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VENTURES INTO THE REMOTE (RP)

Sniffling, Daugo rolls to his side and tries to get some shut-eye, his back heaving haphazardly from sudden muffled sobs. He does not seem to have finished the entirety of his food, but his body language shows that he has no interest in participating in any of his cellmates' hardships insofar as he can avoid it.

However, a few minutes after getting on his side, he pushes his bowl with his leathery foot surreptitiously over to where Thoruk is, whispering "Dimitri" in a barely audible tone.
 
"S-sure, but give some to Dimitri lad" Thoruk says quietly to the dalish-guy. "Why in Durins name did you protect me?" he whispers towards Dimitri. "You shouldn't have done that lad..." "Guys, pass my water to him, he needs it more than me" Thoruk says to the others although he is thirsty as hell and knows he could suffer to death due to a lack of water. "He would give his life for us, now it's my turn to give mine" Thoruk thinks while handing the water over to Grimnir who should pass it along.
 
Grimnir looks at the whole situation, and how it unfoiled. Grimnir would be damned if he'd eat this food, he had seen Troll pasty much better than this. He grabs the water and drinks it fully, then proceeds Thoruk's water leftovers to the other to pass it on to Dimitri. He looks at his food in disgust, and kicks it towards dimitri, making sure he gets it, and that Sigeric gets a little nasty splatter on his face aswell.
 
Margoz has stopped what he is doing and rips off part of his prisoner shirt. Ripped for someone very young, but has long ways to go if he wants to be a professional military buff like Dimitri. He tries to patch Dimitri up with his shirt to stop the bleeding. "I'm no doctor, he whispers, "but you would need this for now."
 
Once things had calmed down, the prisoner, Dean, spoke up, "He did that for you. Don't put him or anyone else through that in the future," He motioned to Dimitri and them, "Let the lad rest, and eat some of the grub. You'll need it," He inclined his head in a nod towards them all before continuing, softly, "They'll feed us once a day at this time when the sun is directly above that," he pointed at the grate which had sunlight filtering directly through it, illuminating the hull in its decrypt glory.
"I'm Dean, this is Sam, Marco, Carolie, Ela, Uri-" He rattled off the names of each member down the right side of the ship, then the left side. Too many names for them to remember and each of these people shared the same defeated look. Some gave a nod to signal themselves, other remained motionless only moving with the rocking of the ship.
"The slavers sometimes have arguments and fights, they might bring down new slaves and there were times when we were nearly rescued by Gondorian and Umbar ships, but, the slavers usually evade them or capture them, I among a few here are part of a patrol that were taken," he sighed, glancing at Sam and Marco, who appeared to be Gondorians like him, "Just try to keep quiet, preserve your energy, rest and adapt." Were his last words of advice to the group before he went silent and allowed them to soak this in. The man appeared to be in charge of this motley bunch or who they looked up to, anyway.

The day passed, night fell and the next day came. Each day was more or less the same, each wetter and more humid than the last. Sometimes there were rocky seas, leading to many vomiting and puking about, especially Daugo and Grimnir who's stomachs could not handle the stench of fish combined with the back and forth rocking of the ship. Dimitri's wounds healed after two weeks and left scars across his body that would mark him forever. Eventually, all of them would heal up and get used to the filthy conditions they were forced to endure and the shitty food. Three months passed like this. Every once in a while the Whipper would lash someone for entertainment, mostly the older slaves but once he lashed Daugo and another time Sigeric. It was horrible. Terrible. Atrocious. But it was life. Cruel and unforgiving. Some of them got to know each other better -
Sigeric and Iver bonded over their Dalish origins; Thoruk and Grimnir over their hatred of orcs and longbeard heritage; Dimitri with all members of the group that supported him through his injuries; Grimnir, Margoz and Elodrin enjoyed some quiet jokes with one another whilst Dimitri, Deslan, Sigeric, Iver and Thoruk made up and played games quietly when most of the slavers slept through the night; Daugo remained distant for a large portion of the time but eventually would come around to talk with them and communicate, albeit, revealing why he was here was a delicate subject for him and it was unlikely he would tell them; Iver's fear of Margoz, his xenophobia and dislike of Easterlings was wiped away like his past as the two became friends; some more social members of the group such as Margoz, Thoruk and Grimnir got to knew other slaves; even Dimitri who was forced to communicate with the one next to him, known as Celeste, which sort of inspired some jealously in Iver who had been without a woman for over three months. Among the violence, the sorrow, and the pain there were some comforts. Some little happiness.

Then this ritual of days passing without commotion ended. And the horror they had witnessed was just about to increase, tenfold. The slavers were heard talking of a storm brewing and a couple of hours later the slaves experienced intense rocking that sent the timbers in the ship creaking. From above rain began to fall through the grate, sloshing in pools inside the hull with the slavers. The storm had begun.

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((This is a smooth transition time-skip. I apologize for stating your character's actions and if you have any issues with the way your character has been portrayed or want to request some changes please PM me about it and I'll edit it. This was a way to avoid the dull RP that would clog the thread and honestly I don't feel as if your characters have much to do or are having much fun locked up, so I fast-forwarded through the boredom for your own pleasure. Over this time-skip of three months, your characters have developed amongst each other. All your stories, with the exception of Daugo and Grimnir (and anyone who wants to keep their backstory secret), are known amongst each other. You all know each other's names, and some of you have developed relationships with other slaves onboard while stuck. If I missed anything or you have any questions, PM me or put them in the discussion thread. Enjoy! :) ))
 
"Tulkas grants me strength..." he whispers. Dimitri looks up at the ceiling as he passes out and fades into the lands of dreams...

Dimitri 'woke up' after what seemed like hours. But he was no longer on the same, blood-covered floor. Rather, he was on a fine bed in a pleasant room overlooking a beautiful city of quartz and silver. At the foot of his bed, two men watched as he got up. "It seems you are in trouble, boy. That's quite a whipping you got. Almost reminds me of the pain that your ancestors dealt with in the old days. Remember that, Morgathos?" a rough voice said.
"Aye, those Uruks were some heavy hitters back then. Nowadays, they are so... weak. Especially since we have those warhammers. But not to brag, I was pretty good with my whip." a deep, cruel sounding voice said, presumably Morgathos.
"Well, it matters not. We've got to a task for you, Dimitri. One day, you will wake up here again, and be granted the honor of speaking to the Lord of this City. But for now, you have a task. You are his Heir, and you must earn your title. You can earn it by aiding your comrades in our former home, Middle-Earth. Now, awake, boy, heed the words of Illuvatar."

Dimitri's eyes shot open and whispered weakly, "By Tulkas, that worm was weak." He took the food with a shaking hand, and ate it, even when the desire to vomit all the disgusting excuse for food tried to overcome him. "Why I took the blows doesn't matter. Becoming strong and letting me strange the life out of that weakling, Melkor-loving rat is what matters. Now, keep your voices down to a whisper." Dimitri whispers.

((This stuff above is for pre-Aasim post.))

"And just when I thought I would have a break." Dimitri hissed. Since his whipping on so long ago, the scars that marked his body were not marks of shame to him, but rather signs of strength and courage. When the Long Night came, he would be safe in knowing that he did what no one else would dare to do. He forms a cup with his one arm, and takes a drink of the rainwater, a welcome alternative to the grimmy muck he usually got. "This could be our chance to escape this hellhole, comrades." Dimitri said. "And Deslan, stay close." he said in Forochelrim.
 
The months had taken their toll on proud Sigeric. After that first demonstration of the slavers' cruelty, he had begun to converse with the other prisoners in the hold, and even began to enjoy their company - something he had avoided in the past. While in the early weeks he was amicable, in his own solemn way, he eventually fell victim to a state of depression. All that he had worked for in his life, all he had aspired to be, was replaced by this cruel fate. All of Sigeric's life had revolved around his quest for social and political advancement. Sometimes his ambition had even gone too far. He had ruined the lives of more than one other ambitious climber of the ladder of nobility. But none of that mattered now. He was doomed to be a slave to the highest bidder... ...No he wasn't. He wouldn't let it come to that. Sigeric resolved to die before being stripped of all honor and sold like livestock. He would jump overboard if he had to. Maybe he could take some of the slavers down with him. Yes. The moment these shackles were off, he would kill as many of them as he could. And maybe Grimnir, too. Sigeric brooded for days on the most painful ways to bring suffering to those scum who had reduced him to this wretched state...

He awoke with a start. The ship had begun rocking, and water was pouring into the hold like the tears of Nienna, queen of grief and pity, who eternally mourned the wounds of evil on the world. Sigeric was beginning to lose faith in the Valar. They hadn't done much for him these past three months. It appeared the rumors of a storm were true. Good. With a bit of luck the hull would breach and they would all drown. He laughed for the first time in months.
 
Dimitri hears the laughter of Sigeric, and exclaims, "If Sigeric laughs, it must be a good day indeed!" He wonders what pleasant thoughts could have made him done that.
 
Three months. Three months sense his life had gone to shit, three months sense he left his home small farm home to go and get supplies from Bree and ended up in the shitfest in the Prancing Pony. During the few months on the ship he had made better relationships with the others who got captured with and even knew some of their back stories, however just like him Daugo and Grimnir hadn't told the others their stories. He infact wasn't that social, mostly resting or keeping to himself. There had been storms before but this was the first actual storm the ship had witnessed, knowing the slavers would be to busy trying to secure the boat Elodrin would try to raise himself as high as he possibly could, dry lips cracking and bleeding as he opened his mouth to speak. "All Gondorians say I or show me some sign of who you are."
 
"l'll be damned, you're right. You can't possibly be thinking about..." he says, then lowers his voice, "escape, after all we've gone through?! They-they'll skin us alive if they even get a whiff of such talk!"

Daugo had never been in character for such a long time, as far as he could remember. True, he'd broken briefly when those orc-fucking sons of bitches came for him (the scars on his back blazed in pain whenever he thought about it), but he had been more or less consistently acting as The Coward. This had its downsides--he was becoming so used to being him, that the line between real Daugo and his mask was becoming blurred--but any way out of the profound misery that otherwise threatened to engulf him was welcome. In fact, and partly aided by his current sorry state, he barely remembered the reasons for him being here in the first place; it was like he'd been born a slave by this point.

For this reason, his shock at Dimitri's words is not entirely feigned, and a small part of him feels threatened by the idea of freedom. However, deep inside the recesses of his mind, a glimer of hope shines through the somber cumulonimbi of his consciousness, one which, though he struggles to supress it, continues to grow, skeptical.
 
"Escape? Yes, I am thinking about it. I have been ever since I woke up on this damn ship." Dimitri growled. "We were not born for this life, to be chained in the hull of a ship and drowned; or worse, sold as slave. Freedom is our fate, and I would sooner die fighting than down here." As he spoke, he could feel something kindle in his mind, a locked away sense of pride in his origins. He was born in the harsh north, the land of the sons of Beor and Beren. And, most of all, HE WANTED HIS DAMN ARM BACK!
 
Grimnir's mental position was a question to all around him, he was more quiet than normal, some days he wouldn't have spoken at all. However, he could enjoy the company of Thoruk and others, somtimes atleast. Yet something wicked this way comes, Grimnir grew more quiet by the day, and after three months, three months stolen from him, none could imagine what was going on inside his mind. As quiet as he seemed, the bigger the storm grew within him. His rage, not noticeable to others becoming unholy for even the worst of possible maniacs. Give this ancient Legend but a spoon, and he will carve out the hearts of any whom are that suicidal to stand against his echoing and bursting fury. The only thing that calmed him down was Sigeric being punished, and after that many punishments, he even felt bad for the Dalian. Now that doesn't statisfy him even more, what kind of wicked slaughter must happen to statisfy Grimnir's lust for crimson? He takes any chance there is to escape from his bindings, he will massacre anyone daring to oppose him on this ship, and the world. This is where his Legend shall start anew, this is the day the storm of Durin shall brew once more, THIS is the day he shall answer the slaughterer's call! He was sent to cast fire upon this world, and the Fire SHALL COME.
 
Dimitri's earnestness lit an ember of rebellion inside Daugo, though it needed fuel and time to turn into something real. Doubt, on the other hand, dampened it, threatening to suffocate it before it ever developed.
"I-I don't see how we can get away from this..."
 
Dimitri nodded and said, "In time, the gods will give us a way. All you must do, son of the Shire, is be patient and let the past go. We have all suffered greatly, but I fear none more than you. But do not fear, the past may look dark, but the sun is close, and when it rises, it will shine out all evil."
 
These months has passed. Margoz has never been this happy since he met Ana. He enjoyed the company of his new friends for the past few months, as if God give him a bandage for his mental wounds. As Dimitri talked and get to know Celeste, a punch of loneliness landed on him, pushing him back into the past. This will all be resolved. He got friends now... no, his best friends... no, his family. When Dimitri and Daugo talked about escape, Margoz said, "Before we escape, I just want to say, thank you all for being a part of my life. I have been through so much shit for the past few years. I would not made it without you guys. Iver, Daugo, Dimitri, Grimnir, Deslan, old Gramps Elodrin, Sigeric, Thoruk, Dean, Sam, Marco, Carolie, Ela, Uri, Celeste, ((every other slave that Captain aasim did not mention)), I shall never forget your names. You are more than friends to me. You are family. You guys are the gold necklace that shines on top of my heart as I wear it around my neck. I love you all."
 
While waiting for the men to claim if they were Gondorian or not Elodrin would glance over to his brother, and friend Margoz. Laughing at his words to where he would start to cough he would raise a fist (if he even could) while still smiling and say "As to you brother, and to our future freedom!" He would say confidentiality glancing at Daugo and Simitri, his lips still bleeding. He would snort again before looking to Margoz "I never had children, but I'm glad I could be someone's grandpa, even if they aren't of my blood or kin."
 
To explain his lack of chat in the past months, Deslan was keeping his mind constantly at work. He was trying to make sense of the means of their capture, but the time span simply didn't match up: even if this ship had sailed up the river, which would have still been attracted rangers, the city guard would've had to either constantly beat them up the moment one of them regained conscience, which was highly unlikely, or would've had to drug them with something, which was extremely unlikely as most Breemen were illiterates and air embolism would've been the most likely result. Quite simply, they couldn't have been passed out for 50 miles. Still, the guards were probably in contact with the slavers: the arrest of yore was very fishy.
Surprisingly (well, not really) while most of his ''comrades'' saw him as a really good friend despite not saying a word to a single one of them, he disliked them. Each and every single one of them, except for Grimnir. The guy actually had some brains in him, conservative dwarfishness aside. He was most pissed at Dimitri - one doesn't need fifty lashes to figure out someone's a psychopath.
Not bothering to talk to anyone, he made his calculations. Considering that the chains gave him enough mobility to pick up food, he had a circle of a little more than a meter in radius to operate in. Second, he inspected the chains themselves, the locks and the links to the wall ( [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/Captain_Aasim/74.png" name="Captain_Aasim"]12253360[/user] )). And thirdly, if he still had his leg, he would've checked for the tools inside in case they removed everything within.
 
3 Months have passed, few things have changed but the bad circumstances remain. Thoruk started to eat the mud he got, but rather to survive, than because he likes it now. He conversated a lot witg the others and although he knows the storys from most of them, they still don't know his story ((Thoruk doesn't want to share his story yet, only that he doesn't know where his brother is and that his parents are dead, not how or why))
 
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