Land of Darkness RPG

[alaklondewen]

Lyshka walked carefully in the thick, oppressive darkness of the tunnel. She kept one hand on the smooth stone of the wall and the other firmly gripped the knife she snatched from the Orc corpse. The ominous words of those around her worked themselves inside her head, making her tremble, but she still held herself together rigidly. She squeezed her teeth together tightly, making her jaw protrude on either side of her thin face. Every step she placed with caution, expecting, anticipating the foreboding attack.

For many months, the Easterling had dreamed of her entrance into this tunnel and her meeting with the mighty Shelob. Sitting in her cell, huddled in the dark, cool corner, Lyshka pictured herself walking to her timely death with her head held high. She would simply throw her arms out and cry, “Ak agnash skûg agh ak agnash dûthk!” The beast would then take her in her surrender and bring her the death that would bring an end to the bitterness life brought.

That is how she dreamed of it. But now…now she was free. Free. The idea created such a strange, surreal…even numb sensation in her mind. Lyshka was now free in the tunnel that held the creature she had been tortured by the simple thought of it.

She turned the knife slowly in her hand. She had not pictured herself armed in her dreams. A slow awkward smile crossed her face for a brief moment as she considered the possibility of actually escaping this horrible place. The moment was quickly gone however as she passed an open passage on her left. The stench was heavy and she gagged. Her concentration was broken and fear gripped her once more.

Instinctively, her free hand reached out and grabbed the other woman’s wrist tightly. The Easterling’s hand trembled, but she found strength in the other. The woman turned to Lyshka, meeting her gaze. Lyshka almost expected her to lash out at her, but the woman studied the Easterling’s face in the pale torch light and simply nodded in understanding.

[Sarin Mithrilanger]

Zuromor continued to walk down the dark path and had been listening to Grash and one of the dwarves talking. "All our lives are at risk here, but the risk for some is not as great for some as it is for others" He had heard the dwarf utter these words, and he felt something stir within him, he felt words leap to his tongue as if by instinct. "Life is precious to all. No one person's life is more important than another's. And though you do not trust this group, and I think it's safe to say that most here do no trust you, we are all in danger here. This hidden beast might eat us all if we do not stand together. Why must we be segragated? We should all forget the past and worry about the present. We must stand together, at least until we get past her. What say you?" Zuromor held out his hand to the dwarf in a sign of allegiance.

He had no quarrels with any of these people save that he did not know any of them. But he believed what he said. They would have to stand together. Rivalry would destroy them all. He hoped they would all understand.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Unaware of how annoying it might be to the others, Grash responded to Jeren’s question with yet another shrug. It was the way he had learned to reply to any request that was made civilly: so used was he to the barked commands of brutal masters, it was as though he was confused by any other mode of address. “Do not know where tunnel ends,” he said to the Man. “Never been through tunnel. Only, have I seen orcs come and go and hear them talk about it. But it is journey of many hours, many long steps.” He lapsed once more into silence and wondered about this Man. There was something about him that disturbed Grash in ways he could not put into words, not even to himself. It was the same kind of feeling that he had when speaking with Aldor. He wanted to trust them both, and felt as though it would be most natural for him to join with them, and yet there was an odd reluctance in his spirit. In an odd way it was the opposite of his feelings when speaking with the Elves. He knew that they were not to be trusted; indeed, he had begun to regret freeing them at all. If it had not been for the thought that they would prove the most tempting treats for the Monster he never would have let them from their cells. And yet it was as though there was an air about them that made him feel…content. He shook his head to drive away these dreamy ideas. He had no time for the spells of magical beings. His life was defined by the harsh realities of brutal experience. And what experience could be more brutal than this? Some would be taken by the Monster, some would not. To this point he had only considered it a wild gamble, but perhaps there was a way of bettering the odds in his favour…

He turned to the Men, Jeren, Aldor and Zuromor, and spoke to them quickly and silently. He fought to keep the echoes of his voice from reaching the others. “If we fight together – we four – then maybe we escape monster together. Leave Elves and Dwarves to be eaten. Maybe we take women with us. Women need help from men for difficult tasks. Need our protection. Yes,” he said as though he were realising something for the first time, “it would be good to take women with us.”

Before the others replied, the Dwarf Brór bulled into their group. At first his questions confused Grash. Was the Dwarf actually asking Grash to form an alliance with him and his folk? The very idea was preposterous, for everyone – even Grash – knew that one could never trust a Dwarf. He had heard all his life of how the Dwarves had betrayed their alliances with the Elves in the Old Days, and attacked them seeking to steal their treasure. The orcs knew little lore, but these stories were every fresh in their mind as they took great delight from the dissension and mistrust that existed amongst their enemies. Grash had also heard about the wars fought between the Dwarves and the orcs, and all of them had been over treasure; both kinds of folk seemed to pleasure in wealth, and both sought to live in the same kinds of dark caves and tunnels. To Grash’s mind, there did not seem to be much difference between orcs and Dwarves.

He replied to Brór’s questions as evasively as he could and felt quite self-congratulatory as he did. He knew that he was at a terrible disadvantage in this situations insofar as he had little experience dealing with other people, but he was learning quickly that it was important to keep much of the truth to one’s self. Already he was regretting having told the others about his plan for survival in the tunnel – it would have been better to mislead them about the monster in some way, rather than admit that some would be taken this day. He was lost in these thoughts when Zuromor moved toward the Dwarf and offered him his friendship. Grash did not know what to make of this, for he had thought that the Man was on his side. Grash’s head began to ache with the pressure of trying to understand what was happening. His life had been torturous but simple: do what the orcs said or be punished, trust nobody, rely only on himself. With freedom, he found, there were new challenges and complexities the likes of which he had never imagined. It was no longer enough to think only about himself, he had to consider the inner workings of others. He did not know if he could do it…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In another part of the tunnel, she sat in the agony of her defeat, weaving about her a web of despair and hatred. Never had she felt the bitter sting of metal within her beloved flesh, and never before had she been denied her prey. The two nasty little creatures that had eluded her were the smallest of morsels, and yet they had proved the dearest of prizes. Her precious eyes still burned with the agonising memory of the light that had pierced her mind, and her body quaked with rage and pain as she sought to staunch the steady trickle of ooze that came from the wound in her belly, and from the end of her lovely leg where her foot had been lopped off. She cursed the fool who lived in his Tower and his pretensions to rule this land. It was his machinations, she was sure, that had brought those creatures to her realm. They were undoubtedly spies of the bright-eyed immortals, sent by them to destroy the Dark Lord, and in her malice she wished them success. Let them defeat Sauron and then seek their escape from this land. She would be waiting for them, and then she would crush and destroy and devour.

As she sat in her darkness, contemplating her revenge, there came to her senses strange airs and an odd rumour of intruders in her tunnels. She shifted slightly and directed her attention toward the main tunnel above. Somewhere up there was a large group of folk. She tasted the airs greedily. Men there were, and Dwarves, and another taste that had been absent from her lair for too long…Elves. Poisonous saliva began to drip from her fangs and mix with the pool of ooze that came from her wound. Such meat was sweet and sustaining. If she were to recover her strength she would need a sustaining meal, and the group that moved through her tunnel would provide that.

Her great limbs creaking as she moved, she slipped through the hidden paths of her realm, quickly squeezing her vast and shapeless bulk through the narrow ways of her lair. She kept herself hiddem from the beings who had dared in their arrogance to enter her darkness, for they were many and she was wounded, but the terror of her passing sent shivers through their succulent flesh. She would make such a meal as she had not made in this age of the world, but to do so would require cunning and cruelty.

Fortunately, she was the mistress of both…

[Himaran]

The sensation of being hunted is both interesting and terrifying, although the latter description is slightly more accurate. As Dwali moved slowly through the infinite dark of the tunnel, he could not help but feel like a deadly creature was stalking him; creeping unseen somewhere close. Perhaps above me at this very moment, waiting to strike. And then it will all be over, the conclusion to this dark tale. Ignoring the possibility of impending doom, the dwarf turned his attention to the ongoing conversation around him.

“But…if you have the opportunity…would you squander it in place of putting false trust in false allies? All our lives are at risk here, but the risk for some is not as great for some as it is for others…Some will help others and, if you run first, they will be the ones taken by Her.” Bror’s blunt statement was true, and no member of the company spoke. It seemed that each individual was contemplating which type they were… one that sought for personal survival or that of the group as a whole. But Dwali could be silent no longer.

“But what no one fled, hoping to escape on his own? What if we all fought together against this beast that seeks to consume us! Then some might die, yes, but all would keep their honor.” There was no reply. The group continued walking, know that soon, all their questions would be answered.

[Kransha]

Bror looked up coldly at the new member of the conversation, and the only besides him, now. His left brow cocked simply, gazing up into the honest face of the man. He could not, would not trust men, and would not trust elves, and they didn’t trust him or each other. All the mind’s workings were reduced to rubble in this place of darkness and pain, for no one could think straight when faced with such overbearing, dreadful odds. But, this human seemed set in his goal, however strange or foolhardy it might seem. He put his gauntleted palm and open hand up with veiled reluctance, and shook the hand extended to him, but as no sign of allegiance. He only needed to rely on those who he could trust; he didn’t wish to be bound to them in alliance, for such an act might doom him to their fate. It was all he could do not to instantly pull his hand away, as if the hand that held him was a serpent, clinging to him with venom-wrought fangs so as not to be cast off into the surrounding abyss of shadow.

“I don’t misplace my loyalties, boy.” Bror growled back as he removed his hand, at first hostile with unconcealed belligerence in his gruff, raspy tone, but soon relaxed his grim attitude into one of understanding, and reasoning as he considered the man’s words. “Trust is hard to find down here, and you are right about it in what you say. I don’t trust you, you don’t trust me, and no one trusts any other. I think universal trust, that which you speak of, is a petty impossibility…” Now, though, as his disillusioning speech continued, he saw a sliver of truth in his counterpart’s ideals and was forced to grasp them. “But, I have nothing else to do…Any man who at least tries to extend his hand in friendship shows an admirable quality or two…For now you can trust who you want, and you can trust me if you truly desire, but when she comes, all alliances are rendered useless…Do not think folk who hate each other will help each other in the face of danger.”

“I disagree with that, dwarf.” Zuromor replied briskly, but with some disappointment at not truly recruiting the dwarf to his noble cause. “When she comes, you’ll see.” Bror nodded, again reluctantly, unwilling to even admit to the possibility of being wrong, and ripped his hand away at last, turning on his heels from the group of men and muttering sarcastically as he headed towards his kin, “Indeed. I’m sure I shall.” And as he said thus, he walked slowly, and cautiously, eying the other members of the escapee party with care, towards the other dwarves of the company not far behind.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Raeis froze suddenly, stopping midstride in the darkness so that if anyone had been too near to her they would have ran straight into her. Around her, the musty silence was oppressive, the cramped spaces hemming the elf in, making her feel claustrophobic, the caves of the ancient monster within radiating their disapproval against the footsteps of one of the children of Eru. Arrogance of the elf that would step into Her chambers…

The others did not seem to sense the sudden shift in the air, and continued their endless prattle, talking to each other in low voices of how the elves would betray them – fools! Each was far younger even than Raeis, but did they not realise she could hear them? Every word was listened to by the elf, soaked into a mind twisted by pain and a half-madness, held and stored like a spider holding a fly…

Another shift in the air. In the depths of Shelob’s darkness, something moved again, a dangerous shift of silence. Raeis fell into a crouch, her back against a wall as her pointed ears pricked, seeking out the sound once more, trying to find some direction in the echoing, disorientating void that seemed to surround her, distorting all sense of space, her dark eyes staring wildly into the darkness for some sign of light.

Still the Men and Dwarves seemed to notice nothing, their weak senses rendering them deaf and blind.

“When she comes, you’ll see.” The noise of the dwarf’s noisy bray seemed violently loud in the darkness and Raeis winced at it.

“Shhhh….” The hiss escaped her lips quietly. Around her, the others turned to her, curious as the what had made the strange, silent elf speak. Raeis’s eyes continued to stare into the darkness as she spoke again, her voice a whisper, her lips barely moving.

“Something stirs – the air shifts…” she looked up at them. “She is moving.”

There was a second of silence then one of the dwarves scoffed disbelievingly at her, almost laughing. “Pah! ‘Something stirs’…” he mimicked Raeis’s voice, his lip curling distastefully as he looked down at her. “Think you can take us in so easily, elf? You mean to scare us, to make us afraid and trembling, so you can call her and bring us to our deaths-” The dwarf was almost shouting in her resentment when another, one of the women, the tall, bronze-skinned one, interrupted, letting a harsh ‘pcha!’ sound escape her lips, although whether it was a word or simply a noise, Raeis couldn’t tell. At the moment, she didn’t care. She looked up at them again, her eyes focusing this time on the Southron woman who had silenced the dwarves.

“She knows we are here,” she stated quietly.

As if the great spider had heard, a sound suddenly echoed throughout the caves – a rock falling, the crunch like breaking bone making every one of the escapees jump and spin around, looking for where the noise had come from. Raeis didn’t move, but the carved elven sword was in her hand from her belt in a moment, her eyes flashing. She hastily offloaded the other weapons, the knives and one of the two swords, onto the ground in front of her, motioning for the others to take them. She held back the other sword though, pushing it towards the tall woman without a word. Another rock fell and a small, high sound echoed through the darkness. Raeis closed her eyes fearfully, then opened them and stood slowly, sword ready in her hand.

“She knows we are here,” she murmured again softly.

[Sarin Mithrilanger]

It seemed that the elf-woman was right. She did know. The sound from deep within the tunnel came like an answer to an unspoken question. Zuromor approached the dwarf whom he had talked to earlier. "You should not underestimate the Elves, especially if you think of them as your enemies. Though it seems now we will see our answer." Zuromor turned so that he could see all of the party. "Stand in your small groups if it be your will, but surely all of you can see that all of us might escape... if we work together. Stop fighting amongst yourselves, for if ye continue that when she comes..." Zuromor trailed off and seemed to be thinking of some horrific event when he began to let one possible senario play out in his mind's eye. What if the would not band together?

"Death waits for those who are not willing to stay their hate and vanquish evil when they see it. I have long waited for a chance to slay those foul orcs that kept us prisoner, and I am sure all of you have to. Let us slay this dark beast, together! Then we shall have a revenge that will taste much sweeter than slaying any orc. We will be free. No more orcs ruling our lives. Surely that is worth fighting along side those who you do not completely trust. Especially when your feelings come from hatred born ages ago. Let go of that hate and fight. She will not fall easily."

With that Zuromor walked over to the Elf-woman and grabbed one of the small knives she had lain about and secured it in his belt. He looked at her and for the first time he felt something he could not explain nor understand. He felt at peace, yet he felt torn. He did not feel pain, but he felt a strange sort of nausea in the pit of his being. He felt himself blush and then he turned away and braced for her coming.