frustration at the loss of so many valuable prisoners by stabbing a handsome young guard, freshly married and much in love, through the heart. As he withdrew his long sword from the warm corpse, he glanced about. Silently, he motioned. At once, two dozen guards were surrounding him. He turned with a swish of his cloak and they followed through the darkest tunnels, footsteps echoing menacingly. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Inzillomì walked several paces behind Moizandû. Her steps never faltered, though her eyes often strayed to her husband, still carried by Azarmanô, and her daughter, still mysteriously silent. As they reached the open air, she breathed a sigh of relief. The palantir was heavy in her robes. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Herugor stalked silently through the empty streets. Where moments before, the city had bustled, the ebony clad warriors of the king, following the sallow faced man caused terror that not even those living near the endless screams of the dungeons could ignore. The sun was blotted by black clouds as the ground trembled. Wind picked at the men's cloaks as they moved, heavily armed and in formation, through the city. Herugor did not once glance behind him or hesitate as he pointed black-gloved fingers to direct his troops. Silent as their leader, the men moved into place, carefully surrounding a non-descript stairwell, long since abandoned. They drew their weapons and waited. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Târik hesitated before rounding the last corner. The hoofbeats of the kariborim had been muffled by the hissing winds that raced along the streets of the city. He glanced toward the stairwell that Moizandû was to have led the Faithful to. Two dozen armed guards lay in wait. Last edited by Feanor of the Peredhil; 10-02-2005 at 11:20 PM.