Night Terrors [Adanedhel] [December 3010]
Nov 2, 2017 16:32:52 GMT -5
Post by Wyn on Nov 2, 2017 16:32:52 GMT -5
She was running like a hare across the steppes of Nurn, rejoicing in the delicious cold of the night and the frustrated bellows of the uruks trying and failing to catch her. Her feet struck the ground in time with the beating of her heart, like a living wardrum, and as she heard the sounds of pursuit grow fainter, she laughed aloud. She had no might, no army, but she needed none to be a thorn in the side of Mordor's monsters. She was a thief, a renegade, a blade in the dark. And for once, she was happy with her life.
She slowed to a halt, breathing hard as she looked behind her. She was alone on the steppes, with nothing but the stars above for company. The world was cold and quiet, and she was at peace.
The moment of tranquility did not last long, however. The night's chill began to deepen, until her very bones felt frozen. One by one, the stars above winked out like snuffed candles, and as she looked around in confusion, she realized she wasn't alone. There were others surrounding her now, human slaves with ragged clothing and fearful expressions. One was looking to the sky, and as she followed his gaze, she realized that the heavens had become churning stormclouds. A cold knot of fear settled in her stomach, along with a sense of deja vu.
Just as they had before, the nazgul and his fellbeast stooped on their little group like a hawk upon its prey, those horrible shrieks following it as it dove. Just as before, the wraith's pale blade flashed through the slaves, sending gouts of red blood and severed limbs into the air. She saw a man's head cleaved from his shoulders, a child split in two. Then she was screaming, trying to run to protect them, but suddenly she was unable to move. Uruk arms had burst from the mud beneath her feet, decaying and mottled, and they grabbed at her legs as she fought to free herself. She felt for her knife--gone. The spare hidden in her boot--gone. She had nothing.
There was only one remaining to face the wraith, and with a chill, she realized who it was. "Run, Adan!" she screamed at the elf as he cowered before the wraith, who readied his blade, and thrust. She screamed again as the morgul sword stabbed through the elf's gut, protruding out of his back with a gush of blood. He crumpled, crying out in agony, and as he toppled over, Wyn watched the life drain from his eyes.
Then the wraith was standing before her, sword descending for her neck. She shut her eyes, waiting for the final blow--
--and then she woke up.
The girl drew in a sudden breath, every muscle in her body stiff with tension. There was no plain, no slaves, no wraith. Just the cozy darkness of the healing hall and the crackle of the central fire. She exhaled, focusing on the blankets covering her, the dim glow of the fireplace, and the scent of fresh straw wafting from her cot's mattress. Everything was fine. It had just been a bad dream.
She rolled onto her side, peering through the darkness to see Adan's cot nearby. The elf was sleeping, or at least appeared to be, still recovering from the ordeal they had been through only a matter of days ago. She couldn't make out much in the night, but he had been doing well so far. There was color in his skin again and those horrible red irises were gone. Under the care of Runa and the others--how could she ever repay them?--the both of them had been making a steady recovery. Once she had reassured herself that he was all right, she shut her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but it wouldn't come. Her mind was still full of blood and screams.
After a while, she sat up with a quiet sigh, then carefully got up out of bed, trying not to disturb Adan or any of the other patients in the hall. Barefoot, clothed in a soft tunic lent to her by Runa, she made her way to the fireplace and sat down to stare into the flames. The fire was burning low, but the warmth it put off was still strong, and she hoped it would help put her mind to rest.
She slowed to a halt, breathing hard as she looked behind her. She was alone on the steppes, with nothing but the stars above for company. The world was cold and quiet, and she was at peace.
The moment of tranquility did not last long, however. The night's chill began to deepen, until her very bones felt frozen. One by one, the stars above winked out like snuffed candles, and as she looked around in confusion, she realized she wasn't alone. There were others surrounding her now, human slaves with ragged clothing and fearful expressions. One was looking to the sky, and as she followed his gaze, she realized that the heavens had become churning stormclouds. A cold knot of fear settled in her stomach, along with a sense of deja vu.
Just as they had before, the nazgul and his fellbeast stooped on their little group like a hawk upon its prey, those horrible shrieks following it as it dove. Just as before, the wraith's pale blade flashed through the slaves, sending gouts of red blood and severed limbs into the air. She saw a man's head cleaved from his shoulders, a child split in two. Then she was screaming, trying to run to protect them, but suddenly she was unable to move. Uruk arms had burst from the mud beneath her feet, decaying and mottled, and they grabbed at her legs as she fought to free herself. She felt for her knife--gone. The spare hidden in her boot--gone. She had nothing.
There was only one remaining to face the wraith, and with a chill, she realized who it was. "Run, Adan!" she screamed at the elf as he cowered before the wraith, who readied his blade, and thrust. She screamed again as the morgul sword stabbed through the elf's gut, protruding out of his back with a gush of blood. He crumpled, crying out in agony, and as he toppled over, Wyn watched the life drain from his eyes.
Then the wraith was standing before her, sword descending for her neck. She shut her eyes, waiting for the final blow--
--and then she woke up.
The girl drew in a sudden breath, every muscle in her body stiff with tension. There was no plain, no slaves, no wraith. Just the cozy darkness of the healing hall and the crackle of the central fire. She exhaled, focusing on the blankets covering her, the dim glow of the fireplace, and the scent of fresh straw wafting from her cot's mattress. Everything was fine. It had just been a bad dream.
She rolled onto her side, peering through the darkness to see Adan's cot nearby. The elf was sleeping, or at least appeared to be, still recovering from the ordeal they had been through only a matter of days ago. She couldn't make out much in the night, but he had been doing well so far. There was color in his skin again and those horrible red irises were gone. Under the care of Runa and the others--how could she ever repay them?--the both of them had been making a steady recovery. Once she had reassured herself that he was all right, she shut her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but it wouldn't come. Her mind was still full of blood and screams.
After a while, she sat up with a quiet sigh, then carefully got up out of bed, trying not to disturb Adan or any of the other patients in the hall. Barefoot, clothed in a soft tunic lent to her by Runa, she made her way to the fireplace and sat down to stare into the flames. The fire was burning low, but the warmth it put off was still strong, and she hoped it would help put her mind to rest.