Illarion.org

Two dwarves, one female and the other male, lay prostrate in a poorly dug out pit upon one of the lower ranges of the Lonely Mountains. Moments before they found themselves face down, two guards had unceremoniously flung them into the two meter deep hole layered in coarse sand. Weakened by malnutrition and a multitude of healing wounds neither dwarf had much strength to get up- despite the fresh wounds brought on by the sand. Once two proud dwarves of Hammerfall, they were now reduced to soiled tunics and tattered pants that bore the colors of Galmair. Above the pit two armed guards, one with a crossbow and the other a bastard sword, bore the Cadomyrian coat-of-arms and laughed with crude mirth. When the laughter had finally stopped the elder of the two men came forward and squatted near the pit's edge. His salt and pepper beard was well trimmed as he looked down on the two fallen dwarves with detached brown eyes and spoke.

"Ye not be the only one with a pit stonemongers, let it be a lesson to the both of ye, n'er to spit on a lord of Cadomyr. Enjoy cooking in the sun till ye both learn some proper manners."

With a disgusted look on his face the knight stiffly rose and turned to his cohort. With a nod of his head the other man, pale with blue eyes and studded armor, quickly followed the elder knight's regress back to their post in the shadows of nearby cliff. Left alone for now the two dwarves found enough dregs of energy to roll over on their backs and then into a seated position, but as the knight suggested they would soon be thoroughly burned by the unforgiving desert sun. Fortunately for them, however, one of the edges of the pit was cast in shadow and soon both were wearily dragging their battered bodies to this tiny hope of comfort. Though their fair skin found refuge from the onslaught of the sun it still had to withstand the roaring wisps of wind that stirred up the jagged grains of sand which grated ceaselessly over their exposed flesh. For a while they huddled together with only the tops of their varying shade of ginger hair atop their head showing.

Finally the male dwarf spoke in a hushed tone, "Briath, I don' give'a dung bettle what happens, ya' keep ya' mouth shut. Only ye and I know wha's goin' on and I wunt ta keep 'et tha' way."

No sooner than the words were uttered the sound of an iron door being opened echoed from afar. Suspense was not long lived as footsteps quickly approached the pit. A nobly dressed elf emerged with guards at his flank. Without hesitation he spoke.

"Warmongers and dishonorable as they may be, I think this sort of punishment has been served enough. Drag them out and secure them in the dungeon. We will have questions for you Boris and Briath. Also guards, three meals a day and plenty of water."

((This will be an open RP for characters that want to be more involved in Cadomyr but are not around during my prime hours, please PM me if you wish to partake.))

The blow struck him down. His armored back send stones and dust sprawling all around when he hit the ground. The hammer had dashed his breatplate in, and probably fractured one or two of his ribs. Blood came into his mouth, but in the instant he realized it was from a bitten tongue and not from his stomach. At least he hoped it was.

He moves his arm to hold his shield up. It caught the next blow of the dwarf, and his arm felt like it was breaking at multiple places. He was dizzy, and almost felt tired. He felt the steps of the female dwarf and Leomar behind him and knew the battle was yet raging. Not over. It was not time to sleep yet. The hammer hit Tyan's shield a second time, and although he was in full combat, all he wanted was to nap for a second. Everything around him was so clear, on the other hand. He saw Leomar's feet moving, the female dwarve's weapon raging, and the deadly angered face of the dwarven General who was going to destroy his skill with his next strike.

He rolled to the side. The hammer struck into the ground next to him, making him deaf on one ear for the moment. And although he was hearing so much right now, he also realized the pickaxe sounds of the other warriors of his squad who had been taken down by the landslide into the dwarven trap, trying to dig their way through the barricades to assist. Anna. He was not going to leave her alone. The memory of his life rushed to him, into his head. A river. Slums. A priest. Gurke. Children hanging from the roofs, serving as an example. Bronn's axe at his neck. A group of singers. Taverns. A half elven dancer he was madly in love with. A lizard warrior who was like a brother. Someone he called James. And orcish warrior he'd trust his life with.

He smashed away the hammer that was coming down on him with his shield, rolled over and got to his feet. In a swift blow, he cut the dwarve's inner side of the shieldarm with Resolution, the Merinium sword that had been given to him by a strange follower of Zhambra during a mission. The dwarf yelped, and Tyan was back in the game. He dodges the next desperate strike of the dwarve's hammer and shield bashed him with alll the force he had left. The dwarf staggered, and Tyan used this moment of opportunity to gather his remaining strength for a cut with his sword. He hit the dwarve's armored gloves and parts of the hammer handle, sending his enemies weapon flying into the darkness. The dwarf even looked at him with a hint of surprise in his eyes, and Tyan realized his enemy was trying to react properly after the unexpected turn of events. Tyan smashes the dwarve's face in with his armored fist and the handle of Resolution and, breathing heavily, saw that Leomar had emerged victorious from his battle as well.

*************************

He was with the Chancellor when they looked upon the dwarves in the pit. Tyan felt pity for them the second they saw their condition. He quickly reminded himself of how he had to view them for the time being. Objects. They are objects, not people. And yet, they were still people. Starving, and having the sun eat up the skin from their flesh was something that gave people pain, not objects. But was it just? Cadomyr had raided Hammerfall plenty of times. Tyan had not wasted a single thought about the matter then, nor had anyone else. He was relieved by the Chancellor's words.

"Warmongers and dishonorable as they may be, I think this sort of punishment has been served enough. Drag them out and secure them in the dungeon. We will have questions for you Boris and Briath. Also guards, three meals a day and plenty of water.", the elf said. Tyan nodded, to himself, as nobody else would realize or value this gesture right now. Yes. Eat. Drink. The dwarves were lifted out of the pit and taken to another place. Tools need to be repaired every now and then as well.

Walking beside the count, Anthar quietly gives out some perimeters as they descend to the lower depths of Cadomyr.

"You have my full confidence Tyan, lets just make sure the gods see our honor and strength in this matter. From the reports I have been given the female is rather mouthy while this general Boris is a preverbal stonewall. I want a full report for the Queen so you may consider a scribe to take notes word for word. Other than that I leave this in your capable hands."

With a nod of his head and a coined phrase, common in Cadomyr, the chancellor splits from the entourage's path in the direction of the throne room. Tyan's envoy contains two guards escorting the prisoners, a forward guard that bears the keys, and a rear guard that hangs back from the Count. Before long the forward guard stops in front of a cast iron door with several locks and latches. The room is inset into solid slate stone with two lit sconces mounted on either side of the doorway. Using deft precious the guard quickly unlocks and removes the restraints from door and pulls it open as the hinges grind together in protest. Giving passage to the others behind him the guard quietly waits for all to enter. As the count passes he offers a simple nod of respect and soon secures the door once more waiting on the outside.

The chamber serves as a glorified holding cell properly equipped with any tools necessary to forcibly extract information. In the center, however, a table is set with food and drinks for three. The guard escorting the general named Boris turns his head to Tyan.

"Orders, m'lord?"