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Date Posted: 16:20:27 03/27/03 Thu
Author: Astariel, Elomir, Igon, wagon defense
Subject: Astariel & Elomir are captured, Igon is felled
In reply to: No post. 's message, "War of the Everdark" on 12:38:20 03/27/03 Thu

December 25

Nearly two days before the Everdark came to Challerain Keep, the Lady Astariel and Prince Elomir, both Elves, were borne away south in the last caravan. Slowly, the wagon trundled down from the mount. Onward the wain groaned, last in line of a hundred wagons, along the south-bearing Post Road. Down through the foothills they wended, and out upon the snowy plains.

The Elven prince sat at the head of the wagon, holding the reins for the horses that pulled the wagon along. Elomir had been practically silent and distant since the wagon set out, and he intended to stay that way. No, he was not angry.. only hurt.

She left the keep, her heart was weighed down and rendered near silent. Elomir seemed troubled and left her to be alone; she considered asking him what was on his mind, but his standoffish attitude repelled her.

Elomir tied the reins to a post, keeping the horses steady as he let go. Elomir lay back against the wagon, eyes shifting skyward to the ongoing grey. No matter how angry or hurt he had been, he could not find it in his heart to behave in such a way for much longer. "You are well, Princess?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the sky.

Time passed, and slow miles rolled by to the flap of the canvas cover, the creak and jingle of single trees and harness, the plod of horse hooves, an occasional command of the driver, and above all, the grind of axle and iron-rimmed wheels turning upon the frozen snow. In the midafternoon the train pulled up a long hill, snowy slopes to either side. Then the last wain topped the crest and started down the far side, and Challerain Keep could be seen no more.

His voice came just as the Keep was free from her viewing. She dipped her head and closed her eyes sadly for a moment. Elomir was not looking at her, so she responded with a soft 'Yes, I am well,' despite being crestfallen.

The Prince looked to her, watching her with intent eyes. "What troubles you?"

A hand matron rode in the last caravan with them, and had taken it upon herself to look after the Princess, though she did not do a very good job. Instead of seeking to comfort the younger looking female, she catered to the both of them, unaware that they were paying no attention to her, about inconsequential trivialities and complained about the discomfort of the wagon. And the hand matron, Saril, appeared unaware of the royal’s needs.

"Nothing ails me, Elomir. I am weary." And perhaps that would mask the real emotion worn upon her fair visage. She opened her eyes slowly and looked down to the back of her hands upon her lap.

"You lie to me," he said sadly, once more sitting up and staring off into the distance. It troubled him that she would treat him so, but he could not change that.

There was no reason to be upset being deemed a liar - it was true enough and he called her on it. She said nothing more and remained that way until the wagon came to a stop.

Just as sunset, camp was made some twenty-two miles south of Mont Challerain. Although the train had paused several times along the way to tend the horses and stretch the legs and see to other needs, still it was not the same as being out of the wagons, for those stuck within, and encamped for the night.

Once the wagon train had stopped, Prince Igon of Challerain Keep had dismounted the red roan War-horse that he rode, Rust, to walk the full length of the caravan and back, some two miles in all. He spoke to oldsters and the young alike, buoying up spirits. He returned then to the camp where the Prince and Lady Astariel were said to be taking their meal, and with him he brought a young girl who had wanted more than anything to gaze upon the fair Elfess. Igon's hand was upon her back as she shyly hugged at her Lordships leg, a thumb in her mouth. She could not have been more then five or six.

Astariel had taken up a spot near the fire that had been built for the humans to gather round and keep warm. She was not hungry, so a few bites had been taken of her dinner before she disregarded it and decided to mingle with the people. It was keeping her busy and with trying to lift the spirits of the oppressed she found her own heart lightening a small amount. Astariel was just placing a shaw over a bent elderly woman when she caught sight of Igon approaching with a child. The elfess gave the old one a smile and then departed from her side to meet the two.

His face split into a wide grin, pearl teeth flashing as he spoke softly. "Lady Astariel of Elvenhom, may present to you young Ayla of Challerain." Both hands placed upon the young girls shoulders as he gently brought her to the fore. She would have frantically fought back to hide behind her Prince had she not caught sight of beauty of the Elfess. The young girl was awe-struck, her thumb coming to fall from her mouth, her hand outstretching. Pretty hair!

Astariel greeted the child with a smile of her own and she stooped down to speak with her. "Ayla, it does my heart good to meet you."

Astariel was greeted with a bright smile, green eyes twinkling. Yet from behind Igon came a mothers call, and with hug to Astariel’s leg, which was probably not appropriate, she turned and hurried off to her mother and bed.

Igon turned, watching the girl run off with a confused expression before returning his steel-grey gaze back to the Lady and shrugging his shoulders. "Forgive us for bothering you, Lady Astariel."

Elomir watched from a distance, and smiled for the first time in perhaps a good month. Well.. maybe a few weeks.

Her back straightened once more and raised her shoulders in a delicate shrug. "I did not falsify my words. I am glad to have met the child, no matter how fleeting the occasion became."

~*~


All the next day the wagons jostled and jounced over the icy way. Igon rode at the fore of the train with Captain Jerriel, to be the first to receive word from the far-ranging horse-borne scouts of the caravan escort. It was mid-afternoon of the next day when there came the sound of a horn. The rear scout came running up, riding hard to overtake the train. Soon he thundered past the last of the wagons, urgent horn ablare, snow flinging from the steeds pounding hooves as he flew south toward the lead wagons. Time passed and again came the sound of hooves; horses beating past: Igon, Captain Jerriel, and the scout raced north, their cloaks streaming behind as they flew back along the caravans track. They veered from the Post Road and galloped to the top of a hillock where they reined to a stop. Long they sat without moving, looking north, back in the direction of Challerain Keep.

The long days awake had finally caught up with the Elven Lady; she sat in the wagon in a twilight sleep, knowing her surroundings still just as well as if she was wide awake. The sound of the nearing horn was a rude awakening, but it roused her attention as it was meant. Astariel leaned out a slight bit, watching as the scout sped past. She kept her eyes on him as he continued down to the front. It was then she sat back and looked to the woman across from herself who was in turn staring back. Astariel only glanced over as she heard the sound of hooves again thundering back up the road.

The horn did not surprise Elomir; he had felt some type of danger for many an hour. His eyes stayed on the distance as a heavy sigh escaped his perfect lips. Sadness suddenly overwhelmed him.

At last Igon and Jerriel turned and plunged back down the snowy slopes, leaving the rear scout behind upon the hill. The horses cantered toward the slow-moving train, overtaking it swiftly. Jerriel rode on to the fore As Igon drew Rust up to the tailgate of Astariels Wain. "It is the Black Wall, my Lady." He informed her grimly. "It moves steadily south. I deem Challerain Keep to have been engulfed by the Everdark, nigh yesternoon, I ween; most assuredly it now lies deep within the grasp of bitter Winternight. Yet the Wall has come apace, and if naught changes its course, it will o'ertake this train on the marrow."

"I would only help in any way possible," he said, looking towards him. "But I want the princess to be watched after with the greatest of care."

Astariel balled her fist until her nails pushed against her palm enough to leaves indentations. Her troubled eyes remained on Igon as she leaned forward to speak. "Harken, Igon! Pause the train and send those in the latter wagons forward to join the elderly. I know there is room to double the load of passengers in each wagon. Tell them to carry nothing but their children!"

At Prince Elomir's words Prince Igon had given a nod and a fierce smile. "As both you and I have sword to do just that." Then it was the Lady Astariel that his attention was drawn to. A firm nod was given to her as she spoke and then heels were tapped into Rust's flanks and the great War-horse thundered ahead, calling out orders.

~*~


The next day at dawn the Black Wall was plain for all to see, jutting upward on the horizon, seeming to grow taller as it drew closer. Children cried and clung to their mothers, and faces fore stricken looks as the 'Dark stalked Swiftly camp was broken, and the caravan one more took up the long trek, moving slowly upon the Post Road as it swung westerly. Wagons were left behind as they were abandoned to crowd people into others. All that was brought along was food. Teams of eight horses were sometimes hitched to crowded wains. Many wept because now the road did not run south and away from the approaching Wall. And sweeping toward them out of the north like a great dark wave came the murk of the Evil One, flowing nearer with every passing moment.

Even the forest creatures were scurrying away from the approaching evil. Though Astariel's mind was giving sacrifice of prayer, her words and actions were only to soothe those in fear which rode in the wagon with her.

Slowly the Sun rose into the sky, climbing toward the zenith, but its golden rays did not stay the advance of the darkness as the morning passed and noon drew near; yet so, too, did the evil dark tide, now rearing up into the sky perhaps a mile or more: a great, looming, vile Black wall. Before it, a boiling cloud of snow swirled, and there came the rumble of wind churning along the base. Horses began to shy and skit, and from the wains there rose the cries of children, the sobbing of women, and the moans of old Men. Now the train was engulfed in a blinding, driven blizzard, and firm hands were needed to rein rearing horses to as the shrieking white howled about them. The Sun's light began to fail, swiftly growing dimmer as the 'Dark swept on, fading into black Shadowlight, spectral and glowing. Then the wave was past, and the wind yowl slowly fell into muteness; the billowing snow began drifting back to the ground. The caravan now stood in the full Everdark, and the grasp of bitter Winternight reached forth to clutch this land. A dread silence fell across the plains and into the Battle Downs, broken only by the solitary wails of those frightened beyond the limits of their courage.

Jerriel raised the horn to his lips and blew a rising call that echoed down the line of wains and out into the surrounding countryside. Aroo! (Prepare!) And from the land nearby came answering cries: Ahn! (Ready!) Ahn! Ahn! From the fore, aft, and north came the answers. Jarriel waited, yet no call came from the south, from the Battle Downs, dark hills to the leftward and of the train. Again sounded the call, and again all answered but the south guard. "Sire, something is amiss." said Jerriel to Igon, a grim look upon his face. "The south hillguard answers not. Perhaps...."

"Hsst!" shushed Igon, holding up his hand, and in the quiet that followed, though surely the Elves would have heard it first, they could all hear the pounding of running hooves--many hooves--hammering upon
the hard frozen ground to the south. "Sound assembly!" shouted Igon, flashing bright sword from scabbard.

Astariel did indeed hear the sound of the pounding hooves; it was so loud to her that it overcame the own beating of her heart. It was too late - she could see the massacre playing out in her mind-sight "Hold your children." She left them with those words as she jumped from the moving wagon. Landing with grace on her feet, she took off to find Igon.

And then bursting through the spectral shadows clutching the sinister hills to the south, erupted the enemy: Gholy upon thundering Helsteeds, striking down upon the standing train with shattering violence: cruel barbed spears driven by running Death, slashing tulwars cleaving into innocent flesh, slaughter racing upon cloven hooves, shocking into and through and over Women and children, oldsters and the lame, the ill and wounded, the sundering blades and impaling shafts riving a great bloody swath through the unprepared caravan. Some stood stunned and were cut down like cattle at butcher. Yet others turned to flee and were slain while running: thus did Saril die, clambering to hide in the wagon.

Within the blink of an eye, Elomir had drawn his bow, arming it with an arrow and pulling it back into himself, then releasing it at the enemy. "So," he mumbled with a smirk as he reloaded. "The enemy finally shows his face." And another flew.

The attack was like being crashed down on by a heavy and relentless wave. Astariel stumbled forward as she was pushed by hysterical people fleeing the wagons. Other times she would trip over fallen bodies and be sprayed with the innocent blood as those around her were hacked apart. A small child was standing alone and screaming for his slain mother - Astariel gathered him up into her arms and dove into the thicket on the wayside. She stuffed the child under the brush and told him to be still and quiet. She stared back in horror at the covered road before she forced herself back out upon it to perhaps save another.

Ghuls were terrible foes in battle, and in but a few ways could they be slain. Man-height they are, with lifeless ebon eyes and the blanched skin of the dead. Dire in combat, virtually unkillable., they take dreadful wounds without bleeding or falling. Ah, but lore has it that they can be slain in but a few ways: a fatal wound by a pure silver blade, wood driven through the heart, fire, beheading or dismemberment, and the Sun. And the wood from Elomir's did strike through, piercing Ghuls through the heart, the corpse-white folk tumbling backwards off their Helsteeds in mid gallop. As Astariel came from the thicket a running Helsteed struck her a glancing blow.

Arrow.. after arrow.. the prince soon was sick of all this bloodshed--even though the battle had only just begun. He discarded his bow, for he was out of arrows and drew his blade, hacking away in some attempt to save someone. Taking his blade from a foe's stomach, he looked around, not able to find the princess. Terror overflowed his senses. "Astariel!" he called frantically, tucking his blade at his side and going off in search. "Astariel!" louder, above the carnage.

Astariel was knocked completely off her feet, her body flew back in a twist and she landed on her side with a sickening thud. The side of her face was flawed as she slid across the ground until she came to a stop. Gasps of air was taken in and she immediately tried to get back to her feet after the initial shock.

"Astariel!" The prince literally shrieked in horror as he watched her fall. With a fit of rage, he threw his blade towards the Ghul who had struck her, hitting it brutally. Elomir rushed to her side, bending to her. "Astariel.."

Captain Jerriel crashed dead to the ground beside the Elfess, his chest pierced through by a broken-shafted spear. Coming to stand before the Elfess who had helped save his life was Haddon, lashing out with a burning brand at a Ghol on a Helsteed. And the vile creature's dead black eyes stared from the corpse-white flesh as he slashed the tulwar blade through Haddons throat, and the warrior fell slain not a foot from Jerriel. Horses in harnesses plunged wildly and screamed in terror, for the stench of the Helsteeds was among them. Some ran amok, bolting toward the plains and hills, only to have the wains overturn and throw the horse's legs from under them, or to drag them to a halt.

Amid the milling confusion, a knot of warriors fought: Prince Igon upon Rust had rallied a band unto him. The young Lord's sword hacked and chopped ceaselessly, and others laid about with their steel glaives. A
Helsteed stumbled, dropping to the snow, throat gushing black blood. Yet the pallid Ghol rider rolled free and sprang up to impale a young warrior upon his barbed spear. Then Igon saw the Lady Astariel upon the
ground, struggling to rise, the Elven Prince next to her where she had been hammered to the ground.

"Lady Astariel!" he cried, and spurred Rust toward the two, driving into the foe. But a Ghol on Helsteed rode to bar his way, and rage distorted Igon's features beyond recognition. Shang! Clang! Sword and tulwar clashed together amid a shower of sparks. Clank! The Ghol's blade was shivered into shards; and the Ghol threw up his arm to ward the blow.--Shunk!--Igon's steel drove completely through the Ghol's wrist and pallid neck: riven hand and severed head flew wide, while the chalky corpse-body topped into the snow. Once more Igon drove Rust toward Lady Astariel, crying out her name, but again Ghola blocked his way, this time attacking in concert. Three, then four, fell upon the youth, and he was hard-pressed; yet Igon's blade hewed into the enemy, driven by desperate strength. Another Ghol fell dead, his skull cloven in two, and Igon's voice cried out, "For the Lady! For the Lady Astariel!"

Astariel had just got to her feet when the assult of bodies crashed down around her. Familiar faces.. one being of the man that tried to return the favor for her services at the Keep. The brand was picked up and she held onto it, eyes looking to Elomir. She was glad to see him still alive - she wasn't sure where he had been during most of the slaughtering. it was then she heard the cry of Igon and she spun in his direction. Ghols seemed to be overwhelming him so she stumbled forward with little thought of her life in attempt to help. One Ghol pressed close arrogantly and the brand was sent for his eye, her whole body being thrown into the thrust that would send him back.

A Ghol on Helsteed crashed into Rust, and the great red horse was staggered, yet he kept his War-trained footing and wheeled about for Igon to meet the Gholen foe. Igon's blade swung in a wide arc, driven so hard it hummed; and the sharp steel clove through Gholen armor and sinews, and chopped into bone, where it lodged. Furiously Igon wretched at the blade, but just as he hauled it free, an enemy tulwar smashed down and sundered his helm, and blood splashed crimson over the youth's handsome face as he crashed to the ground to move no more.

The band that caught the Ghol in the eye sent him reeling, fire a source of pain to these folk. Yet another came on, and a dagger had been plunged to the hilt deep into his ribcage. Yet the Ghol was unaffected by the steel that had been driven by another and he hefted up his spear and smashed the Lady aside, shattering her arm, battering the Lady so that she may not even be able to stand.

Elomir followed the princess, now only with his twin daggers drawn as his blade was lodged somewhere in a foe.

And the sad part is... she landed on the shattered arm. A ripple of pain washed over her and the only release she had was that of a scream. All sound started to fade from her as well as sight, but she staved off the physical shock of the attack as best she could. This was no time to faint.

Now the Ghol spun, to meet the oncoming Elven Prince, and again his barbed spear was lifted, the shaft coming down to crash nearly into the Elven's neck, but missing, and smashing down into his collarbone.

The Elven prince was caught totally off guard as the blade was lodged into his collarbone. His mouth fell open in a silent cry as he fell to his knees, upper torso remaining perfectly still. Twin daggers dropped and he squeezed his eyes shut in sheer agony.

Now all the soldiers were slain, and the foe turned to easier game, their swords riving, and the snow ran red with blood. Ghols stalked among the wagons, their dead black eyes looking for the innocent and defenseless, and where they strode, none was spared: no Woman, no child, no oldster, none. Even the struggling horses were slain, trapped in their traces, and some wagons were set on fire.

Yet there was one that stood in anger and defiance: it was Rust! The great roan stood above Igon's fallen form, teeth bared and hooves lashing out at passing Ghola, the War-horse defending his master as he had
been trained. And most of the Ghola gave it wide berth. Yet one grew annoyed at the beast and hefted a spear, preparing to hurl it at the steed.

Astairel rolled onto her back, her head swarming with thoughts of darkness. She had came a decent way to Igon before she was felled and she could see the tall horse standing proud. She clicked her tongue to signal the beast to retreat with haste.

The roan whirled to look at the Elfess before he sprang forward just as the spear was flung, and the heft glanced off the roan's withers as he thundered forth for the nearby hills, hurtling past the Elfess as he fled for the Battle Downs, obeying her command. Ghola on Helsteeds spurred after him, but the great red horse ran swiftly before them, and the gap widened.

A corpse-white Ghol bearing a barbed spear now stalked up to the Elf Prince and Elfess, his red gash of a mouth writhing in anger, his dead black eyes staring soullessly down.

And although she was in absolute pain and the view of gore had torn at her heart, she stared back up to the Ghol. There was no way to fight him off- no way to escape death; so she merely insulted him with a ..smile.

The Ghol rasied his spear, both hands on the shaft, preparing to plunge it through her breast, the male Elf would be next. Back he drew the spear for the final thrust. "Slath!" (Stop!) Lashed out a command from behind the Elfess, the hissing voice hideous. The Ghol lowered the shaft

Lashes pressed to her cheeks as she closed her eyes, refusing to allow that vile being from being her last view. Her mind focused on Adaron and she drew in what she thought was to be her final breath, a true yet melancholy smile claiming her features. All was halted when the hissing voice lashed out and she was torn from her reverie, her eyes opening and her head tilted back to try and see what was speaking.

Elomir was breathing slowly now, still on his knees. The Elf was in so much pain, he could have just died. Just died. With hesitation, he gripped the blade lodged into his collarbone and slowly, painfully slowly, drug it from his flesh. Half way through he stopped, crying out loud.

Without warning a Ghol from behind snatched the Elf up by his hair and pulled him to his feet, tossing him forward to sent him nearly crashing into the Elfess. To the front of them came the one who had spoken. It was Man upon a Helsteed. A Naudron he was, one of the folk that roam the northern barrens hunting seal and whale and the antlered beasts of the tundra. Yet beyond his yellow-copper skin, Evil stared malignantly at the two with dark eyes. "Where is the other youth?" The hiss of puff adders filled the air.

Elomir shrieked a deafening shriek, as he just tumbled to the ground, in too much pain to do anything.

She closed her eyes then and winced as she tried to move. She fell still again, sympathetic eyea looking to Elomir.

"Ghun" (Gone) The Ghol's voice was dull, flat. "I said to spare the three of them!" the sibilant voice cried. "But you give me only the Elves." The evil eyes turned upon the two and the Helsteed that the Man rode stepped forward a foot. "Where is the puling Igon?" hissed the serpent voice.

Igon lay in the snow not twenty feet away. Shhhhhh don’t tell him!

Astariel remained silent. She wasn't going to speak if he wasn't talking to her directly. She closed her eyes again, just listening to gather information.

Elomir limply crawled to lay beside the Princess..

"Nabba thek!" (Dead search! = search the dead) spat the order, and Ghola dismounted and began moving slowly among the slaughtered, catching the barbs of their spears in the clothing and flesh of the slain, turning them face up, dead eyes staring, mouths agape.

"Halt your searches!" Elomir cried weakly. "The prince you search for is dead.."

The Evil eyes of the Naudron flashed to the male Elf and his voice was filled with rage. "Dead?" Then the eyes turned to the surrounding Ghola. "I commanded that he be spared! All in this party will suffer for disobeying."

"Yes, dead," he murmured. "That is after all what I said.. fools.."

Astariel pushed back the sickening thoughts and she excused herself for her words, "And I doubt you'd find any difference between one beheaded and disfigured man from the other. Your sloppy assault has cost you what you truly sought, aii?" The maiden laughed ironically and then fell quiet with a wince.

Evil glared out at the Ghola, yet still they stalked among the dead. "Slath!" the adder voice commanded. Garja ush!" (Rise them up!) The Ghola turned from their grisly task, and two came to each of the Elf Kind and dragged them to their feet, their broken bones grinding.

The Prince could not help but cackle at her comment. "Yes, moronic creatures, they truly are." The prince shrieked, and instinctively started pounding on the Ghol that was dragging him.

As soon as she was grabbed and pulled to her feet she cried out. Her legs buckled under her and she began to slump down again.

The Ghol was not phased by the hand assaults but annoyed. And without care given to the Elf Prince's broken collarbone the Elf was tossed up onto the back of a Helsteed, the stench of the creature enough to make anyone retch.

And retch he did, all over the Ghol.

Too, the Elfess was treated in much the same manner, thrown onto the back of the Helsteed and tied into place so that she would not fall. The Ghol with the vomit on him was not disturbed by this and moved to mount up his Helsteed. When all were mounted, they all set off.

Elomir could not help but chuckle at this, looking to the princess as they rode side by side.

"Elomir, I don’t find this situation amusing," Astariel said through gritted teeth as she tried to stave back the pain.

He cleared his throat. "You must always make the best out of the worst situations."

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  • The defeat at Challerain -- The Challerain Defense, 16:37:04 03/27/03 Thu
  • The defense tries to break free of the horde and fallen castle -- The Challerain Defense, 16:38:57 03/27/03 Thu
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