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VENTURES INTO THE REMOTE (RP)

Ha'zi closed his eyes as he fell down into the pit below. When he landed, his face felt like it was in something gruff and irritating. "AH, let me out!" He thrashed around inside his cushioner, then finally fell backwards onto the floor, letting him come face to face with the gruff and irritating creature.
 
Deslan held himself onto the chainsawrd, then pulled himself upwards and stuck the rotating, sharp chain in the beorning's side. The beorning would be startled at worst or in absolute pain at best. Deslan would use this moment to put his hand cannon on the berserker's neck/chest and pull the trigger.
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Sigeric looked him in the eye. "I am surprised that you do not already know the answer. Imladris is simply one stop on our journey to the Land of Shadow, Mordor. We will have no choice but to seek assistance from the Elves, regardless of whether we can trust them. In Mordor, we shall attempt to stop Morgoth's attempt to resurrect his followers. Perhaps we stand no chance at all, but neither do we have a choice. You continually blame us for the part we unwillingly played in Morgoth's release. That is in the past, and cannot be undone. If you truly oppose Morgoth's actions, then you will allow us to do whatever we can to end Dagor Dagorath before it begins."
 
"Azura." He would say simply, stopping in his tracks and looking her in the eye. Still keeping his Maiar Blade hidden. "I assume you are hear to kill or capture me."
 
An explosion of blood as a hole was blown in the man's chest and the chainsward cut into his side. The Beorning fell onto Deslan, holding him as he died. He had just killed two people. But did they really matter in the bigger picture? But he had ended the lives of two innocent people. One had likely mistaken him as an enemy and the other only sought justice for his slain comrade. But did they matter when compared to the lives of the all that would end if he did not fulfill his mission?

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"Who says I oppose Morgoth?" The Trickster rattled off, before pushing off one of his mistresses who was licking his leg. "I'm on nobody's side in this. And you lot are done messing around in the world. I'll keep you here in my personal quarters, under my nose, so that you can't go and fuck more stuff up. Now, back to the game." The Trickster turned to Daugo, "Tell us, Master Burgins, the real reason you went to prison with the rest of these, uh, morons."

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"Well, technically, yes." She said, unsheathing her Maiar-blade and brandishing it in his face. "But, I have a better proposition for you. One I think you'll like a lot more than death. Are you willing to listen?"

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"Well, I could kill you here as Manwe the Almighty bids us to. Or, you could surrender and come with us to another Valar who is offering to absolve you of your sins and to," she paused, "sort out your issues with Manwe. If you are interested, allow me to take you to them."

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The Trickster also turned to Dimitri, "While Daugo thinks, I want you to answer this for me, Dimitri," He began, "Do you really think that stopping Morgoth is worth it? Do you believe that Manwe will forgive you and allow you to live? Would you rather not just let them both kill one another and finish the last one?"

Of the remaining contestants there were: Sigeric, Dimitri, Thoruk and Daugo.

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Deslan didn't really give a damn, to be honest. If you attack people on a pretty well-known mountain pass, you're just a highwayman. Every other guard, bandit, wild animal or bounty hunter that tried to take his head had family too, but he didn't feel sorry for them either. They made the choice to attack him and paid the consequences. Still, two kills are better than slaughtering a berserker village, or being killed himself.
He wrote a note, sticked it under a pebble to not make it fly away and carried on the path, sliding another bullet in the cannon.
The note would read:
"One attacked me and paid for it. The other would have led me to a trap.
Be more cautious, avoid senseless death."
 
Daugo had snorted loudly when he'd been declared the most dangerous member of the group, and had been following the game closely. The Trickster seemed to have unlimited power, and he was quite comfortable smoking pipeweed on his chair. And he did not intend to fall; improvise, adapt, overcome.

He takes in some pipeweed smoke and answers from behind a cloud of that pungent gas. "I got into a fight with a business associate. I pushed him, he cracked his skull. Next thing I know, I'm in imprisoned with you lot."

By the time the smoke clears, it's apparent that he had said this in a lighthearted and casual manner, an easy look on his face.
 
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You're clearly leaving out a lot, Daugo. Tell us why you had a fight with this associate. And while you're at it, who was this associate to you? What was his name? Did he have any family? A son, perhaps? Why would you murder him, Master Burgins?" The Trickster smiled. An image of Rob Newleaf appeared in Daugo's mind. It was of the Hobbit when he last saw him. The boy was seventeen and had been ill with scarlet fever. That was the day it happened. Two decades ago...

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"Trust me, if I wanted to kill you, you would be dead Pyrus. At your current state, you could be killed by a mortal. So, what'll it be? A fight with five more powerful Ainur or a chance at redemption?" She said to Pyrus, offering her hand to him, though keeping watch of his Maiar-blade at the same time.

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Deslan found the way clear but his stomach began to rumble. No, wait. The ground was rumbling. A chill wind passed by him and he heard a thunderous roar in the distance. What was that? Another beast? Or something else?

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Daugo rolls his eyes. "The name was Bob Newleaf, he slept with my wife and I found out. We worked the market stall together for a few years so we'd become somewhat friends, invited each other for dinner at our houses, went to The Pony to share some pints, kids played together... Yes, he had a son and a wife. Happy?"

Daugo certainly was not. Bob may have been many things, but he'd been his closest ally in Bree, except for Pomona. He wasn't a friend in the way some of his childhood friends had been, but he was one of the only people he'd trusted. His death was tragic, but somewhat deserved--he'd betrayed him, and that would not do.
 
"Very, murder hobbit." The Trickster said, "So, tell me, how did it feel to kill him? To kill that Slaver Captain? To end someone's life? Was it exhilarating?"

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Daugo takes another huff of pipeweed. "Certainly," he says, tilting his head slightly. "I won't say I enjoyed it, but there was some degree of satisfaction in taking revenge against the man that had continually abused us." He pauses for a moment, apparently searching for words. "It was shocking. I remember having felt scared, so scared... Then it was over, and I was absolutely exhausted."
 
"The Valar are a threat to us and anyone near us. Morgoth is a threat to everyone. If we let Morgoth kill the Valar, then he will be the single most powerful entity in Middle-Earth, aside from Eru Iluvatar, blessed be His most Holy Name. But if we kill Morgoth, we avoid the death of the world and give ourselves a chance at forgiveness in the eyes of the Valar. I also think that the Valar are key to the world’s stability. They say Ulmo’s power weakened as the Old Age progressed, yet it is the waters of the earth that feed the kingdoms of men, elf, dwarf, and even orc.” Dimitri says in Westron. Then, in the harsh tongue of Forochel, he continues, “But in all honesty, in the end, both sides will want us dead. I could care less. I have nothing to lose aside from my small, shriveled up soul and my life. If the Valar win, I live eternally a hunted man. If Morgoth wins, I die a tortured soul.” He takes a moment, savoring the taste of the ale and thinks. “But what if neither won? What if we beseech not the Valar nor Morgoth for mercy, but go straight to Eru Iluvatar, blessed be His most Holy Name. Surely he may have pity for us, who were forced into this terrible journey by two of his Maia, with commands from his mightiest servants. It probably wouldn’t work, but it’s worth a shot.” He switched back to normal Westron and requested, “Mind letting me down softer than the others? Legs kinda hurt from the long ride. Oh, and you got more ale? Good stuff, man.” He knew he was probably wrong, but it’s worth a shot.
 
The Trickster clapped for both of them, "Well done. I expect one of you two to win." Then he turned to Thoruk, "Does morality matter do you, Thoruk? Does the killing of an individuals life bring you a sense of pain or elation? Does a mantis feel immoral about killing a humming bird or the bear feel saddened at having to eat thousands of fish in its lifetime? Does the Dwarf Thoruk feel for those he has slain?"

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As Deslan moved forward he saw it. A wall of water rushing towards him, a flash flood. Tree trunks, rocks and muddy water engulfed the passage ahead of him in a matter of seconds.

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Deslan fell victim of another mysterious event, that caused him to turn around and look for a point of elevation. A secondary cannon projected from his arm, and a cable was quickly shot upwards. The hook stuck itself in the stone, and Deslan was taken upwards by a spinning cog in his arm. He would look for a way to cross the inopportune attempt to slow him down.
 
((Thoruk))
"Aye, listen here ya bugger, I do feel for those I've slain. May not seem or feel like it, but it's true. Whether it be brigrands or slavers, I feel some remorse for those I've slain, for I only kill if they threaten me, my friends, innocents, or my brothers at home. I feel it because I know some didn't have a choice, like even bandits, they are probably forced to do it one way or another, for someone at home, themselves, or others. So, yes, I do feel for those I've slain with my blade."
 
"WRONG!" The Trickster said snapping his fingers and letting Thoruk drop into the pit.
"You don't feel anything. Not after your family was destroyed. You drowned out your emotions with drinking and booze." His eyes flicked over to Sigeric,
"If I were to kill one of these two, who would it be? Cardiloc or Ha'zi? Otherwise both would die."

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The flashflood passed directly underneath him as he gripped to the cliff walls. It churned and broiled and he felt something snag his leg, a branch, threatening to pull him down.

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