Crimson Moor

This forum is for role-playing within settings that influenced Tolkien (non-Middle-earth). Acceptable styles include for Celtic, Norse, Kalevala, Arthurian, and Anglo-Saxon.

Postby Eldfess » Sat Sep 21, 2002 7:25 pm

The ground had been well churned and mixed with blood. Low moans were all the sound around. Some cries for help. Most seeing their fate through their pain. Only one was left standing. He looked around at the scene through his green eyes. He just stood there, terrified. He wasn't even looking for his brother anymore, nor his father. His eyes had long sinced dried, and even the burning had faded. Then he turned and ran.<BR><BR>After all, what else could a boy of twelve do in such a situation.<BR><BR>-----<BR><BR>Not far away, the opposing army sauntered back to their lands riotous and full of boast. They clapped each other on the back and spoke of the spoils that they carried back to their land. None were nearly as loud as Callasat.<BR><BR>Callasat boasted that he personally bested half the army. No one dared to refute this, and many easily believed him. He was a giant. He carried a shield the size of any of them. And his sword, none could lift. There were often contests that Callasat would throw to see if there were any who could wield his sword.<BR><BR>None of them knew that in a blind panic, slowly changing to fury, a young twelve-year-old child was running up fast behind them.
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Postby Arwen32315 » Sun Sep 22, 2002 5:08 pm

*********<BR>The slave hung his head. Defeat. One word none of them expected to apply to them, and yet, it had happened. The giant was an unexpected thrall the enemy had thrown at them. If only the left flank had held, and now instead of riding home in victory to be greeted by the loving arms of his wife, Faran was a captive. The words he had just hours before spoken to his men, ran through his head.<BR>"We will never accept defeat. We will fight to the end, and if we die, we die with honor." Yes, he had given a brave speech. One that had been greeted by cheers and applause, but now, not one of his platoon remained. They had all died, and according to him, they all died with honor.
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Postby DerekHalfHand » Sun Sep 29, 2002 3:11 pm

(I'd mistakenly hit the "post" button on this one - sorry)
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Postby DerekHalfHand » Sun Sep 29, 2002 3:11 pm

Jungaar's head swam... His conscience oscillated between awareness and deafness of all five senses. He felt helpless, and in his head was a numbness that remained ringing the dull toll of that mace against his head. Floating, he tried to open his eyes, and managed to some degree of success - only to witness the complete opaqueness of the countryside around him. So complete was this similitude in color - that he could no longer tell shapes or distance. The battle must have been terrible. The air itself was thick with rust, steel and blood. So thick was it, it almost had a liquid feel to it as it ran down his nose. <BR><BR>Hang on - it <i>was</i> liquid...<BR><BR>Struggling to wrest free from this foul air, Jungaar thrashed, only to notice himself roll over onto his back. In his stunnedness, he didn't realise he was lying face down in a pool of blood. Recovering his senses slowly, Jungaar made a superhuman effort to rise onto all fours. A successful attempt, by any means, if it weren't for the sudden shock of something colliding against his side - like a kick. Tumbling over onto his side, he realised he wasn't being beaten back to the inches from death from whence he came, but someone had tripped over him. <BR><BR>A boy. A young, young boy.<BR><BR>What's more was that he was dirty to the extreme - mud, dust, blood, all covering features of what should have been a merry little boy. Instead, his face was covered with despair and his eyes burned with fury.<BR><BR>"Easy, young one." He chuckled. "Reign in your haste and disturb not the dead..." The boy's eyes widened. A connection suddenly made in Jungaar's mind. "Aren't you a bit young to be fighting in Mirekul's Army?" The boy's expression started to change at the mention of the name. The reaction incurred made Jungaar wonder. "You are part of Mirekul's army are you not?" he questioned. "Why else would you be running back to thier camp?"<BR><BR>"I'm not." the boy answered.<BR><BR>(If barging in like this is unappreciated, tell me, I'll delete)
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Postby Iavasel » Mon Sep 30, 2002 2:12 pm

Trystinn's head swam. Vaguely, he realized that something heavy lay on top of him. He thrashed violently, throwing whatever it was off his chest. He sat up and opened his eyes and was immediately sick all over himself. He stared about himself in horror. In a rush, the memoriy of battle flooded back to him all at once. Trystinn wasn't a fighter, it wasn't supposed to go like this, he had never fought with a sword in his life, yet somehow he had found himself in the middle of this great big mess. He looked down and saw with disgust that he was covered in blood. Thankfully not his own, he discovered. His head cleared a bit more, and he remembered something else. "Jenny? Jenny?" He called, searching for his traveling companion. He found her close by, sprawled unconsious not a yard or two from where he was. He pulled her up gently, bringing her arm across his shoulders and looping his arm around her waist to support her. She opened her eyes groggily. "My harp?" She asked. "I don't know." Trystinn answered. She swooned and nearly fainted but Trystinn caught her. This time she opened her eyes fully and looked about. Trystinn saw the same flood of memory rush back into her, and knew that he probably wore the same expression. "Oh." She said, though it came out more like a sigh."What now?" She asked. And Trystinn knew she must have been in pretty bad shape, because she hadn't removed his hand from her waist, something that she ordinarily never allowed. He spotted movement in the distance. A young boy seemed to be held transfixed by something there on the ground. "There." Said Trystinn, poiting. Genivieve nodded and the two of them began to pick their way across the bloodied feild towards the boy.
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Postby Arwen32315 » Mon Sep 30, 2002 3:23 pm

********<BR><BR>Faran looked around at the blood covered field. Not only had the enemy killed all but the high ranking captains that still remained of the defeated army, but they had pillaged the camp and then moved on to a samll village that lay nearby. As he looked he saw a small boy staring at something or someone lieing on the ground. From the corner of his eyes he also say something else. Two people, a man and a woman, walked toward the boy. "Dangerous," He thought to himself as they ducked behind the mounds of bodies that were strewn across the field. "What interest had these two, one of which was a woman, in the boy. He was an elf!" <BR>He turned away just in time to see a fist fly through the air. Pain errupted in his jaw, then his middle as he was hit again. As he fell a foot rose and helped him into the dirt. <BR>As he lay in the bloody mud after the man had had his fill of beating a tied slave, Faran wished they would just kill him and get it over with, or why don't they move on and sell them. He hoped against hope that he would be bought at the first place, and not by some cruel task master who wanted someone for manual labor but some old man who just needed a helping hand as he aged. But, things that like rarely happened and when they did, it was usually not for the wisher, but for someone else. And that person then forever earned the envy of every other slave on the block.<BR><BR>********
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Postby Iavasel » Mon Sep 30, 2002 4:34 pm

"How'd we get ourselves into this Trys? A minstrel and a poet, why are we here in the middle of a battlefield?" Asked Genivieve. "I dunno Jenny." Answered Trystinn. "Sure is hell though, isn't it?" Genivieve nodded. Soon as they were within hearing, Trystinn hailed the boy, and he and Geniveive advanced steadily with hands in plain veiw to show they carried no weapons and meant no harm.
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Postby Wandering_Wood_Elf » Sat Oct 05, 2002 1:47 pm

Arien wiped her eyes to keep the tears from coursing down her cheek. It had been known to her that there was chance of battle, but she had imagined nothing such as this. After slaughtering the entire army save the few prisoners they took they had pillaged the homes, including her own. After looking her over they cruelly took her wrists behind her back before shoving the tip of a sword into her as a threat to follow orders. Around her she saw them kill her friends that were either not 'fit' to be one of their slaves or to be used for even more horrendous uses. The lewd grins the captors gave her were no more comforting than that of the corpses littering the ground. To her right walked a solemn man, in a generals uniform. Her heart went out to the man who had watched his men fall in battle, but saved enough pity for herself. "Get on, you." the coarse man holding the blade to her back snarled. He laughed at her gasp as he shoved the blade into her back deeper, drawing blood this time. She remained silent and moved on averting her eyes from the dead on the ground and the even less fourtunate prisoners walking near her.
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Postby Arwen32315 » Sat Oct 05, 2002 2:09 pm

********<BR><BR>Faran saw the woman glancing at him now and then. He had thought they would kill everyone in the village, but he saw now that he was wrong. She was pretty, even beautiful, so it wasn't surprising that they had kept her. It made him cringe to think about it. He had seen the pity in her eyes as she glanced about the battle field. His heart had clenched within his chest when the brute had pushed the tip of his blade into the soft flesh of her back.<BR>"Courage," he managed to whisper to her before he was dragged along with the others.<BR>The army had finally tired of pillaging and was moving on to a more "permanent" dwelling, probably Mordor. "What had happened to that little elf-boy he wondered, and at the same time wished the two he had seen trying to reach the boy, the best of luck. <BR>"Well, what have we here?" asked a cruel looking voice to his left. Faran turned and saw a Hardrim in a colonel's uniform, or what passed as a uniform, holding the arm of the lady beside him. "You're a lovely thing!" he said with an insinuating smile. "Have he taken out of this line and placed on the wagon with my personal belongings." he ordered to the soldier closest. <BR>"Please, no!" the woman screamed in horror, but all she got for her efforts was a slap across the face. Faran could've died just then, but he held his tongue and clenched his fists. If he said or did anything now, he would be killed and would never have the possibility of escape and possibly rescueing her before it was too late.<BR><BR>********
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