Ilúvatar Voronwé (vajra) wrote in adusta, @ 2010-03-25 13:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | aeotha easaahae, ilúvatar voronwé, the shadow ride |
blackguard (aeotha)
It was strange to think that he'd existed all of this time, and there still was something in this world he had not seen. Ilúvatar did not like to think of himself as inexperienced or even foolish, yet the first sight of it took his breath away. Light stunned the Drow, caused them great pain, and yet here in the city of their creation was light. Not a great deal of light, to be sure, but enough. Enough to see pale hair topping black skin, with red eyes that glistened hate in the darkness. He felt also a strange sort of excitement. As though this could be the moment of his death, or the moment in which he felt most alive. It was always the same before a battle. And like any battle, in this exchange, there would be blood. Getting into a city of Drow might not be as difficult as first imagined. Getting out, on the other hand, was probably going to be quite the trick.
There would be no grand charge.
Instead they were all surrounded by makeshift cloaks, to hided their darker hair and lighter eyes as much as possible. Eibhear had even put aside his armor, though not the two-hander that was his pride and his life. Ilúvatar could see enough of the road in front of him to see that there were gates installed in the city. A wise decision given some of the things they'd encountered thus far. Drow were moving along the road, flowing both ways, but not enough to rival the gates of a larger city in Astarii. There were other creatures on this road, too - enough that he was surprised. Dwarves. Bedraggled and not at all rich, from the looks of it, but Dwarves all the same. Even Elves. Cloaks pulled tight as theirs were, ignoring the few scattered torches that split darkness. Probably in deference to the other races, Ilúvatar realized, and not because the Drow had need.
His mind told him to turn back. But his heart told him to go forward. And up above the city, a forest of those trees, perhaps thirty feet in the air. All of them glowed faint blue. All of them seemed to crackle with light and yet give none. If you asked a Drow, they might say this place was in a forest. Or they might gut you for being an elf. There were as many of them as it would take, Ilúvatar thought, starin through the opening in his hood to take count. At forty, he stopped. He'd never tested the number of warriors it would take to kill him, but he was fairly certain there were enough here to do the job. As their unofficial leader, Eibhear had taken point on their trudge up the path. He seemed as alert as ever, even with his eyes fixed forward. There were no guards to speak with at the gates - just two Drow with wicked curved bows standing post on either side, on a tower complete with arrow shields.
Evidently they did not suffer the attack very often, here.
There were many things, as they passed through the gates, that Ilúvatar was expecting. Drow men with woven baskets atop their heads. Drow women not caring for children, but honing steel on the wheel. Yet there were just as many thins he did not expect. Rumor spoke of women leading men by leashes here, or cutting out their tongues so the men could say nothing. Think nothing, and they were perfect tools of war. Such a goddess had no mercy. Yet what he expected and what he saw were two different things. These tunnels were carved into the gut of a rock - some might have called it a mountain, but Ilúvatar thought mountains needed sky to be complete - and there was no light now from the trees above, however faint. Only the torches. Not what he expected. Yet it did not put him at ease. If anything, it only served to make him more nervous instead of less.
The signs could be easily red. There were pubs, he saw, though a pub of the Drow was probably not the same as a pub of the Elves. An inn. He thought it was an inn; not likely that it was a den of whores. Unless his reading was truly poor. The Drow were possessed of street women, it seemed; but far greater in number were the street men. They made the same obscene appeals, from a distant, rolling their hips as though their scant clothing left anything at all to the imagination. Ilúvatar thought he saw a window, where usually there were none. A black face looked out with red eyes, staring at their party, before it disappeared.
"We've got to get off the road," Ilúvatar said in Common.
"Agreed," Eibhear said in the same.
Their patience was short, but it rewarded them with the discovery of an alley that was apparently unused. No structure had freestanding walls - all of it was built into the same black stone, with poor lighting and poorer signage. Even if they were to rescue the princess, there was a limit to the paths they could take to escape the city. And even if there was no limit. They still had to somehow escape back to the mines, which were overrun the last time they'd been there. And from there back to the capitol city. It seemed even still an impossible task to complete.
Ilúvatar's boot was heavy as it kicked a door in. The lock was rusted. It made barely a sound as it clattered to the ground. And it was clear, from the lack of spiders in the room, that it had been abandoned for some time. Not even one remained. Strange to think of something in so opposite a fashion - but as he closed the door behind Fenrir, he was glad it came naturally.