RP: Crimson Sword

[Cimmerian]

Bulvard stood transfixed, his eyes blinking to adjust to the bright light in the room they were pushed into, their blindfolds were roughly removed. Beside him Elwyn muttered curses, and Tumnaooriel whimpered holding on to Ransom. Gwyn stood as grim and sombre as the room itself. A woman also stood along with them. One Bulvard had not seen before. She was young, and perhaps beautiful. She wore a tired and pained expression, and certainly was a good deal younger than she presently appeared.

“What is this place?” Bulvard growled, and was silenced by a resounding whack to the head. A large creature shoved at the tall warrior thereafter, “Silence! The lord speaks…” it managed to enunciate gutturally.

The six of them were standing in a dark, damp room reeking with foul odours. Swarthy forms of leathery skinned creatures, mucus hanging off their ill-equiped armour, their rusty weapons in hand, stood all around them, their backs pressed against the circular walls. The floor was strewn with rotting pelts of animals, elves and men alike. And in the middle of it all a tall, thin man stood with a mocking look on his hawk like features.

Bulvard stiffened as he noticed the young witch, Elenor, in a trance, reach out for the being's outstretched arms. Everything about them seemed bathed in red. The tall warrior grimaced as he strained against invisible bonds that burned against his flesh. Psychic restraints. Bulvard hated magic.

Looking around he noticed the others, notably Ransom, Elwyn and Gwyn stuggling in similar fashion. Tumnaooriel and the other woman did not resist much, but were equally appalled, if not more so at the sights they were forced to witness. Elanor, apparently oblivious of their presence, continued to dance to the sorcerer’s mocking chant.

Where were Harolas and Culloth? The tall white haired warrior wondered.

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[ November 26, 2002: Message edited by: Cimmerian ]