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Day1 Dawns
It was pitch dark in the pit and all the sounds were muffled by the suffocating pressure that lay in the air. The three whose wills had been taken by the lord of wolves seeked each other out at the secret gate that led out of the pit. Now in their wolf skins they exchanged a few words - almost gnarls - and let their canine noses take them to her who was to die tonight.
Lady Thinlómien was not asleep and she could hear their soft paws on the stone floor. She sat up erect, looking up to where the sky and the stars should've been but where there was only black. She knew they were coming for her, but there was no strength left in her, she was all spent by the brief and terrible contest of wills with the dark so much beyond her power.
A warm wave of foul breath touched her face.
"So you have come," she said.
"Yes," whispered one of them.
"There are no words for the horror that befell you. I pity you," she said. She had heard their torture and had been unable to stop it. "The Eldar do not take their own lives willingly, but maybe you should do it this once."
"We are no Eldar. We are wolves now," said another of the foreign voices.
"Who were you?" Thinlómien said softly. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
"We have no names now," said a third voice, and the first one said: "Not in the dark."
"Do what you came to do, then," Thinlómien said sharply. "There might be no hope for me anymore, but there will be hope for others."
"Hope? There is no hope in this place," said the second voice and with one graceful movement a wolf's claw across her throat, lady Thinlómien lay dead in the cold dungeon.
The wolves retreated and resumed their places along the walls of the pit. Slowly they drifted to dreamless sleep.
The Ranger, as she had once been called jokingly by her friends who were greatly amused of her protectivity, did not sleep that night. Something horrible was happening, she knew, but there was no way for her to stop it, not yet. Quietly she sang a great song of growth and warding until her hair reached to her toes. Then she told it to come off and made a great dark net out of it and wove all her strength as threads to a pattern of protection. All night she worked with her net of warding and when dawn finally came, she hid it among the shadows that crawled along the walls.
The Seer, as she had once been nicknamed by her childhood friend Thinlómien, did sleep. Among the nightmares of the terrible Isle of Werewolves, she forced the music of her dreams bring before her eyes the heart of one of her companions to see if there was evil there. When she woke up, she knew.
The Hunter, so called because she was the most courageous and cunning of all the hunters captured, was the first one to detect the faintest trace of sunlight in the air, invincibly streaming from a tiny crack in the roof. The light fell on the body of her friend, Lady Thinlómien. With a few quick steps she was with her and she knew she couldn't do anything to save her friend. So she only reached for the dead woman's boot and to her staisfaction, she noticed her friend had done as she had told her to do and hidden a dagger there. They had not dared to search the Lady as they had searched the Hunter herself and all the others. Gently, the Hunter closed her friend's eyes and kissed the dagger. "You will revenge," she whispered. Then she hid it in her own boot.
"Dawn is here," she said loudly. "And our courageous Lady is no more. It's time to wake up and find the culprits. I, for one, would have a word with them."
Slowly, the Elves opened their eyes to see it was not pitch dark anymore, only dark. For a while they saw the vague shape of a tall Elf standing in amidst the shadows but soon she had disappeared and blended with the rest of them. All the Elves huddled together and after a moment of quiet, one of them spoke.
~*~
Day1 has started! Wolves, stop PMing. Hunter, you may send a pick any time you want. Everybody, you may talk on this thread now.
The Dead
Thinlómien (mod) - murdered in cold blood on Night1
The Living
Green - veteran hunter with a striking resemblance to an opossum
Boromir - incompetent gatewarden
Eönwë - hunter
Glirdan - local batty scholar
Inziladun - weaponsmith
Legate - jeweller with an affinity to the colour white
Loslote - young tag-along girl with frizzy hair
Nerwen - young and impatient hunter who makes animal statues of wood and likes the colour green
Nogrod - narcoleptic master-hunter
Ozban - young and naive hunter and admirer of Finrod Felagund
Pitch - furrier
Shastanis - orphan solitary hunter who moves silently, likes blue and has a pet snake
Skip - an admirer of Finduilas's
Wilwarin - hunter
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