Through blurred vision the blue sky was a sight to be relished. It was vast and littered with small white cotton balls drifting aimlessly in their journeys. Not however to be relished for very long when a hole was hit in the road and his body jerked sending his head to collide with the hard oak that the trailer was made out of. The sky was moving and it wasn't the wind. From his toes to his hairs he was too sore to move a muscle. His entire body felt like lead and as he struggled to adjust his head, as his vision came into more view of those around him his plight became far more serious.
Stragglers, nomads; they had been all clearly acquired against their own wills. As he had, but where was he? He could remember holding a sickle and the taste of dry leather against his tongue like a burnt steak that held no moisture. The bright sun blotted his still adapting pupils and blinded him before they descended under a bridge and out of the light. The sound of hooves against a more solid surface was echoing now around them in the tunnel as they slowed down in pace. Cobblestone, or at least some kind of stone was leading them through a torch-lit cavern now. He could hear a discussion in the distance though the words were unclear, hazy to his ears and his eyes shut once more.
"Alright just drop him over there." The words came in crystal clear before he was tossed into a pile of old hay. It was thin and the collision had him wheezing as he spun over on his knees and forehead and then on to his back, gasping for breaths.
It was a dim lit cell with thick iron bars separating him from those that he could see. The sound of rats scurrying about was disheartening and honestly tempted his stomach to spill its contents, if it had any. Drip, drip, drip. The water droplets that fell from the stone above smacked him square in the forehead. They were underground. He wanted to move but even now it was a bit difficult. He managed to squirm his way back some so he was just able to use the hay as a pillow and elevate his head some.
How long had it been since he and Mista had departed? Since that night with the tomes aplenty and the smell of aged scriptures with the smile that faded far too quickly. The pain of salt in the eyes and slaying the curiosity and wonder in someone's heart and replacing it with uncertainty and fear. He could recall the words easily that he had spoken at that time and now they rang as the entire structure shook with the force of a massive quake. The rats were no longer to be heard and dust began to fall from the ceiling overhead. Arches that looked to be well aged expressed signs of strain under the shaking and the iron bars vibrated from the force. I will not die. It was not long before the quakes ceased and his eyes fell heavy once more.
"You must drink friend." The voice was accompanied by a helpful hand on the back of his head. In front of him was a light saucer containing water that was pressed just short of his lips. He didn't know the voice, he didn't recognize the face but he had not had a drink in quite some time. He leaned forward and graciously drank as if it were the last source of water on Rhy'Din. Heavy wheezing followed and the hands helped press him more upright with his back to the wall.
"Good, you looked to be in a little bit of rough shape." He gestured to the many scars that lined the elf's upper body. When had he lost track of his armor? He had been wearing it prior to passing out, he knew that much.
"W-where am I?" A little direct but necessary as his eyes struggled to fully adapt to the lack of any consistent light in the cellar which they were held captive.
"You my friend are in the stockades." The man brushed himself off and took a seat to the right of the elf after clearing some hay from the spot. He began to rummage within his pocket and pulled out a pipe before he began striking some flint against the wall. Soon enough he found enough friction to begin puffing and voila. O's were formed. "You look like hell."
The stranger couldn't have been more blunt because did he feel like hell? Yes, yes he did. The right arm twitched a little as did his legs but he must have been really sore on his left side. "I must have been laying on my side because I can't feel my arm." He said with a laugh. "T'alathian, thank you for the water." His introduction was short and sweet and what came next left tremors in his heart.
"Well T'alathian, I guess this might not be the news you want to wake up to ever in your life- but now's as good a time as any I guess." The man took a few more puffs on the pipe's contents and released it from his mouth and gestured towards T'alathian. "That's because you no longer have your left arm."
What happened next was a mixture of panic, depression and utter pain as T'alathian's head shifted on a pivot from the right, the stranger to the left where there was nothing but a cauterized stump just below his shoulder. His right arm slowly extended across until the fingertips traced along the skin and he felt more pain in the absence, the phantom sensation psychological than physical, and began to weep.
"I don't know how that must feel son but you better get that out of your system as soon as you can. They already think you're weak, worst thing you can do now is prove them right. There's only one real rule here: the weak die and the strong survive. But since y'er kind enough to give me your name, T'alathian, I guess I'll give you mine back. Ajax or as everyone around here calls me, Quake. You're lucky to have gotten here so late, you won't have to worry about that today." Ajax gestured to the ceiling and what T'alathian could surmise, the mystery that lied above it. He reached over to pat T'alathian on the shoulder before rolling over and curling up. "Best thing you can do for yourself now is get some rest, y'er going to be needing it."
It wasn't immediate that the realization set in but over some time the tears began to dry from their twin wells in his eyes. His whole life he had been royalty, he had been praised for his style, his grace. Now he was a gimp rotting in the stockades. How the mighty had fallen he jested at his own predicament with another sob and a laugh before he too shut his eyes. He could not predict in his wildest dreams what was next to come.
((cross posted from here))
Stragglers, nomads; they had been all clearly acquired against their own wills. As he had, but where was he? He could remember holding a sickle and the taste of dry leather against his tongue like a burnt steak that held no moisture. The bright sun blotted his still adapting pupils and blinded him before they descended under a bridge and out of the light. The sound of hooves against a more solid surface was echoing now around them in the tunnel as they slowed down in pace. Cobblestone, or at least some kind of stone was leading them through a torch-lit cavern now. He could hear a discussion in the distance though the words were unclear, hazy to his ears and his eyes shut once more.
"Alright just drop him over there." The words came in crystal clear before he was tossed into a pile of old hay. It was thin and the collision had him wheezing as he spun over on his knees and forehead and then on to his back, gasping for breaths.
It was a dim lit cell with thick iron bars separating him from those that he could see. The sound of rats scurrying about was disheartening and honestly tempted his stomach to spill its contents, if it had any. Drip, drip, drip. The water droplets that fell from the stone above smacked him square in the forehead. They were underground. He wanted to move but even now it was a bit difficult. He managed to squirm his way back some so he was just able to use the hay as a pillow and elevate his head some.
How long had it been since he and Mista had departed? Since that night with the tomes aplenty and the smell of aged scriptures with the smile that faded far too quickly. The pain of salt in the eyes and slaying the curiosity and wonder in someone's heart and replacing it with uncertainty and fear. He could recall the words easily that he had spoken at that time and now they rang as the entire structure shook with the force of a massive quake. The rats were no longer to be heard and dust began to fall from the ceiling overhead. Arches that looked to be well aged expressed signs of strain under the shaking and the iron bars vibrated from the force. I will not die. It was not long before the quakes ceased and his eyes fell heavy once more.
"You must drink friend." The voice was accompanied by a helpful hand on the back of his head. In front of him was a light saucer containing water that was pressed just short of his lips. He didn't know the voice, he didn't recognize the face but he had not had a drink in quite some time. He leaned forward and graciously drank as if it were the last source of water on Rhy'Din. Heavy wheezing followed and the hands helped press him more upright with his back to the wall.
"Good, you looked to be in a little bit of rough shape." He gestured to the many scars that lined the elf's upper body. When had he lost track of his armor? He had been wearing it prior to passing out, he knew that much.
"W-where am I?" A little direct but necessary as his eyes struggled to fully adapt to the lack of any consistent light in the cellar which they were held captive.
"You my friend are in the stockades." The man brushed himself off and took a seat to the right of the elf after clearing some hay from the spot. He began to rummage within his pocket and pulled out a pipe before he began striking some flint against the wall. Soon enough he found enough friction to begin puffing and voila. O's were formed. "You look like hell."
The stranger couldn't have been more blunt because did he feel like hell? Yes, yes he did. The right arm twitched a little as did his legs but he must have been really sore on his left side. "I must have been laying on my side because I can't feel my arm." He said with a laugh. "T'alathian, thank you for the water." His introduction was short and sweet and what came next left tremors in his heart.
"Well T'alathian, I guess this might not be the news you want to wake up to ever in your life- but now's as good a time as any I guess." The man took a few more puffs on the pipe's contents and released it from his mouth and gestured towards T'alathian. "That's because you no longer have your left arm."
What happened next was a mixture of panic, depression and utter pain as T'alathian's head shifted on a pivot from the right, the stranger to the left where there was nothing but a cauterized stump just below his shoulder. His right arm slowly extended across until the fingertips traced along the skin and he felt more pain in the absence, the phantom sensation psychological than physical, and began to weep.
"I don't know how that must feel son but you better get that out of your system as soon as you can. They already think you're weak, worst thing you can do now is prove them right. There's only one real rule here: the weak die and the strong survive. But since y'er kind enough to give me your name, T'alathian, I guess I'll give you mine back. Ajax or as everyone around here calls me, Quake. You're lucky to have gotten here so late, you won't have to worry about that today." Ajax gestured to the ceiling and what T'alathian could surmise, the mystery that lied above it. He reached over to pat T'alathian on the shoulder before rolling over and curling up. "Best thing you can do for yourself now is get some rest, y'er going to be needing it."
It wasn't immediate that the realization set in but over some time the tears began to dry from their twin wells in his eyes. His whole life he had been royalty, he had been praised for his style, his grace. Now he was a gimp rotting in the stockades. How the mighty had fallen he jested at his own predicament with another sob and a laugh before he too shut his eyes. He could not predict in his wildest dreams what was next to come.
((cross posted from here))