| Subject: Bitter Harvest (Part 2) |
Author:
Belekir
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Date Posted: 21:22:13 01/23/03 Thu
In reply to:
Belekir
's message, "Bitter Harvest (Part 1)" on 00:03:33 01/22/03 Wed
The darkness receded all too quickly, as he felt the splashing waves of the sundering sea giving way to the cold sensations of reality. He could not move, in a slow recovery from the prior blow, but then quickly by the leather bonds which held him in place, both hands bound above his head to a tree. Once his alertness had returned, he could feel the pulsating swelling from the number of injuries he had taken. Each he hoped would be the last, but only having them stop just long enough for him to regain consciousness, such as now.
Again, it was the speaker that greeted him with a coarse, grunting voice. "You still live, eff." He was not the largest of the cadre, nor the most bestial, but still seemed to give the orders. They were not always well received, and sometimes a bit of posturing and growling, guttural threats were needed to make his wishes done. He seemed to speak the human tongue well enough for Belekir to understand him, though, his intentions truly did not need words.
"You say you love Maelwar. Right before you sleep. Yes?" His voice snorted excitedly.
Belekir's left eye would not quite open, despite the fluttering of his eye lid whether by the bruise which was welling up, the sheer fatigue from his torments, or something more serious. His right eye widened, however, and fixed unrelentingly upon the orc. He forced his parched lips into a smile. "Of course, whelp. He will be most displeased with you."
For a moment, the orc looked uncertain, then came to a decision on the matter. He smiled a toothy grin, then chuckled a little. "You tricky one, eff." He reached down and grabbed a handful of dirt, prying Belekir's mouth open, he shoved it in and held his jaw roughly shut. "But your words are dirt!" He laughed heartily to himself as the elf squirmed and struggled against his witty prank.
Once his peal of laughter had finished, the orc leaned closer to Belekir's pointy ears and whispered conspiratorially. "You see, the others they get stuff. We keep you alive until you no longer fun. Then we break your fingers one bone a time, every finger, on every hand. Then we move to your arms and your legs, and your ribs. We scar you good, so other effs think you one of us. You not be so pretty then, burnt and broken, we leave you. If Maelwar saves you, then we know your words are true. Then you can come and try to kill me and we can do this all again." The anticipation brought another peal of laughter as the elf continued to squirm, the orc's massive hand holding his jaw firmly shut. The orc was enjoying it immensely, beating and humiliating the young elf was something of a personal delight and he found himself heady with the sensation, almost to the point of drunkenness.
The elf had seemed the perfect plaything for the moment, oscillating almost wildly between sullen acceptance, willful mind games, and rebellious resistance. So much so, that the orcs had forgotten that their game was still a dangerous creature. A fact which was easier to forget given his pallid flesh, lithe build, and youthful features, not to mention his bindings. While smart, elves lost touch with the simple necessities of existence, thus, by their intellect had grown stupid in the eyes of the orcs, plus were naturally weaker and more frail. While they had no true way of knowing, they widely thought that they had caught some errant elfling, all the better to torment and torture, as the young had a stronger desire to live and clung to their lives more stubbornly than their jaded elders, plus they were weaker in mind and body.
Belekir was no elfling. By years, he was probably older than their sum of the six orcs who had captured him. Granted, there was only one in the clearing now, the others having gone off to forage implements of pain and torture. Not only was Belekir no longer young, but he was hardly weak, despite his frame. Years of hard living as an outsider, time spent as a scout and infiltrator, along with the past few years of farming had kept him quite fit. Between his strength and adroitness, the only thing keeping him in his leather bonds was the presence of the other orcs.
As the orc leaned forward, whispering his ambitions and his other hand firmly shutting Belekir's jaw, the elf had all the opportunity he had been suffering and biding his time to gain. With a sudden burst of motion, he brought both arms down quickly, snapping the leather strap which had been slit by their overly rambunctious slicing of his arms. His falling elbows batted the orcs' hand away, leaving him free to spit the dirt and mud back into the orc's eye. With a startled yelp, the beast reeled back on his knees, allowing Belekir to stand and lunge forward, dodging the orc's blind strikes. He wrapped his erstwhile bonds around the creature's muscular neck and began to twist the leather increasingly tighter.
Realizing the attack, the orc bolted to his feet and began to flail about wildly, his hands grasping where he may. The elf slid further behind the orc, tightening the strap steadily, before being pulled up as the orc stood. The orcs hands could gain no purchase, other than scraps of clothing torn from Belekir's already tattered shirt.
Upon the orc's back, the lithe Belekir was much more like a spider, clinging and dodging nimbly while deftly tightening the cord. Much as a spider's web, the orc's struggling only made the asphyxiation more caustic and the leather bond tighter. The mighty creature even reared back and charged backwards into a tree, slamming against it a number of times in hope of dislodging the elf. All his efforts did was allow Belekir to quickly tie the cord in a knot and dart off, leaving the brutish beast to drop to his knees, pawing at his neck.
The urge to finish the creature was strong and it was only by a narrow margin that Belekir resisted. The outcry and wrestling would have likely attracted attention of any in earshot. He was not truly a trained warrior and figured if the beast could rip or untie the knot, he would not be in any state to chase him. The elf knew his home was not too far away, the searching orcs may have already found it and Caelra, though a skillful sorceress, may be in trouble.
Despite his burning limbs and the agonizing bites of a number of smaller cuts and bruises, Belekir dashed away from the clearing as a grunting cry of warning was issued. Soon, he could hear others, their heavy footfalls thrashing through the underbrush giving their position away. They were near, but not near enough to catch him.
Dodging through the trees, Belekir almost ran home, but then cut a sharp corner and ran deeper into the woods. He extended his arms on either side, swatting at the trees and shrubs as he ran. His limbs burned in protest and his cuts and bruises ached with the effort, but his adrenaline dulled the pain. He could feel it, but not so sharply to slow him down, at least, not now.
Knowing the woods quite well, Belekir ran to the lip of a ravine. Here the main trail wound down to a lower creek bed, hidden by the sheer number of leafless trees and a smattering of evergreens. Closing his eyes, he could hear the thrashing of his pursuers, struggling their way through the woods. He was slowly losing them. He opened his eyes and spied a large rock, which was just the size he needed. Hefting it up, Belekir maneuvered it to the edge of the ravine and pushed it over the side. It rolled blindly down the trail, wandering to one side or the other based upon how it struck, shaking limbs and dislodging other rocks as it wound its way down to the bottom - a suitable distraction to keep the orcs busy.
Cutting stealthily along a game trail, Belekir jogged almost silently through the woods, dodging twigs and limbs, his feet landing so softly as to not crush the dry leaves which littered the barely-visible trail. The orcs were still a threat and he knew he had not seen the last of them, but hopefully he had bought enough time to gather Caelra and flee to Aaerdowns. There, once properly warned, the humans could better protect her, if not himself. Ignoring his injuries, Belekir loped steadily and stealthily home.
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