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Old 11-04-2006, 05:58 PM   #124
Taralphiel
Ghost Prince of Cardolan
 
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Join Date: Apr 2002
Location: Swan Wood
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Sorn stared at Gurth, bewildered and swaying. He could hear the sounds of men rambling through his house, seeking out whatever was left of his wealth. And in all this chaos, the great brute had knelt and shown him some… kindness? He was too weary to tell.

“Helm…get up. We must find her.”

Sorn shook away the cloud of the drag of mead he had taken earlier and raced for the cellar. There would be no heroic ending in all of Sorn’s failed plans. He knew the penalty for his crimes was grave, and he would have himself set before his people with a message to tell. Gondor is not welcome. Sorn gripped his dagger as if in a vice, and turned the next corner from the empty yard. The back exit from the cellar swung open with ease.

Sorn took a moment, his free arm throbbing as he clenched the wood of the doorway. The girl was gone, and Scyld with her. There was no way of knowing how far they had gotten, or in which direction. Sorn had suffered the fruits of his labour of terrorising his own men.

Helm clambered towards Sorn, finding him muttering through his clenched teeth. He stood there for too many painful moments, before straightening and turning to the taller man.

“She has escaped me, Helm. Scyld will not live through this mistake. That little urchin…the both of them! They will suffer, Helm, and you will help me!”

Sorn did not have the time or the luxury to turn and retrieve his broadsword. He had lost one of his daggers, but the remaining would suffice for his task. Helm faltered as Sorn strode from the back exit to the cellar in a daze, not seeing anything around him.

“Helm! Gurth! Whatever it is I am to call you now. Follow your master!”

Sorn’s reflexes had always been strong. When he was a child, he could perceive a tutor or his father coming down the hallways to spoil all his fun. Whether it was throwing glue sodden paper at the cook, or switching around her carefully labelled pots of spices and ingredients, Sorn had always managed to pull off his nasty games and escape just as someone was coming to punish him. And as if the years had not passed, Sorn could hear a heavy boot crunching on dry leaves, and see the smallest shadow from the corner of his eye.

Sorn had loosed his dagger before he even knew it.
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