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Date Posted: 19:51:47 04/05/03 Sat
Author: Astariel & Elomir
Subject: Astariel & Elomir are taken to Claw Moor
In reply to: No post. 's message, "War of the Everdark" on 12:38:20 03/27/03 Thu

Once more the trek resumed, and still the Ghola acted strangely: their flat voices arguing among themselves, their heads turning this way and that as they rode through a dismal wood, a wood from with darkness seemed to flow beyond that of the Shadowlight. And the Ghola appeared to revel in this miasma of dimness and vague dread.

Astariel, on top of the Helsteed which bore her, looked over toward Elomir who was a small way off at her side. Her hair was clumped together in separate locks, matted to her face and neck by dirt and dried snow. Pale features were stained by a brush of pink against her cheek and forehead, struggling to heal through the grime coating her skin.

Miles they went among the trees, at last to break into the open: a great clearing. Across the treeless expanse they rode, ten miles or more, to come again into the wood. At its very edge they made camp, and still the Ghola spoke, as if the dead debated what course to follow. Elomir and Astariel were hauled down from the 'Steeds back and set to the snow while one Ghol went off into the trees, probably in search of fire-wood, while the others stood in a circle around the grounded two and continued their debate.

Elomir, on the other hand, was not so fortunate as the Princess. Atop the steed, on many occasions did he threaten to fall off of it, his strength draining ounce by ounce as the open wound on his collarbone still leaked blood. His eyes closed and opened as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Eyes could never even focus on one particular thing as they rode on

As they plopped down into the snow side by side, blue eyes looked to her right at Elomir. She could see the dullness in his eyes and she sighed. She scooted a little closer and took one of his hands with her own as the other came to nonchalantly cup over the gash. She didn't want to draw any attention to them. Astariel closed her eyes and breathed slowly, the little extra strength left to her was given to Elomir. She smiled to him weakly before slumping back into the snow, misted eyes looking skyward.


She did not draw any attention to them, but if the Ghola had seen her healing her Kith then they would not have minded. After all, they had gotten into trouble when they had injured the two in the first place. Though the Elfess had given some of her strength over to the male Elf, still the Ghola needed to aid him as well, if they were to stay out of trouble. And so with Astariel's shattered arm having been bandaged and set into a sling, tonight a Ghol set about concentrating on Elomir's wound. As the other yet continued to argue and seemingly debate, one Ghol bent over and surprisingly enough a clean rag was pressed firmly onto the wound, with no thought at all to be gentle. And then a wrap was started under his other arm to come up and cross over his chest to keep the rag in place (imagine a seat belt). A few times it was looped before tied off back at his waist.

The Ghol who had wandered off returned, wood in his arms. Careless he dropped the pile to snow and dead blank ebon eyes searched out a place to make a fire. At his feet seemed fine enough and so he knelt down and began to build it. And as the campfire was lighted, without warning the evil voice hissed forth: "Why are we here? Why have you not turned north for the pass?" The dead black eyes of the Ghola turned to the Naudron, and fear could be sensed running among them. There was a pause before the voice came again. "Ah, I see," the sibilant whisper came, "you thought to make the Drearwood into a place of dread as of old."

Astariel was saving her strength because she had little of it left since she aided Elomir. She laid in the snow, her eyes flickering to the one tending to Elomir and then to the other side where the voices were coming from.

Elomir was thrown roughly from the steed, landing on the ground with a thud and little resistance. Breathing had become too great a task, and it hurt to do so as he lay in the bloodying snow. A gurgling sound came from his mouth as he gasped once for air, the weakest of squeezes being given to Astariel's hand.

Then suddenly there came a shrill scream. "Did I not say that my plans come first?! Which of you has guided us here instead of toward the pass??" Black eyes turned briefly toward one of the Ghola standing in the open snow, and his flat voice spoke. "Glu shtom!" (I would stay!)

"You would ssstay?" Hissed the sibilant voice at the rebellious Ghol. "You would stay??" Now the voice rose in a scream and shrieked, "Then stay!" And for the first time the two Elves saw the Naudron move when the Evil was present: he raised his arm and reached toward the Ghol and his hand made a clutching, squeezing motion, and the Ghol fell, flopping face down into the snow, dead.

Astariel was watching in obscurity, her eyes widening as she laid there on the frozen ground. Telekinetic, was ...it? Things were starting to get even more down into the gutter.

Elomir struggled to keep his eyes open, eyes looking upward as snowflakes fluttered on his clothes, gazing at the grey sky. He didn't thin he had much strength left.

The Naudron's arm dropped limply back to his side, the Evil flickering weakly in his eyes: "Thus to all who obey not my will. Nabbu gla oth." (Death take you) And then the Evil was gone from the eyes completely and the Ghola looked at each other with their blank eyes and then proceeded to ignore the their fallen comrade.

January 4

North and east the column rode, passing through five or so miles of Drearwood before coming into the open. Twenty more miles they went, the land rising steadily. They came to a high-faced bluff stretching out beside them, and the Ghola spurred up the pace as they rode alongside the cliff, as if to pass by this place as quickly as possible. Seven more miles they rode at this swift gait along the wall. Fifty miles they had ridden before they had stopped to rest. Gruwen Pass was nearly thirty-five miles in length, and northward through the long slot the Gholen column rode. Great buttresses of ice-clad stone mounted up perpendicular cliffs into the Shadowlight, and rime glistened along their path. Bitter was the cold of the Winternight, and the irony-grey stone looked black in its light. Hard-frozen snow lay packed in shadowed crannies, and the echoing ring of cloven hooves juddered down the tall rocks. When they stopped at last to camp, once more did a Ghol bring the leather flask, and he bruised their lips as they drank, for clearly the two would be two exhausted to hold the bottle. They had ridden the full length of the Pass--the slot where the Rigga Mountains met those of the Grimwall and the Grynfangs. And now the column had come down into the wastes of Gryn--Drego's Realm of old--and this Land was dire.

~*~


From the edge of the pass, down the length of the Gruwen Vale they rode the next 'Darkday, the stone of the valley dropping toward the plains of Gryn below. Nothing seemed to grow in this land: no trees, no brush, no grass, no moss --not even lichen clung to the rock. Only ice and stone and snow could be seen about them, and sharp-edged darkness where they Shadowlight fell not. They camped three leagues beyond the mouth of the Vale, out upon the desolate plains of Gryn.

~*~


Two 'Darkdays they rode north through the Winternight across a barren wasteland, and still no sign of life did they see. To the left rose the Rigga Mountains, and to the right the Grynfang. But they were too distant to see in the Everdark, through were the Sun to shine they could have been seen far over the plains. But there was no Sun, only cold Shadowlight. One neither day was there wood for a campfire, but dead tundra moss made a feeble flame.

~*~


At the end of the third 'Darkday upon the plains, the Ghola made camp along the southern edge of the Gwasp, a great swamp squatting in the angle of Gryn. This sump was reputed to have midges beyond number and mire beyond depth in the summer, yet now it stood frozen in Winternight, looking to all like a lifeless morass. It was said that in days of yore, Argon's entire army had disappeared within the sucking environs; but Argon's unknown fate merely added to the dire legends of the Gwasp, for it always had been a place of dread.

January 11

All the next 'Darkday they rode along the Gwasp's eastern flank, crossing frozen rills and seeps feeding the great bog, once passing across the ice of a river that descended down from the Grynfangs. When they finally reaching the far northern flank of the Great Swamp, they again made camp. It had been eight 'Darkdays since the Naudron had last spoken, and then it was only to slay the Ghol; twelve days since he had last spoken to either of the Elves; sixteen days since they last had been captured; twenty-one days since Igon's birthday celebration.

~*~


They crossed another frozen river and rode north. Some six hours later they passed close by tall black crags to their left as the column rode through Claw Gap and onto the flats known as Claw Moor, a high, desolate land. Upon the Moor they rode, going some eighteen miles farther before making camp.

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