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Date Posted: 08:53:00 04/17/03 Thu
Author: Astariel, Elomir, Eiron
Subject: Astariel and Elomir reach the Iron Tower, Eiron meets his death
In reply to: Astariel & Elomir 's message, "Astariel & Elomir are taken to Claw Moor" on 19:51:47 04/05/03 Sat

January 16
Elomir did the best to stand up, though slightly hunched over he was. A great sense of dread came over as the figure entered. Again, The Prince would have opened his mouth to say something, but fear of death of not only him, but the precious princess loomed. Breathing was becoming quite a task, ragged and slow.

As gut wrenching the figure before the duo was, the Lady was unsure of what she wanted to do. Indeed she was torn between hiding herself behind Elomir or standing before him, for he was in poorer health. In the end it didn't matter thought because the elfess fell into a state of hysteria. She clutched onto Elomir's arm and writhed back away from the evil, feeling as if she was being suffocated by it. All life it seemed to swallow from around it and Astariel's instinct was to back away from it.

Elomir could feel the very breath from within his lungs be sucked from within him as the figure glared at him. Terror ran through his very veins, but he tried his best he could to hide, no matter how much pain he was in. Instinctively, protectively, he stepped slightly in front of Astariel.

Then the malfeasant reptilian voice hissed out. "Welcome to my Iron Tower, Lady Astariel, Prince Elomir. Though I have spoken to you many times, we meet face to face at last. Ssss, I am Drego." Malignancy washed through the room. A woeful bale, a crushing desolation, reached out to clutch at their spirits. He stepped forward, to the one who hand shrunk away from him. He took her by the hand that clutched the male Elf and drew her further into the room. The horror of his very touched would make her feel violated, as if his essence invaded her and made her unclean, polluted by a hideous corruption. "Ah, my dear, why do you shrink from me?" His sibilant voice hissed.

Nadorhuan, he thought to himself, but he dare not say such a thing out loud. But the taking of Astariel away from him made his temper sky rocket. If he were in better condition, perhaps he would have attacked. But in this case, he somehow mustered up what little courage he had in the presence of such a beast, and followed.. somehow trying to bring The Princess back.

The touch was enough to even make the treasury of her mind seem seeded with doubt and darkness. It took a moment but she balled her hand into a fist and broke her hand free from his. Blue eyes stared to where she thought his own were. Her body became erect and shoulders taut. "I rather not share the same air with something so foul as you, let alone touch your disgusting being with any part of my own."

"I? " Drego's voice rose in anger, and rage burned in the malignant eyes behind the hideous iron mask "I? You say I am foul, disgusting?" A glare shot in the direction of the approaching Elf, he jerked the Elfess roughly after. He strode to a black-velvet-covered panel and wrenched her before it: and he let her go and stood to one side and ripped away the cloth. It covered a great mirror. "Behold, O Beautiful Lady, what foul truly is!" What the Elfess would see in the mirror was this: grimy, gaunt, filthy drudge with a broken arm in a soiled sling, dressed in foul, stained, quilted, Rukken clothing. Even she and the Prince stank of Helsteed, and both still had dark rings under sunken eyes set deep in grime-streaked faces and tangled, dirt-matted hair.

It was an awful sight - never in all her many years had she seen herself so worn down and wretched looking. She visibly winced turned her head, only to bring her gaze back to the mirror reluctantly. Little to Drego's knowledge he actually gave her a small bit of strength. Though her body was weathered, Astairel came to see her father in her own eyes and it renewed her faith. Still shaken by the evil that stood beside her, she forced herself to look at him behind her from in the mirror. "And yet we stand here together .. and it's you that resembles swine."

Elomir strode forward, balling his own fist up and thrusting it into the mirror, causing it to shatter. "What.. she sees in the mirror is more beautiful than a beast so repulsive such as yourself…could ever hope to attain," he breathed through clenched teeth. "The very sight of you makes me want to vomit."

The masked head tilted to one side, the Elfess forgotten. Now he stepped to stand before the Elven Prince, his head dipping as if to look over the broken, weak, form. "I see that you have already done such, or at least smell of it."

"Wait.." Elomir paused.. looking down to his stomach. "Yes, yes, you're right." And with that, Elomir's mouth opened, and he retched everywhere on the beast.

Vomit ran down Drego's hideous iron mask, and his eyes blazed with rage. With a backhanded sweep, his black-iron-gauntlets crashed into the side of Elomir's face, smashing him to the floor.

Elomir growled as he smacked on the floor, but quickly gathered himself to stand once again, clenching his teeth. His cheek bone was probably shattered, but no matter.. that was worth it. A slight smirk played on his lips.

That was disgusting. Astariel turned around quickly to go to Elomir's aide but she became strangely lightheaded. She swayed a moment and then slouched back against the mirror, sliding down it a small bit.

Elomir left the presence of Drego, going to the Princess' aid. He knelt beside her, taking her arm within his grasp.

Drego was still furious. "Khakt!" (Here) Drego's spitting cry brought the mute Rukh scuttling into the room. The Rukh's glance darted here and there, and he scurried to the mirror and nudged Astariel aside and drew the black cloth over the glass. Then he ran to bob and grovel before Drego. "Shuul!" (Guard) hissed Drego, and the mute sprang out the door. The black-cloaked figure turned back to Elomir, and also glanced to Astariel. "Perhaps your manners will improve after a rest in your quarters." he said, then sibilant laughter hissed forth.

"Where are we going?" The elfess was in a flurry of thought and emotion. She mainly felt sick to her stomach and didn't want to know where they were being herded to. She had the feeling it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Elomir was jerked along as well, flinging the arm's that held him off. "I can walk on my own, but thank you," he said sarcastically. The Prince walked alongside Astariel though, he prayed that they would not be kept separate from each other.

Along the central hall they took them, till they came to a heavy, studded door. One Lokh hauled forth a ring of keys and rattled one into the lock, while the other took up a brand and lit it. The portal creaked open and musty air seeped forth. Through the door they were led, the guttering torch held high, and now they could see that they were in a stairwell with steps twisting downwards into blackness. Down they went, a wall adrop with slime on their left, no banister to the right. Down they went: one flight, two, more; it was easy to lose count of the steps. At last, they came to a landing with a rusted iron door, and even though the steps pitched on downward into the blackness below, the Lokk with the keys stopped, clattering one into padlock. Venting oaths, he struggled to turn the key; then with a grating sound, at last the tumblers gave way. The Lokh hammered on the lock and the shackle opened. He pried the hasp back and then, jerking, inched open the portal until they could squeeze through. Beyond was a narrow, tortuous passage canting down. Iron-grilled gates were spaced along this twisting way, but they yielded to the keys, and downward the Lokha took Elomir and Astariel. Finally they emerged in a foul chamber, littered with filth and splintered bones, the marrow tongued out. The twisting passage could be seen to continue on, exiting out the far end of the chamber. Two iron-barred cells with filthy straw on the floor were to the left. And into this these foul cages were the Elves pushed, one in each, though they were next to each other, and shared a iron-barred wall.
Clang! slammed the door. Clack! shut the lock. And then the Lokha turned and stamped away. And they took the light with them.

It felt as if hell came and swallowed her up into its very depths. Astariel was uncertain if she wanted to move or if it was safer to stand in place. "Elomir?" She whispered.

Both could hear their foul voices in slobbering speech and raucous laughter as the two Lokha went back up the way they had come, and the clash of the iron-grilled gates slamming to behind them, and the rusty screech of the iron door as it was forced shut again. And then they were alone in the complete darkness. If the two faced the doors of their cells, they would find that wall barred. Also the wall that separated their cells, were barred. The other two walls, one to the side, and one behind them were made of stone. The cells were fifteen paces wide and ten paces deep. The two stone walls were slimy. Rotted straw littered the floor. Along the back walls, towards the center, were small stone piers that could be sat upon as if it were a bench.

Elomir's heart had sunk, as they were not kept in the same cell. But the sound of her voice lifted his spirits slightly, and suddenly whatever littered the floor of the cell didn't matter, he followed the voice. "Astariel?" he called, feeling the bars.

Her head turned into the direction of his voice and she edged over towards that wall. "Elomir? You are all right?"

The Prince still could not move his head. The bars that separated their cells were cold as he clutched them, desperately trying to see her in the dark. "Yes," he lied. "And you? Your arm?"

"It pains me." Her voice lowered so she was speaking only loud enough for his elven ears to catch. "I wish I with Ada at home." ( Father. )

"Tul, " he said as equally as quiet. (Come) Elomir worked his shirt off of his body with some pain, the wound on his collarbone would become infected, but the shirt was to wrap the wound. The Prince sank to his knees, sitting on the damp floor. He tried not to think about what else was in this cell, but certainly nothing living judging by the stench.

~*~


Over the next few days, Elomir and Astariel lived in their cells. Once a day, or so it would be assumed, they were brought food and water. After five 'days' had pasted, again came the sound of the doors rattling open and on came the glow of a torch reflecting down the passage. But that 'day' the jailer had already been down to feed them. Yet the light came onward and four Lokh entered the corridor.

Astariel had been in the midst of falling into twilight sleep when the growing hue of orange light crept up upon them. She rose her head slightly, her eyes watching the doorway of her cell warily.

Elomir had been leaned against the bars separating the two Elves, attempting at rest. His wound had still not healed, and he was losing consciousness more and more often. And when the light hit his face, Elomir squinted, looking towards it.

With a clack of keys, one Lokh unlocked Astariel's cell and entered, taking her by the arm to shove her out into the hands of two other Lokha. Then he stepped over to Elomir's cell and opened it, moving to take the Elf by the arm and escort him to the last free handed Lokh.

Dirthy locks of hair which hung pasted against her cheeks barely reflected the light of the torches; if Astariel could ask for anything for her being it would be a bath. She stood quietly between the Lokh, grimacing slightly.

Elomir did not even resist, or even give a smart remark in which he had been known to do so well. He stood, silently hunched over, the crusted blood on his clothes cracking as he did so.

Up the steps the Elves were taken, eight flights they climbed before coming to the door at into darkness, twisting up inside Drego's Iron Tower. Ascending the dark stairwell, one Lokh before Astariel, one after her, one Lokh before Elomir, one after. There was a wall to one side of them, and no banister on the other, as it had been before when they were taken down into their cells. Up they went, past narrow window-slits looking out into the Everdark, up flight after flight. The Lokha stopped for rest, for now they were winded from the climb. Sooner than perhaps the two Elves were ready, the Lokha got to their feet and snarled at the two, and once more the tortuous ascent began. Four more flights they took them, at last to come to an ironbound door with a brazen knocker that the lead Lokh let rise and fall once.

Did this hell ever end? Perhaps that was what their condemnation would be - to eternally wander through the awful stench and darkness. Of course, as outlandish these thoughts were, her mind could not help but to be tainted with the torturous darkness Drego was perhaps aiming for. Her legs suddenly started to feel wobbly but she maintained a semi-graceful composure that still paled in comparison to what her kind were known for.

After a moment, the door was opened by a small Rukh (or Ruck), this one made mute also. The Elves were led into the great chamber atop the Iron Tower. Round it was and nearly sixty feet in diameter, the top. They reached the central hall. The Lokha turned and led them through an adjacent door, and they climbed more stairs, finally coming to a large, empty stone floor, and more steps spiraled upward and full of dark shadows. Yet along the walls dimly could be seen scroll-cluttered tables littered with prisms, alembics and astrolabes, charts and geometrical figures cast in metal, vials of chemicals, and other strange devices and books of lore. Here, too, were instruments of torture: a brazier with hot irons, shackles, a rack, and other hideous implements. But the most eye drawing thing was a massive pedestal in the center of the room; yet the sight atop the platform was the baffling: it looked like a great irregular blot; not so much black it was, but rather the absence of light. It had the shape and size of a ponderous irregular stone: huge, seven feet long, four high, four wide. And it sat massy and jagged, like a great dark gape sucking light into its bottomless black maw. The Lokha led Elomir and Astariel around this thing and to chains affixed to an iron post and cuffed Astariel's good hand in the iron bracelet and both of Elomir's. The two were placed far enough apart so that no physical connection could be made. Then the Lokha turned and stomped out of the room. And they were left seemingly alone. Except, across from Astariel, another figure was shackled, but he was so beaten and messed that he would have been hard to notice at first. His head was bent, chin nearly touching his chest, turned to the side so that his facial profile could be seen. Once beautiful sun-kissed locked were messed and pulled to one side. And though he could not be seen clearly, it appeared that the Elf could very well be the Emissary of Lord Mallorn himself, Adaron, for the strong jaw and facial style identically matched his own.

It was sad to say that the elfess was relieved to come to a stop, even if it meant that she was to be cuffed. She slumped down and pulled her knees to her chest, blue eyes drifting over to Elomir and then in turn to the one across from them. Her body jerked forward immediately as she strained for a better look.

Elomir knew who it was before he even looked. He remained standing, staring at the ground, the only movement was his chest rising slightly with his breathing.

The Elf's wrists were shackled to the wall, as the others were, his head still slumped forward, his eyes open barely slits, but he made no movement to look at the other two, seeming as though he had not even noticed them, for whatever reason.

"Lle rangwa amain?" Astariel asked, her eyes searching out his profile through the dimness.

Slowly the Elf lifted his head, hearing words spoken in his own language. Rogue strands of hair hung in his face that was badly battered. Long he gazed, then said at last. "I do." Still, because of the bruises and cuts that marked his face and the hair locks that draped it, it was yet hard to get a clear view of who this was, as surely it was difficult to make out the fair Lady Astariel in the Elfess before him.

"Who are you?" Astariel slumped back - his voice was different from Adaron. Blue eyes remained on him - it was strangly odd to have elvish company other than for Elomir.

The Elf's eyes drifted to a close before opening again. "I am Eiron, the brother of Adaron, Emissary of Lord Mallorn in Tel'Oira Eldamar." He seemed as if he would say on, but he was interrupted.

Sibilant laughter hissed forth from the dark shadows. "Tsss, sss, sss, ssth. So, it is Lord Eiron, is it?" Drego stepped out of the darkness to stand in the middle of the distance that separated the two. But then the Evil One turned to Astariel and Elomir. His gaze moreso on the male. "Perhaps he should take your place." Then Drego paused and spread his hands. "But alas, the Elven blood of you Lady, and you Prince, suits my needs more so than that of a son of the Elf Aravan in Arden Vale."

Her heart lept for joy at the revelation of who it was sitting across from her. Adaron's brother? She should have known it at first! The realization of the conditions they were in came back to her and hampered the conversation.

Eiron seemed confused at the statement. Prince and Lady? The two before him certainly did not look the part, as soiled and beaten as they were. Again he looked to Astariel. "Lady?"

"Yes!" Drego's voice gloated and he stepped to Astariel and grasped the Elfess by her matted hair and twisted her face into the torch light. "Here is the prize you seek, fool!"

The Lady gasped and swallowed back pain as her face and fair neck were exposed to the elf. Blue eyes opened a small bit and she looked to him, waiting for him to recognize her through the grime and filth.

Ocean hues that mirrored his brother's and his mother's gazed long at the Elfess, and it was long before Eiron spoke. And when he did, it was only to say, "I am sorry, my Lady."

"Do not be." She replied simply. She closed her eyes then, hoping the 'monster' would let her hair free.

"Faugh! Sorry?" hissed Drego, but then his eyes flashed triumph through the iron-snouted visor, his hand letting go of her hair. "Yes, I see. Sorry. But more than you know. You would have rescued this maiden--if you could have found her, and recognized her, and if you had not been captured. But she would not have been an easy prize to snatch, even had you managed to elude the guards in the courtyard." He was silent then, as if thinking before he spun and faced Eiron, and his voice lashed out harshly. "How many of you came on this fool's errand?"

Eiron said nothing.

"Surely more than three." spat Drego.

"Ask them." snapped the Elf, blue ire burning in the depths of his gaze as he glared at the master of the Iron Tower.

Astrariel slumped back down, careful to nurse her arm from being injured again. She spoke then, drawing Drego's attention from the elf, or so she hoped. She was in the best health between the three of them. "Why do you worry so when you have all the land under your ruling thumb?" Perhaps he could take that as a sign of her sinking into submissiveness.. or what seemed to be such.

Drego glanced at the slouching Elfess, a glare in his gaze, and as he spoke, his attention was on her, but his words directed towards Eiron. "You know they are dead, fool Eiron," hissed Drego, "and so now I asked you." Then he turned slowly to once more look upon the battered male. "And you will tell me also how you breached my walls."

Eiron seemed as though he had not even heard the words spoken by Drego, his eyes were sad and upon the Elfess, to see her in such a state. He had taken the charge to rescue her, and had failed miserably, losing three friends due to his foolishness. He did not speak.

Drego signed to the mute Rukh: "Vhuul!" (Troll!) The Rukh scuttled out the door and away, while Drego walked to the massive pedestal and gloated at the ponderous black maw. "I'll give you but a moment to reflect upon your reticence, oaf, and then if you will not give me the answers I seek, I will extract them from you."

Still no words passed Eiron's lips.

"Kwentra i'narn - uurma ma ' 'ten rashwe." She said to the elf across from her - pleading with him more than anything.

Drego did not like this talk at all, and a glare we sent to the Elfess though he spoke to Eiron, "Perhaps I should persuade you to speak by dealing with the Lady while you watch." Drego's cold voice suggested. "But, no, I need her unblemished." The door opened and in scuttled the Rukh, and stooping through the portal behind him came a great cave Troll. Twelve feet fall he was, with glaring red eyes and tusks that protruded through his lips. Greenish was his skin, and scaled, like armor plate. Black leather breeks he wore, and nothing else. Into the room he shambled, stooping over, his massive arms hanging down. Steering wide of the blot on the pedestal, he came before Drego, his brutish face leering at Astariel. "Dolh schluu gogger!" (Elf on rack!) commanded Drego in the foul Sluk tongue. And the Ogru turned and grasped one of Eiron's arms while the Rukh unlocked the wrist shackles. Then the Elf was hauled to the rack and his feet and wrists were locked again. The great Ogru-Troll sat hunkered beside the rack, one arm hugging his knees in anticipation, a massive hand upon the turn-wheel, a dull-witted leer upon his face. At a sign from Drego, the Ogru slowly turned the wheel: Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack! the wooden ratchet clattered as the wrist cuffs were pulled upward. Clack! Clack! Clack! Now all of the slack was gone from the ropes and Eiron's arms and legs were pulled straight. Here the Troll stopped, his mouth gaping wide, his thick tongue running over his yellow teeth. "How many came with you?" hissed Drego.

Despite Astariel's words, Eiron said nothing.

Clack! "I ask you again, fool: were there mor than three of you?" Drego turned to glance at Astariel and then turned back to the elf. Clack! "Tell me this, oaf: what were the names of yoru slain companions?" The Elf's body was taut.

The cave troll was almost as vile as Drego in her eyes. She slumped back and stared until they hoisted the elf up onto the rack. The elfess stood slowly even if she couldn't move a step away.

Finally Eiron spoke at last, his voice strained due to the pain. "Duorn and Varion."

"Ahh, the dolt does have a tongue." hissed Drego. "Duorn and Varion, eh? And what of other companions: did they, too, have names?"

Yet again Eiron clamped his lips shut.

And the Troll grinned in glee. Clack!

The clasp around Astariel's wrist shook and rattled as she tugged her arm, trying in vain to go to the aid of Eiron. "Stop this!" She commanded.

Drego slowly turned, a grin upon his lips behind the iron mask and light laughter sounded as he turned back to Eiron. "You might as well speak, fool," hissed Drego, "for your silence will not stay my Master's return."

"Your Master?" Eiron's question jerked out through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded upon the Elf's brow and trickled down the side of his face.

"Gyphon!" Drego's voiced lashed out in exultation.

"Gyphon??" gasped Eiron. "But he is beyond the Spheres."

"At the moment, yes," crowed Drego, "but on the Darkest Day the Dyrkenstone will open the way. But we dally fool. Name me manes."

Silence was Eiron's only response.

"Why do you need names?" The Lady glared in Drego's direction.

Clack! A groan escaped Eiron slips. "Dyrkenstone?" Eiron's breath shuddered in and out.

The iron masked figure turned to Astariel. "I would like to know who came with the one who attempted to steal you away from me. A foolish quest it was." Drego gloated and then paused as if debating whether to share a secret, in response to Eiron's question. "Why not? You'll not tell this tale to others." The Evil One strode to the blotch on the pedestal. "Here, fool, is the great Dyrkenstone. Sent on its way by my Master four millennia agone. Long was its journey, but it came at last, give years past. Did not my Master say unto Adon: 'Even now I have set into motion events you cannot stop.' Did he not say so?" Drego strode back to Eiron. "Your companions, dolt, their names."

The Lady seethed at him inwardly though her face remained sincere. "That's a charming tale, yes." She paused and then went on. "And steal me, Drego? Since when do you consider me your property?"

"All of Midland is mine, including its inhabitants, including you." sneered Drego. Clack!

Eiron bit his lip till blood came, but spoke not. He was in agony, his shoulders separated from their sockets, his hips and spine pulled near their limits. His ribs stood stark upon his heaving chest.

"Why, my Lord Eiron," again Drego sneered, "you look puzzled by my tale of the Dyrkenstone. Whence came this thing? From the sky, fool! Now yield me the names of your comrades!" Spittled drooled from the corner of the Trolls mouth, and at Eiron's silence Clack! went the rack.

Eiron's wrists bled, and his ankles were disjointed. Wordless sounds came from his throat.

"Wethrinaer,"Astariel cried seemingly to herself in despair, but in fact the word was for her elf counterpart. Blue eyes watched in horror as Drego continued his wrath...

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