Feleg en Caragdûr [October 3010] [Saeros]
Nov 30, 2018 21:22:18 GMT -5
Post by AMARIË on Nov 30, 2018 21:22:18 GMT -5
Feleg en Caragdûr
Cave in the Tooth of Rock
Heavy steel chains were anchored into the cold, bleak wall of stone. The orcs which had been accosted to haul and fix them there years past were merely piled skulls and bones aside them, and seated upon the pile of bones, Amarië slumped, blood dried on her wounds and on her face. The bones cracked beneath her boots as she shifted, and writhed against her chains. It was futile. She had been here for days, weeks; but she was a wild animal who would thrash until she had torn her hands from their sockets if need be. Already Amarië had considered it, yet she could not think of a way to climb from the cliff face without her hands; they seemed of better use upon her body for now.
“My husband will find me,” Amarië hissed, her voice cracking hoarse as she had not spoken out loud in some days.
“The better he does. I have been… tracking him… he draws near,” Ravondis said pointedly, glad to have finally annoyed her captor enough to force her words again, lounging back against the rocks the pale woman was; her body now in the form of fell half human half bat-creature; she was cloaked in black velvet, or what appeared to be, but whatever she wore smelled of rank flesh and Amarië had given wonder if the woman… the creature... did not garb herself in some warg skin enchanted only to fool the eye.
Amarië shifted on the stone, sallow faced and the chains scraped as she thought of Saeros out in the Emyn Muil. Her fingers were scraping below to find a bone. Any bone. A sharp bone. Nothing as good as a knife or dagger but she had not wielded her last knives carefully enough and they had been taken from her. Not without giving damage. She had torn the sinew’s of one of the bat-fell’s wings to what she thought were shreds…
Unfortunately, Ravondis held some ancient magic, and it had been only two days before she seemed well and whole again.
“Did you not hear me?” Ravondis prodded at her Noldorin captive. “He draws near; I can smell elf flesh on the winds...” Amarië’s knives were near the creature’s feet and she stared at them as if she could will them near with her mind.
Saeros. Amarië had sought for him in mind these past weeks, but she was weary and more frightened for him than she had been in her life. In all the wars they had faced together, she could always find some… connection. She could always feel his presence, whether he was open to her or not, but now she seemed to be in a place; or perhaps it was he in the place, she could not even scrape at the corners of his mind.
Near… was he truly near?
Ravondis had seen the gleam of hope flicker in her eyes, and Amarië knew she had seen it, and swiftly tried to hide her anticipation. She should not have let it show. She knew better by now. The bat-fell could not read her mind, but she could surely read her face when it was allowed, and Amarië had already given her too much. She had moaned in pain before her, and cried before her, in the early weeks. She had cried Saeros’ name aloud. She had screamed it; shrill at the top of her lungs until her wretched screams pierced her own ears, but it had done nothing for her.
Now how long had it been… three weeks… or four?… Amarië tried to count the hours in her mind. They were so far beyond the light of day; a cavern where an eerie glow of some phosphoric mold was the only thing which offered a hint of light without shadow. Amarië had been trying to track time by the coming and going of the small bats in and out of the voluminous winding caverns. It was her only manner of telling daylight from darkness, but sometimes her mind had drifted away into unrestful meditation, and she knew not how much time had passed.
Four weeks, she thought to herself, letting her head dip down, her chin upon her chest and her dark hair falling forward as she closed her eyes against the phosphoric glow. There was water dripping, not far off against the wall. Just out of her reach. Amarië had ached for it for days. Elves could go long without taking sustenance, but it weakened them. Her lips were parched for water; her mouth of chalk; she had not had a drop of nourishment to stave hunger or thirst since the Miruvor Saeros had offered when they had reached the knife’s edge of the cliff.
Saeros. Astaron! My faithful! She cried out in her mind for her husband again. She heard footsteps drawing near and another clanging of chains. These ones anchored into the wall across from her. Near the place where that wall dripped, and sometimes streamed.
“Yes… I’ve been watching him. I have use for him. Ah, but you were a fool to tell me his name. To tell me which King he served beneath. A fool.” Ravondis prodded, trying to gain more words from the elf where she was slumped.
In the early days Amarië had cursed and spoken all manner of evils against the bat-fell; spoke of how she had revealed her domain, and how the Elvenking would send his army to tear her from the landscape; how her body would rot in the marshes with the rest of the dead after the Weaponsmaster had separated her head from her shoulders.
Amarië regretted speaking so much, and it now seemed folly to have mentioned anything. Ravondis was brewing plans, of which she did not know, but suddenly she had spoken of her husband. Amarië thought he may have been lost against the mazes, though she had no doubt he was looking for her… she had hoped… hoped this fell creature had no gain on him. Her face contorted at a rock jutting in her back and she tried to shift in her place, grimacing. All these weeks the creature had said nothing of Saeros until now, and it seemed only that she wished to torment Amarië, letting her agonize over the fact that she would seek to capture him.
“These appear to be in order,” Ravondis grinned. Her pointed teeth bared in the light and Amarië regretted looking up to see them, and the way she seemed to gleam about the chains on the other side of the wall. “Hmm… he’s been tracking my dear batlings. As on my mission I’ve sent them. Yes, you did not expect I would do thus, did you? Day by day I’ve sent them to him. He climbs the face of the cliff now, seeking you. You will see your dear husband soon, and here he will be with you. The two of you can rot together… unless of course the Dark Lord has some use. I think he may. I believe he may, and then your fate will be worse than rotting.”
Astaron, she knows you come. Stay away. Stay away. She will trap you. Leave the maze, and seek Adanedhel alone. Amarië cried out in her mind. She did not know if the bat-fell spoke true, or if her words were only meant to torture her further, but nonetheless she did not stop repeating the words, over and over, while the pale woman’s velvet seemed to vanish and her body came covered in hoary, coarse fur, gleaming iridescent in the greenish light. Stretching her wings, the bat fell began to crawl from the cavern.
“Where do you go,” Amarië grated out swiftly, but the were-bat began a lyrical tune that made the elf feel drowsy, and when the sound had faded away, she found that Ravondis had left the cave with the last of her small bats trailing after her.
“Where do you go?!” Amarië called again but there was silence in answer. Silence, and Amarië wanted to cover her ears and block it out. Block out the silence. The chains clanked as she raised her hands and pressed them over her ears as she had a hundred times, and she cried out hoarsely. Imagining the claws of the bat as they ripped through her husband. As she tore him to pieces. Her pulse quickened; her heart thudding in her chest, and the elf screamed out as if she had been pierced by a shard of glass. The agony of loss. She could not hear him. She could not feel him.
Ravondis' bristled lip curled as she flew silent in the sky, sweeping around the back of the crags. She would let the elf lure him in herself. Her plan in motion.
“My husband will find me,” Amarië hissed, her voice cracking hoarse as she had not spoken out loud in some days.
“The better he does. I have been… tracking him… he draws near,” Ravondis said pointedly, glad to have finally annoyed her captor enough to force her words again, lounging back against the rocks the pale woman was; her body now in the form of fell half human half bat-creature; she was cloaked in black velvet, or what appeared to be, but whatever she wore smelled of rank flesh and Amarië had given wonder if the woman… the creature... did not garb herself in some warg skin enchanted only to fool the eye.
Amarië shifted on the stone, sallow faced and the chains scraped as she thought of Saeros out in the Emyn Muil. Her fingers were scraping below to find a bone. Any bone. A sharp bone. Nothing as good as a knife or dagger but she had not wielded her last knives carefully enough and they had been taken from her. Not without giving damage. She had torn the sinew’s of one of the bat-fell’s wings to what she thought were shreds…
Unfortunately, Ravondis held some ancient magic, and it had been only two days before she seemed well and whole again.
“Did you not hear me?” Ravondis prodded at her Noldorin captive. “He draws near; I can smell elf flesh on the winds...” Amarië’s knives were near the creature’s feet and she stared at them as if she could will them near with her mind.
Saeros. Amarië had sought for him in mind these past weeks, but she was weary and more frightened for him than she had been in her life. In all the wars they had faced together, she could always find some… connection. She could always feel his presence, whether he was open to her or not, but now she seemed to be in a place; or perhaps it was he in the place, she could not even scrape at the corners of his mind.
Near… was he truly near?
Ravondis had seen the gleam of hope flicker in her eyes, and Amarië knew she had seen it, and swiftly tried to hide her anticipation. She should not have let it show. She knew better by now. The bat-fell could not read her mind, but she could surely read her face when it was allowed, and Amarië had already given her too much. She had moaned in pain before her, and cried before her, in the early weeks. She had cried Saeros’ name aloud. She had screamed it; shrill at the top of her lungs until her wretched screams pierced her own ears, but it had done nothing for her.
Now how long had it been… three weeks… or four?… Amarië tried to count the hours in her mind. They were so far beyond the light of day; a cavern where an eerie glow of some phosphoric mold was the only thing which offered a hint of light without shadow. Amarië had been trying to track time by the coming and going of the small bats in and out of the voluminous winding caverns. It was her only manner of telling daylight from darkness, but sometimes her mind had drifted away into unrestful meditation, and she knew not how much time had passed.
Four weeks, she thought to herself, letting her head dip down, her chin upon her chest and her dark hair falling forward as she closed her eyes against the phosphoric glow. There was water dripping, not far off against the wall. Just out of her reach. Amarië had ached for it for days. Elves could go long without taking sustenance, but it weakened them. Her lips were parched for water; her mouth of chalk; she had not had a drop of nourishment to stave hunger or thirst since the Miruvor Saeros had offered when they had reached the knife’s edge of the cliff.
Saeros. Astaron! My faithful! She cried out in her mind for her husband again. She heard footsteps drawing near and another clanging of chains. These ones anchored into the wall across from her. Near the place where that wall dripped, and sometimes streamed.
“Yes… I’ve been watching him. I have use for him. Ah, but you were a fool to tell me his name. To tell me which King he served beneath. A fool.” Ravondis prodded, trying to gain more words from the elf where she was slumped.
In the early days Amarië had cursed and spoken all manner of evils against the bat-fell; spoke of how she had revealed her domain, and how the Elvenking would send his army to tear her from the landscape; how her body would rot in the marshes with the rest of the dead after the Weaponsmaster had separated her head from her shoulders.
Amarië regretted speaking so much, and it now seemed folly to have mentioned anything. Ravondis was brewing plans, of which she did not know, but suddenly she had spoken of her husband. Amarië thought he may have been lost against the mazes, though she had no doubt he was looking for her… she had hoped… hoped this fell creature had no gain on him. Her face contorted at a rock jutting in her back and she tried to shift in her place, grimacing. All these weeks the creature had said nothing of Saeros until now, and it seemed only that she wished to torment Amarië, letting her agonize over the fact that she would seek to capture him.
“These appear to be in order,” Ravondis grinned. Her pointed teeth bared in the light and Amarië regretted looking up to see them, and the way she seemed to gleam about the chains on the other side of the wall. “Hmm… he’s been tracking my dear batlings. As on my mission I’ve sent them. Yes, you did not expect I would do thus, did you? Day by day I’ve sent them to him. He climbs the face of the cliff now, seeking you. You will see your dear husband soon, and here he will be with you. The two of you can rot together… unless of course the Dark Lord has some use. I think he may. I believe he may, and then your fate will be worse than rotting.”
Astaron, she knows you come. Stay away. Stay away. She will trap you. Leave the maze, and seek Adanedhel alone. Amarië cried out in her mind. She did not know if the bat-fell spoke true, or if her words were only meant to torture her further, but nonetheless she did not stop repeating the words, over and over, while the pale woman’s velvet seemed to vanish and her body came covered in hoary, coarse fur, gleaming iridescent in the greenish light. Stretching her wings, the bat fell began to crawl from the cavern.
“Where do you go,” Amarië grated out swiftly, but the were-bat began a lyrical tune that made the elf feel drowsy, and when the sound had faded away, she found that Ravondis had left the cave with the last of her small bats trailing after her.
“Where do you go?!” Amarië called again but there was silence in answer. Silence, and Amarië wanted to cover her ears and block it out. Block out the silence. The chains clanked as she raised her hands and pressed them over her ears as she had a hundred times, and she cried out hoarsely. Imagining the claws of the bat as they ripped through her husband. As she tore him to pieces. Her pulse quickened; her heart thudding in her chest, and the elf screamed out as if she had been pierced by a shard of glass. The agony of loss. She could not hear him. She could not feel him.
Ravondis' bristled lip curled as she flew silent in the sky, sweeping around the back of the crags. She would let the elf lure him in herself. Her plan in motion.