Illarion.org

((closed RP))

Eliza was sorting and arranging her wares when she suddenly looked up at the sound of the opening door and thereafter heavy steps, those heard from bulky metal boots. Jorokar crossed the shop’s room, clad in fine, protective metal armor, armed from head to toe with two scabbards tied to his thick brown belt on either side, and a grey reflecting shield on his back. His face held an uncommon grave expression, and his dark brown eyes gave a fiery gaze. The female lizard did nothing but stare at him as he walked across the room and into the back room, only to head outside through the side door.

In that evening, Jorokar marched his way out of Troll’s Bane through the North Gate. He made sure to close the outer gates securely before carrying on along the path to the north. His steady, determined pace showed a clear destination in mind. The Castle of the Grey Refuge was on his right when Jorokar came to a short pause, giving a brief look over his shoulder. No one knew the purposes of his leaving, except for the governor, Siltaris. He was following orders after all. But why did he worry? He wouldn’t take long, only a close look at the suspects was needed. Encouraging himself, he looked ahead of him again and moved on, the grimness that his face had lost for a second quickly returning.

Being in that cumbersome armor, the way seemed longer than it actually was. It was tiresome for sure, especially when there was no longer the street to walk on. The soft, moist soil made each step harder and heavier, and the rocky ground encountered later didn’t help either.

Finally he was close, close enough to slow down the pace, and pay attention to being more careful and quiet. With utmost caution, he skulked against the large boulders, peeking around them until he finally caught a glimpse of the site. The place was filled with orange specks emitted by those burning torches that formed the boundaries. He could hear distant sounds of chants and other chatters. The numerous rumbling voices were frightening in themselves already.

With a hand readied on his sword’s handle, the young warrior took vigilant steps closer to the encampment, using the boulders for cover. But, was keeping himself hidden from their sight enough to prevent detection? He learned the answer to that soon later. The repetitive chants had suspiciously calmed down all so suddenly. Tension spread through Jorokar’s body, and his heart beat quickened in a few moments. His eyes searched around the place nervously, keeping himself concealed as much as possible, hoping his suspicions of him being detected in some way were wrong. Stillness settled in the area, with no motions left, and no voices except for a few, low babbles going on. It all seemed too quiet now, and that kept a persisting worry in him.

His worst fears were only acknowledged by the sound of rough footsteps, so dangerously close. In that same second, he could smell a noxious stench diffusing in the air, a smell that meant nothing but danger. With an abrupt move, Jorokar leaned away from the boulder and turned around...remaining utterly frozen by the menacing sight before him. Upon turning, his eyes met the bared gory teeth of a vicious orc, who’s blood thirst could be read off his eyes, and who's irritably noise breath showed the tempted eagerness of bloodshed.

But back in Troll’s Bane, nothing could have been noticed. The quietude and tranquility that reigned over the town’s night were the absolute contrary to the feelings of the endangered warrior, whom, after several days, remained unseen and unheard of.

The orc snarled, his anticipation for the kill growing. Steam seemed to emanate from his armor in the cool night, revealed by the rising moon. With a roar he lifted his crude blade, aiming a direct and deadly blow at the lurker's neck...

"Stop! Bring the hooman here."

The voice came from the center of the camp; near the largest fire, which burned crimson for a moment. Lowering his weapon with a grunt, the large orc grabbed Jorokar roughly around the neck. His struggles were no match for the orc's brutish strength. He was dragged along like a rag doll, past jeering orcs of all sizes. Some threw stones and other things at him as they passed. Laughter and insults roared up among the inhabitants of the large encampment.

At last, Jorokar was thrown roughly to the ground in the center of the camp. The orc who had been his captor merely grunted again and stomped off, back to his patrol. Standing beside the large fire was a female orc, smaller than the others, but unmistakably more powerful. The aura of this orc made the air pulse, as though it were somehow unstable and could rupture if the slightest ill movement were made. She was dressed in animal hides covered in painted symbols. Her neck was adorned with several necklaces, most of which seemingly made of bone- some of it human. Piercing yellow eyes glared down at Jorokar, studying him. After a few moments of consideration, she turned toward the fire and threw a handful of herbs over it. The air became thicker, and as she recited a few chants under her breath, the very ground made a slight but distinct tremor.

"Take da introodur's armor, and his sword."

"Whoeber you hold dear in yur weak heart, I hope you get good look at her. I hope yoo tink now and remember all that is beautiful to yoo…

…Remember these, filth, because you won't see them ever again!"

The grabbed, helpless man was immediately stunned after hearing these words. He didn’t know the exact denotation of those claims at first, but it wasn’t long before he tasted the meaning. As a chant recited by the shaman progressed, the circle of orcs around suddenly quieted, and for Jorokar, it was the last few seconds of light. The radiance emitted by the scorching fires darkened gradually, and the shadows lengthened until everything faded to black.

Blackness, void, nothingness. Within a few seconds, his sight was sucked away like it was some object that you could play around. It happened so fast that the now-blinded man didn’t even realize what was done to him. It was just, scary, to see nothing all of a sudden. He groaned painfully as he was thrown back onto the rocky ground, only managing to say in a terrified voice:

"Wh..what? My…my eyes. Black…What have you done?"

Soon after, rough, uncaring hands grabbed the helpless man, dragged him agonizingly against the rock-strewn ground and threw him outside in the wilderness. However, he knew not where he was, but words spoken by the shaman had amplified the fear in him.

"Leave him for the wolves."

The situation was really bad. Stripped of all armor and weapons, stripped of vision, for now, he was nothing better than a poor, defenseless child. At least, a child could see a path when trying to escape. Jorokar could not. It was the echoing howls of the wolves that forced him to give an attempt, as not just his sight, but his whole life was now at risk. With some effort, he stood up, and then began to walk in the opposite direction of the wolves’ cries.

Still not used to blindness, he walked unsteadily with slow, cautious steps. Despite him being wary of each step, he trampled over a stony area he soon met, falling onto one knee whilst twisting his other foot. His jaws immediately clenched to suppress the pain felt, avoiding a grunt. As he managed to stand back up, his continuously stirring hands finally found some large boulders, which he used as support and as a guide. He walked along, until a voice was finally heard. Jorokar spoke with a weakened, stuttering voice.

"Wh..Who's..there?"

"Just me!"

A high pitched voice replied. It was a fairy that fluttered around him, but obviously he could see nothing. If he had to walk back to the town of Troll’s Bane, he needed help. Making it back alone was near to impossible.

"H..Help me, please."

The fairy agreeing to help was possibly the first good thing that had happened to Jorokar since days. The fairy flew away then, the intentions were unclear, but Jorokar had placed trust in her, mostly because it seemed to be the only way. Minutes passed by, and still no response. The place was quiet again, no other presence around. The thought of a lucky encounter soon faded away as doubts and questions took over. As more time went by, the unsighted one decided to give another attempt to walk along the boulders. And so he did, paying extra caution to each step and minding higher leveled rocks that stood before him.

After some time, he found himself in the borders of a forest, his motioning hands feeling the tree barks around him. He only had made few, pitiful steps, but it was all tiring for him, all too exhaustive. Finding a particular bark, he rested his back against it and took a needed break. He was lost in a place he did not know, his hopes flew away along with the fairy, and other people knew nothing of him. He literally felt like crying, but it seemed like it was an impossible thing.

"Oh, there he is!"

A sparkle of hope shined as soon as he heard that similar voice again. To his luck, the fairy had returned, together with company he knew not about for now. That company was no other than the elven lady, Ayla To’Lorn.

"Jorokar..."

The only word she managed was like a shock that in a heck of a second spread through Jorokar’s body. His heartbeat seemed to stop for that instant, and disbelief would have been clear in his face, had it not been for the frightening and unpleasant white eyes of his.

"Is…th..that you, Ayla?"

"Aye…"

Now that was one hell of a relief to him. So long it has been, and so strange it felt, to meet her again without seeing her. The confirmation that it was her left him speechless, and odd blissful feeling sprouted inside him, but a peculiar, uncertain feeling still persisted in the moment. There were so many questions to answer, so many things to say, to explain. But for now, the priority was heading back. He felt comforted and much more secure now, as Ayla guided him through the paths southwards and towards Troll’s Bane, a black Troll's Bane, for him.