Ha'zi helped him up and propped Cardiloc's arm over his shoulder. The two of them trundled on through the black desert for three hours without speaking. The silence began to mount and so too did the awkwardness. It seemed that the desert stretched on for miles and there was naught a sign of life to be seen. The Dunlending noticed that the sun had not moved for hours. Cardiloc was losing energy and it became difficult for him to sleep and his legs did not heal. The pain was becoming unbearable. He also smelt like shit, more so than Ha'zi who kept moving regardless of his limp. They were both supporting each other yet how much longer would it take? Where were they going? Hell, what was going on? Yet all these questions seemed to drown out in the heat of the boiling sun...
[user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/UnusualBrit/74.png" name="UnusualBrit"]12700073[/user]
--------------------------------------
Iver saw the others were leaving when Sigeric fell to the ground.
Ramdir glanced at Sigeric, "Sargeant!" He yelled aloud, "You seein' this?" He motioned at Sigeric's spasming body. "What's happening to this one?"
A few other men began to surround Sigeric as Thoruk rushed to his friend. Some tried to touch him but his body moved too quickly. Eventually, it came to a halt and he returned to normal. "He sick or somethang?"
"Arandil..." Magath spoke, a sad tinge in his voice, "Those men...they were incinerated by those...those monsters." He helped the man with the broken kneecap onto the horse and relaxed slightly.
"Their families will be compensated for by the King. But there is no justice in the world. Not for them. Not unless we avenge them. All those monsters. The Dark Lord's, the Giants, the dragons and the orcs. Everything there. We must avenge them." He gripped Arandil and took him to the side of the convoy for a moment, "Keep quiet." He muttered then began to whisper.
"There were two Giants who appeared at the rear of our regiment. They blocked the exit and killed dozens of our men who tried to escape the valley." He waited to see Arandil's reaction.
[user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/Szucsclan/74.png" name="Szucsclan"]12519458[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/KingTraitor/74.png" name="KingTraitor"]13615485[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/9842Kye/74.png" name="9842Kye"]16315828[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/assassiniv/74.png" name="assassiniv"]14628767[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/Yiannis123/74.png" name="Yiannis123"]18199471[/user]
------------------------
About three-quarters of a mile away, a figure emerged from the forest on the shores of a stream.
Eönwë knelt by the river and dipped his hands gently into the river. He cupped them and brought water up to wash his face then he cleansed and drank. The taste had never mattered to him and he used to require no sustenance to live but he desperately needed the nourishment. His energy had been spent, his body was wounded and his morale shaken to the very core. Even amidst the Noldor, he could not bring himself to speak. Not even to Glorfindel.
His reflection gazed back at him through the water and he shut his eyes. His face was bloody and beaten, his eyes were bloodshot and some of his tawny hair had been cut by Pyrus during their duel. Everything he stood for had been lost. Tulkas was dead, somehow. Pyrus likely as well. He had watched the Balrogs tear through the Champions and saw Gothmog behead Stadus. It was a massacre. And he had done nothing. He had run. Like a coward. He was a coward. Had this been Morgoth's plan? Lure them in and trap them...but why then...did Morgoth intend on losing his duel? Why?
He opened his eyes and washed the grit from his face. It did not matter. It was too late now. He was dead anyway. The West was hunting him and his only means of protection, Tulkas, was gone. Somewhere in Mordor lay the Wrestler's body. Mairon was there too. That was the one caveat. His brother survived. But at what cost? Would he cause more untold pain to this world? Was this to end only with his death? No. His brother deserved to live. All of them did. Life was precious.
But what could he do? He was weak and defenseless. He could barely fight Pyrus left alone attempt to defeat him. Eru what had he become? He needed the truth. He needed answers. Where was Eru? Why has the West turned? What of Ulmo?
Eönwë gripped the dirt in his fist and tossed it into the stream. "Why?" He asked aloud in Valarin. No answer came but the sounds of nightlife in the forest. The Maia shoved his hand into the water and searched around for a moment until he found it. After wrapping his hand around a conch shell he pulled it back out and whispered a few ancient words into it then gently placed it back into the water. Then he waited. Minutes passed and slowly the stream began to bubble and froth. From the dark waters, a tall form emerged. It was a male dressed in blue and white robes with pearl earrings, a twisted blue forked beard, and psychedelic turquoise hair. He remained standing in the water and curiously smiled upon seeing the bloody Maia kneeling by the river edge. He slowly began to stand when the newcomer spoke.
"I did not imagine I'd see the mighty Herald of Manwe in such a state." He scoffed.
A smile broke out across Eönwë's features.
"Hello, Salmar."
[user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/UnusualBrit/74.png" name="UnusualBrit"]12700073[/user]
--------------------------------------
Iver saw the others were leaving when Sigeric fell to the ground.
Ramdir glanced at Sigeric, "Sargeant!" He yelled aloud, "You seein' this?" He motioned at Sigeric's spasming body. "What's happening to this one?"
A few other men began to surround Sigeric as Thoruk rushed to his friend. Some tried to touch him but his body moved too quickly. Eventually, it came to a halt and he returned to normal. "He sick or somethang?"
"Arandil..." Magath spoke, a sad tinge in his voice, "Those men...they were incinerated by those...those monsters." He helped the man with the broken kneecap onto the horse and relaxed slightly.
"Their families will be compensated for by the King. But there is no justice in the world. Not for them. Not unless we avenge them. All those monsters. The Dark Lord's, the Giants, the dragons and the orcs. Everything there. We must avenge them." He gripped Arandil and took him to the side of the convoy for a moment, "Keep quiet." He muttered then began to whisper.
"There were two Giants who appeared at the rear of our regiment. They blocked the exit and killed dozens of our men who tried to escape the valley." He waited to see Arandil's reaction.
[user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/Szucsclan/74.png" name="Szucsclan"]12519458[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/KingTraitor/74.png" name="KingTraitor"]13615485[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/9842Kye/74.png" name="9842Kye"]16315828[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/assassiniv/74.png" name="assassiniv"]14628767[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/Yiannis123/74.png" name="Yiannis123"]18199471[/user]
------------------------
About three-quarters of a mile away, a figure emerged from the forest on the shores of a stream.
Eönwë knelt by the river and dipped his hands gently into the river. He cupped them and brought water up to wash his face then he cleansed and drank. The taste had never mattered to him and he used to require no sustenance to live but he desperately needed the nourishment. His energy had been spent, his body was wounded and his morale shaken to the very core. Even amidst the Noldor, he could not bring himself to speak. Not even to Glorfindel.
His reflection gazed back at him through the water and he shut his eyes. His face was bloody and beaten, his eyes were bloodshot and some of his tawny hair had been cut by Pyrus during their duel. Everything he stood for had been lost. Tulkas was dead, somehow. Pyrus likely as well. He had watched the Balrogs tear through the Champions and saw Gothmog behead Stadus. It was a massacre. And he had done nothing. He had run. Like a coward. He was a coward. Had this been Morgoth's plan? Lure them in and trap them...but why then...did Morgoth intend on losing his duel? Why?
He opened his eyes and washed the grit from his face. It did not matter. It was too late now. He was dead anyway. The West was hunting him and his only means of protection, Tulkas, was gone. Somewhere in Mordor lay the Wrestler's body. Mairon was there too. That was the one caveat. His brother survived. But at what cost? Would he cause more untold pain to this world? Was this to end only with his death? No. His brother deserved to live. All of them did. Life was precious.
But what could he do? He was weak and defenseless. He could barely fight Pyrus left alone attempt to defeat him. Eru what had he become? He needed the truth. He needed answers. Where was Eru? Why has the West turned? What of Ulmo?
Eönwë gripped the dirt in his fist and tossed it into the stream. "Why?" He asked aloud in Valarin. No answer came but the sounds of nightlife in the forest. The Maia shoved his hand into the water and searched around for a moment until he found it. After wrapping his hand around a conch shell he pulled it back out and whispered a few ancient words into it then gently placed it back into the water. Then he waited. Minutes passed and slowly the stream began to bubble and froth. From the dark waters, a tall form emerged. It was a male dressed in blue and white robes with pearl earrings, a twisted blue forked beard, and psychedelic turquoise hair. He remained standing in the water and curiously smiled upon seeing the bloody Maia kneeling by the river edge. He slowly began to stand when the newcomer spoke.
"I did not imagine I'd see the mighty Herald of Manwe in such a state." He scoffed.
A smile broke out across Eönwë's features.
"Hello, Salmar."
