The abysmal chasm that stretched down into unimaginable depths and darkness filled his vision when he opened his blood-soaked eyes. Upon the precious edge of one of the mountains that pierce the insistent threatening clouds that blankets the land in a never ending grey dusk, Seargildin was tied to a sturdy pole hammered deep and secure into a cracked, dead earth. From behind, the light of numerous fires danced past him, only ghost of light visible on the very edge of the stone. His legs hanged down, his body followed after, into the oblivious darkness that beckoned him with its open maw of hungry, black death; the wails of agony erupting around him, blown from beneath as if calling for more anguish, was its voice. The only tether to the world he felt,cut deep into his leathers and into his skin. The only force that kept him alive was a thin threat of leather suffocating him against the pole behind, tying his arms and torso to this world. From behind, in his agonizing state, he could imagine guttural and demonic voices.
The orcs he spotted down one of the gorges, and wanted to investigate, must have captured him, was one of his only thought that struck him as the unmistakable sound of black speech of the beast ciphered in between the howls of the insistent, hollow, cold gales. Next to him one of the goblins was watching him, yellowed eyes searching his body with prying and demonic blood-lust and hate. Its body twisted by ages of servitude to the Dark One. If not for the troop leader he’d have surely slaughtered the elf without thought.
How could he have gotten himself in a situation such as this, was his second visage. Much is becoming clearer as his consciousness surfaced. He was scouting ahead of the party, told Leothross and Acurith they should keep a close watch on the lands around just before he sat off. Eruthaiwen, he made sure was fine while she made their beds; he should have said more, he knew then. He wanted for some reason just speak to her, make sure she is fine; he still didn’t want her with them, it was no place for her serenity. Mariym was striding over towards the marshes by herself; that child was always getting herself in such a mess, Leothross at least was keeping a close eye on her. Things were becoming clearer as he thought back.
Back then already something was bothering him; shadows of movements, fleeting glimpses of a imagined flicker of shifting dread. He felt they were watched for a while now, but couldn’t be sure, and before they continued, he had to find out. When he rode off from where they camped last in one of the many volcanic craters that dotted the bog infested terrain around that particular section of Angmar, he must have headed straight for a trap. For now, he found himself at the mercy of these beasts, upon the edge of a gorge.
A few hours must have passed in the time that he found himself in such a precarious position, as the light on the horizon slightly brightened the colourless defile around him. Below, deep down the straight drop upon which he was bound, he could see more of the lands under the influence of the Witch King. Further into the heart of Angmar the cyclopian pulse of evil emanates and drowned the lands in unseen malice. Orcs marching and working, hard in labour to finish bloodied war-machines which they used against the Men of the North Downs; fashioning walls, spiked and piercing the air, shot up as a threat to all that stood against its unholy might. The blood-curling cacophony that rose around the camp behind signalled the start of another day’s activities.
He was jolted up with the grasp of strength by his aching, and should be presumed broken, shoulders and slung over the shoulder of one of the most foul and wretched giants, a forest Troll; the stench of which rotted through its pores to further immerse the barely conscious mind of the elf’s state of delirium. The ragged cotton bag that covered him, he could not register. From within the suffocation and the uncertain immersion of his senses, Seargildin searched in the gloom of the endless dark for the sounds of his companions, hoping and yet fearing for the absence their cries.
