CHAPTER 12: HUNTED
Eleven months later.
"Gotcha," Helvion reeled back on his line and pulled hard against the waters until a fat red trout flew out onto the dirty reed banks. He put down the fishing rod and unsheathed a clean knife before going over and gutting the fish. The trout was brilliant crimson, flecked with sparkles of silver over its scaly body and bled from the inflicted wounds. Tonight's dinner he thought before a loud STOMP interrupted his admiration of the creature. Helvion turned to face the sound and saw through the forest a large humanoid body. "Always training. Always scaring away the fish." He grimaced and gripped his equipment, chucking in the lone trout and making his way back to the outpost.
In the distance, stood the Guardian and Warrior Giants battling it out against one another. Around them were watch posts and dozens of men dressed in black. Some watched the fight whilst others gazed over the perimeter. The battle had just begun with each respective shifter transforming and readying up. But this was not the grand finale. No. There was one more to join the fray. One rather short fellow stood out a mile away from the others and with the quick flash of a blade, some blood flying from a cut palm, and a controlled explosion of steam and heat, there stood the Behemoth Giant. Titanic and majestic.
"Take it down!" Their drillmaster, a man known as Arcturus called out from a platform set in the distance. A massive castle lay upon the western bank whilst the fighting occurred on the fields to the north-east. From Daugo's vantage point he could see the outermost banks of the island, Cair Andros they called it. This had been their home for nearly a year and in that much time, they had come so far.
The Hobbit had learned to not only control his explosive power but also his steam, his transformation blast, his flaming skin and was even able to turn it on and off. He could transport people upon transformation should he destine for it and should they be within a ten-meter vicinity of him. He could blast steam at rates that could start miniature whirlwinds strong and hot enough to burn trees and blast rocks out of his path.
He had also activated something within him. A power he did not know he could possess in humanoid form. Daugo had cut himself out of his Giant whilst it was still an inferno and fell out, rather early in the training, and without Iver or any of the others there able to fly or douse the flames, he was doomed. All they could do was watch as the Hobbit burnt up in a puff of smoke and all that was left was a pile of ashes but no, instead of after quite a tumble and a near life-threatening plunge into the air, Daugo slid down the legs of the Behemoth whilst suffering no burn marks. He was naked, his clothes having burnt off. After this incident, he was tested a number of times and shown to not only have an immunity to fire but an affinity. Daugo could snap his fingers and a light flame would appear atop his index. It was a rather ingenious thing. Now he could smoke as many pipes without ever having to inconvenience himself with the triviality of lighting a match.
Meanwhile, Sigeric acquiesced mastery of his craft. He had studied ancient tomes brought to him from the Library of Gondor wherein blueprints for many weapons long thought impossible had been accomplished through him. A rotating crossbow that fired bolts that were larger than pine trees? A trebuchet the size of Minas Tirith's grand gates? A gargantuan tree that the Warrior Giant could climb for shelter? Building colossal sized weapons, even a spear long enough that the Behemoth could use as a knife? All had been acheived. Sigeric was no longer the simple knight. No longer the meagre noble. He served a greater cause. Attained a greater title. He was the 'Chieftan' or 'Captain' of the Karoltai. He had gained favor with the King and especially with the military of Gondor, specifically those men of the black cloak also known as the black rangers. They were both trainers, protectors and allies to the Karoltai. They had worked side by side for the better part of a year and spent many nights drinking, laughing, japing and even mocking with one another. In many ways, Sigeric had found himself at home. Yet he still yearned for Redhaven. Nevertheless, his telepathy had gradually improved and now he found himself at ease with the power. He could read the thoughts of whomever he chose in his direct vicinity whenever he would choose to. He had been distrustful at first to these men but slowly had grown to see them as more than just soldiers. These were men like him. Honor bound, defenders of the weak, and at the end of the day, just wanted to keep their families safe and return home to them.
Ha'zi, like Daugo and Sigeric, had also learnt. He had achieved incredible feats of power through his training as a black ranger recruit which had lasted for the six months. His fighting styles were improved significantly and he was trained specifically by Captain Vardamir in close-quarter and hand-to-hand combat. He had learned to shoot arrows using a bow, perfected his use of the spear and was decent with a sword and mediocre at best. On top of this, Ha'zi had been able to focus, clear his mind and attune himself to his abilities. Through his connections with the Karoltai, he was able to replicate the fireballs that Thoruk had shown him as well as create bolts of electricity that shot out of his boots. He had actually siphoned off Sigeric's power and was able to listen to the Dalishman's own thoughts, though he could only focus this ability on a single person at a time. He even managed to summon some power from Miriel, using her own rage to motivate himself and push harder. He was able to maintain three transformations at full power and harden his fists whilst taking on the crystallization abilities from Sigeric as well as being able to burn portions of his skin into smoke to create mists in order to mask himself. Ha'zi had physically become stronger, faster and grown taller. He now stood at height with Sigeric and dwarfed Daugo to a greater extent.
These major accomplishments were at the behest of Gondor and its black rangers. Daugo had confirmation that his children were missing and had apparently been abducted by a certain group of annoying Maia. This revelation had come to sting him halfway through the training and was presented to him directly by King Aragorn who swore that they would recover Gullfast and Bolham Burgins from the clutches of the Valar. The three Karoltai received military ranks with Sigeric being given the title 'Chief' which translated to a post of Captain in the Gondorian armed forces; Daugo and Ha'zi were heralded as lieutenants, and all three were presented with a salary that saw each become richer than they had hoped for. They lived in the barracks within the fortress at Cair Andros under the supervision of Captain Vardamir and his men. Daugo had no need to like them but in these desperate times, it couldn't hurt to make friends. Ha'zi, on the other hand, had been mistreated for his black skin and race but was eventually accepted and actually given respect, especially as being called the 'Captain's aide'. He was even given a black cloak by Vardamir as a gift. The trio was known as 'Gondor's Giants'.
Helvion returned towards the fortress with his catch whilst the Behemoth faced off against the two smaller Giants. Who would win in this match? On all previous accounts, each battle had been tied but it was Daugo who was awarded the most victories. Would this be another trophy under his belt or would Ha'zi and Sigeric actually manage to bring him down?
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Meanwhile, far across the world, Iver beneath the clouds. On his back were a dwarf and a man both clad in winter clothes as they clung on by ropes and saddles to the Flying Giant's back. It's massive black wings stretched out from west to east. Over the past months, they had searched and searched and searched and searched for those damn prototype shifters. From Mordor to Rhun. Into Rohan and Lothlorien. Above the brownlands and through the Emyn Arnen. They had gone to Dale, Erebor and Mirkwood then back and again. Every trace of them had disappeared or been lost. The trail had run cold before the hunt began and now they were blindlessly searching. Yet not all was lost. In the meantime, Arandil had become a permanent member of their party. His wit and incompetence made him fit well among Thoruk and Iver. They had visited many a city in Middle-Earth, searched through towns and seen taverns afar. They even shared a few rather sensual moments in a brothel not far from Aldburg with a few blonde haired maidens. Unlike Thoruk who returned home to see his father and prepare the dwarves for the inevitable war to come, Arandil had grown homesick. He missed his brother Farangar and now dreamt of him. Was he awake? How was he? Could he walk? These questions had bugged him.
Thoruk spent time training in both the physical and mental worlds. He primordially isolated his powers and focused them. His control over lightning was absolute. He had mastered fire and could whisk balls of flame out of the palms of his small hands. He even managed to get ahold of some of the wind, being able to direct its flow lightly yet he was still weak there. On the topic of water, he could make the water in his bowels move but that was about it. The dwarf had little experience with that particular element and did not seem to care all too much. Thoruk had come close to battling a thunderstorm once during their long flights. He willed the clouds away and diverted the strikes of electrical energy from Iver. Without him, Iver may have been hit months ago and met a rather smashing death.
Iver spent much of his time either flying, eating, recovering, running at speeds that caused Arandil's clothes to fly off when within five meters of the Dalishman or indulging in rather childish endeavors. He still led the chase for those prototypes. Iver too had dreams. Rather large ones but dreams nonetheless, and in some of them a certain figure, ominous and brooding with dark orange eyes haunted him.
Far beneath them was a long plain that snaked alongside the river Anduin. They were in search of the nearest town to find food and mead as well as whatever hearth they could afford when Iver spotted someone far below him. A lone traveler marching across the barren waste. Just another venturer like themselves. But something within Iver told him otherwise. Something was wrong. That instinct that had kept him alive up till this moment flared up and he felt something, almost a tingling feeling indicating that their hunt was not all a folly. That lone traveler...that lone person below them...suddenly Iver had the eerie feeling to screech and see whether or not that was merely another adventurer.
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"Fuck you, Endo. You sad cunt. Why the hell did we have to hunt over here? There's nuthin' here!" Mirecyla yelled at her companion, the lanky tall lad shying away from her.
"Sorry. I thought there would be an elk or something. Evenis and Berethor said they had seen a herd of them in this patch of the forest when they caught that deer. I thought..." He coughed, "Well I thought we'd have some fortune."
Mirecyla grumbled. "I should've just gone with Berethor."
"You really should have. You seem a bit taken with him these days, ya know." Endo teased her.
"Fuck you, Endo." She repeated, covering her blush with a scarf. Damn Endo always pays too much attention. Why was it that everyone knew except him? How come Berethor failed to see? Was he just blind or too stupid? The answer was likely both.
She gripped her spear tightly and peered about the forest, her eyes falling upon the luscious greenery which spread about her for miles. Their home wasn't too far and since settling, everything seemed to have worked out. Sure, there were a few problems like food and shelter but Tytus had come through. They were free. And it was truly glorious. Sure, she missed Sauron. But did she miss her prison cell? Fuck no. It had been a year and she'd grown quite a lot. They all had. And now it seemed this would be their home permanetly. She sighed as she stared at the forest. Everything was perfect. No. Not perfect. Almost perfect. She thought of him again and brushed those lewd thoughts away. Damn it. Miriel was getting to her. Fuckin' Miriel. Always fuckin' around. Fuck that.
"Mirecy," Endo muttered her name. Fuck him. "Mirecy," He repeated with urgency a bit quieter.
"What do ya want, faggot?"
"I think..." He moved closer to her whilst staring at a patch of the forest, "I think there's something watching us."
"Stop fuckin' around, Endo. Let's get outta here. Fuck huntin'. I want to go back to camp and see Berethor."
"Will you listen up and stop talking about Berethor? For Morgoth's sake, stop letting your raging o-" A large net whistled past their heads and trapped Mirecyla and Endo against the floor. Two arrows kept it firmly in place over their heads and the stomping of feet followed by shouts erupted around them. What the fuck is happening?
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It seemed like forever but Dimitri and Telimekhtar made it out of the forest alive. The Son of Tulkas was still alive, somehow, against all wills, he kept moving forward with the Forochelrim's aid. After months of travel, hunted by Maia of Manwe and under constant threat of attack, the two of them finally reached the Gardens of Lorien where they were afforded safety by the Lady Este.
Much to Dimitri's surprise, she aided and shielded them. There Dimitri found rest, peace and his mind was restored or as much of it could be. He found no signs of Lord Irmo nor that of Orome the Hunter and only witnessed some of Manwe's thugs, one of which he remembered from before, the one who had taken his parents and fought Eonwe, the one known as Mineltar, chased them. Dimitri had come close to slaying the bastard but he slipped away. In those battles, the Forochelrim had come to utilize not only his Giant power but his own body.
Telimekhtar taught him how to focus his hardening and showed him rocks and crystals to which he may transmute his body. The metamorphosis was painful at first but slowly the pain left him and all that remained was an iron-will, a solid steel foundation and the promise of vengeance - for Tulkas, for his parents, for Arda.
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Cardiloc and Ha'zi ventured through space and time for eons to ages past and forgotten, to future's long unseen, to times almost too unreal. He had seen beasts of burden, furious drakes and dragons, cold wyrms, the mumaks of Harad, the jaguars and panthers as well as the crocolions of the southern isles, the titanic krakens of Akkaia, the vast serpents that allotted the dark lands and the frozen wolves of the Frodowaith. Cardiloc saw it all. He trained under Ha'zi's guidance and was, more than a couple times, gifted with sudden pushes into the unknown. Once he was literally thrown off a cliff which had forced him to activate his power or meet an early demise.
Nevertheless, a bond, that connection which existed, grew between the two men. Regardless of their predisposition to one another, regardless of their distrust, regardless of the pain, they both grew on one another. The older man seemed to open up more and relax even though they seemed to drift endlessly through time. Cardiloc hit his twentieth birthday, or so Ha'zi had claimed he had before they eventually moved through time or 'teleported' as Ha'zi put it. The Dunlending had just mastered transforming into creatures of all shapes and sizes and even managed to successfully morph a bear and a wolf, though it did not last as long as his normal forms, when Ha'zi spoke to him, "It's time to return to my home, Card."
"To my time."
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