(Lol. Nauriel I just realized that Maeth has never really introduced herself.)

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Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

((Lol. I think we've met...but now that I think of it, I think my character didn't like your character. Maybe my character was only wathcing yours. Hmmmm...do you want to forget the past and continue playing, or do you want to "redo" introductions? Either way, I'm good)

"I'm fine, Deawen." Fearan replied. "Bruised rib or two, maybe broken. Those men can kick like mules but I've endured worse. I was once actually kicked by a mule." He added, failing to mention that he had been knocked unconscious and spent the next two weeks flat on his back, resting, with good food and medicine. Somehow he doubted he would be shown the same respect here. "How are you?" He asked, suddenly uncomfortable by the strong expression on Deawen's face. Her face, usually as expressive as a brick, was now creased with worry. "How badly did Thorgar cut you?"

(No, they met, but Maeth's never actually given anybody her name in the RP I just realized. She just kinda hopped in and was like, 'this looks like fun.' So I guess they kinda need to exchange names or something. Lol)

Maethoriel looked over at the man and let out another laugh, this one was not quite so viscious although her voice still held the same dark humor.

"You are quite welcome to break my ribs if you can find a way to stand and accomplish such a task. However, at the moment it would appear that you are in no condition to do so....pity," she said closing her eyes once again and making to comfortably sit again.

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Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

Deawen looked away, " I have suffered worse." she said a trace of humor in her voice. "It's a scatch nothing more" she said testing the cut to see if it still bled.

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

((Well, I'm too lazy to rewrite my posts and pretend that Fearan doesn't like your character. And lets just pretend that Fearan never said her name. Wow, look what happens when I don't get enough sleep. Oh well.)

"I need not stand to break your ribs. A well aimed rabbit kick would work just fine, and that can be done from the ground." He laughed softly. "Look, here I am offering to break your bones and I don't even know your name. I had seen you around camp, but never introduced myself. My name if Fearan."
"Suffered worse?" Feran asked, turning to Deawen as she spoke. "Like getting your leg caught in a bear trap?" He joked, a wry grin on his face. "But somehow that does not surprise me" he added, a bit of graveness coloring his face.

Deawen smiled slightly. " Yes like getting my leg caught in a bear trap." she said dryly. She wiped away the drying blood using her shoulder.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(Yay for the procrastination of all me's. Sorry bout that. Anyway, Deawen, I've got rough idea of what's happening behind the scenes, which I'll work in over the course of time.)

Arandur did not take part in the banter of the others. He looked up however, when a pair of boots stopped before him. Thorgar stood over him, apparently done with tormenting his companions. In a mocking voice he said, "So, ranger, it all comes to this in the end. Even the best of you die eventually, and you sooner than most thanks to your foolishness. Did you think that because there is a new King in Gondor, all the world would meekly bow to him? Hah! Typical ranger idealism. I tell you Arandur, Arnor will never bow to the new king."
Arandur grinned up at him, "That's pretty long winded for an orc toady."
He received a kick for his efforts. Between gasps he managed a laugh, and had the satisfaction, however slight, of seeing the boots retreating.

When he had sufficiently recovered, he glanced over at the three, singling out Deawen. "Tell me, are these Phantoms of yours usually like this? It doesn't strike me as the most natural thing in the world for them to run with the likes of orcs."

Deawen glaced at Arandur, still embarrassed. She lowered her gaze and shook her head. " I'm not a phantom." she said softly staring at a pebble by her bound hands. " We normally have no dealings with the orcs, this is some wicked plan of THorgars."

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

"I had forgotten; I'm sorry." He pondered her answer for a moment, then: "Something is not right here. No doubt it is one of Thorgars plans, but...Ah well, time will tell if anything will. In the mean time, we should get some rest while we can."

The orcs had lit fires, and were continuing their revelry by their light. As he settled back into a less uncomfortable position, Arandur noticed the first bite of Autumn cold in the air.

"You are still to far for even a rabbit kick," she said smugly, moving her knees so that they were above the ground. She nodded and chuckled, "Oh the strange things we go through, am I correct?"

Faeron..." she tilted her head fairly sure she remembered the name from before. After a small moment of silence it dawned on her that she was expected to give her name as well. "I am Maethoriel...for the time being at least."

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Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

Deawen gave her one shoulder shrug. " Indeed our rest now will be the only chance we will get I suppose." she said, and as if on cue, two phantoms came over and forced Deawen to her feet. Her face became clouded and distant. They led her to a small fire of mainly coals only a short distance away from the others. A flicker of fear passed over her face as she tried to sort the situation out. A third phantom poked the coals with a metal rod, while the other two phantoms cut Deawen's bonds then held her securely her right hand held forward. The third phantom stood up with the metal rod, a glowing x brand in hand. Deawen instictively struggled backwards, clenching her hand shut. Her captors held firm and pried Deawen's white knuckled hand open, exposing the old brandmark. She glanced over to Fearan, for reassurance most likely. A few Orcs gathered around curious about the soon to be commotion. Deawen clamped her mouth shut, determined now not to scream. The Phantom carefully aimed the brand so that would X the old scar out, then he let the brand do it's job. Deawen made a choked yelp, shut her eyes to hold back the sudden tears. Then it was over. She was tied back up and put with the others.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Fearan smiled wryly. "Maethoriel it shall be then." He replied. "But be sure to inform me if it changes. It would be uncouth of me to call you by an old name." Suddenly two men, phantoms, grabbed Deawen and hoisted her roughly to her feet. He flentched his teeth as they dragged her towards a campfire. And they unbound her and yanked her hand forward, he was unsure of what they wanted, until one phantom pulled a red-hot brand from the fire. He growled, watching in horror as the phantom plunged the brand to her upturned palm. He could only guess that this was thier crude way of disowning a phantom. For a brief moment Deawen glanced at him, as if for reassurance. He struggled forward as if he could save her, but a sudden wave of pain eminating from his ribs knocked him down. he could only watch at red metal burned flesh. Deawen uttered a chocked cry of pain. As she was bound and thrust back to the ground, he shifted to her side, carefully avoiding upsetting his ribs. "Deawen." He murmured. "How are you holding up?"

Deawen lay on her side, protecting her hand from the unseen dangers. She stared at Fearan for a long time before answering. "I think I will live." she said slowly. "It's the price you pay."

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Arandur was awakened by a kick in the side, and with a groan rolled away in time to see the orc pulling his foot back for another. "On your feet, human!"

They were all roused, the dull gray of the sky reflecting their spirits. The orcs bound the prisoners in a line, each tied to the one in front, and then the entire party of orcs, Phantoms and captives set off. Toward the North.

They plodded relentlessly through the day, and the continuous movement reopened the wounds in Arandur's side and back. He felt hot, interspersed with flashes of cold, and knew, distantly, that he had a fever. They were not allowed to talk; any attempt was discouraged with liberal use of a whip. Arandur knew he should be planning an escape though, should make some effort, but he could not concentrate. The world became a blur, the ache of his wounds mixed with a throbbing in his head, until his entire focus was on putting foot in front of the other. A small, un-fevered part of his brain knew that if he fell, he would probably be killed.

(Sorry about the long absence. I stopped getting emails for this rp, for some reason. No one is back at the other camp yet, right?)

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

(No problem. Been a bit slow all round. The orcs have left the site of the battle and are heading north, and it is the day after the battle. The orcs will be stopping shortly for the night.)