The dawn's gray light glimmered through the dark, marauding clouds
screening the usual endless blue skies. Sagitar stood at the edge of the
camp, his hair rippling in the stiff breeze coming westward. Behind him,
the camp was deteriorating; rucksacks being stuffed full with the
replenished food that the big dragon Moony and the elegant young elf maid
brought.
Sagitar's thoughts were interrupted as he felt Astenfire approach him, her
back burdened with her bow and bag filled to capacity with dried fish meat
and greens.
"Hello, Sagitar- packed?" Sagitar smiled without turning.
"Mm-mm." Astenfire re-arranged the bow position, so the flaxen string
wouldn't cut into her shoulder.
"You haven't got any weapons." She said, eyeing his form.
Sagitar broadened his smile, patting his chest. "I have my emergency knife
with me. The Indigos never saw much war, so I'm not up-to-scratch with my
blade work." Astenfire suppressed a grin, remembering Aragorn's comment
from the prior night.
"Come on, Astenfire! Sagitar! Come on!" The two turned at Aragorn's cry,
bustling over to his side. "Let's go. Mordor waits for no one!"
Crimson rarely showed emotion, let alone joy. But he couldn't help letting his solid beetle-black eyes glimmer in happiness when the news reached him. Crimson, dressed in long sweeping robes of blood-red, put the tips of his very long, pale fingers together, crossing over his waist as he snuggled deeper into the make-shift stone throne in the grand hall of the newly- erected Iye Castle. The castle was based on the medieval architectures before them, except omitting the inner wall due to a shortage of red limestone. But a grander castle, including the subterranean Saurovive, never stood in Mordor. Although the iron spikes stet into the walls, each holding a thick pine-resin torch letting off a sinister feeling to the building, the castle was spacious and richly furnished with tables of mahogany studded with ruby. Crimson's Charraps (the band of higher-ranking Chareuset warriors assigned to him by his creator, Iye) and the lower-order Charmarks (outnumbering the Charraps at least five to one- all of them equal in appearance, except the higher-order Chareuset fighters hand a black diamond tattooed on their left cheek) had finalized the castle in preparation for Iye's enemies. But, thought Crimson, chuckling, this wouldn't happen, not now, not ever. He was in charge of over six-score Chareuset warriors, all left to him by Iye. Crimson smiled inwardly to himself- if the cat died ten leagues away or right on his own soil, it didn't matter. At least Crimson didn't have to do the dirty work. But how he would have loved to. Crimson's hand strayed to his forehead, where began a black stripe running down to the tip of his nose, outlined in red, and patterned with a running chain of red diamond shapes. This tattoo marked him above all of his creator's red warriors, and in the same breath, marked him below the highest order in Iye's mind- Iye himself. Crimson was separated from the other red Charraps by another thing- his skin tone. Unlike the blood-red skinned Chareuset warriors, Crimson's skin was very pale, thin, waxy, and hugging tight to a pointed bone-frame. Crimson's head was cloaked under a wavy mat of reddish hair- the only part of him that he inherited from the long-dead red-haired elf from which his body first originated. But that elf's goodness (for he died a hero against the orc troops of old) never resided in Crimson's blood. Iye only used the elf's body, thusly bequeathing his creation pale skin, and narrow, pointing ears. Crimson, also in an act of displaying rank, pierced his right ear with a large red- coral hoop-ring, studded with ebony chips ground into diamond shapes. Crimson's large, round black eyes glimmered in their sockets. He was so much unlike that non-magic fool Sawney. Crimson had never understood Iye's choice of his other right-hand creature. The man not only lacked magic, he lacked the power, the intelligence Crimson saw in himself and his maker. Sawney, a dark-haired, black-cloaked man, was often portrayed as 'handsome', with large green eyes and a charming smile. Crimson snorted. Charming smile his foot. What utter nonsense. If Iye wanted a cunning warrior, why choose some Goth pretty-boy? Crimson shook his head slowly. He had never understood Iye- sure, Sawney was smart, and witty, but was he trustworthy? Or worse yet, was he overly loyal? Crimson was never sure. The one thing Crimson remotely admired about the man was his gift of covering all his feelings- wiping them from facial expression. What went on in that little man's head, Crimson could only guess. But Sawney wasn't the problem. Oh, no. Sawney was far from the problem- Sawney would either be killed by Iye's enemies approaching from the east, or by his own hand. Crimson's eyes sparkled, and he flexed his abnormally long fingers spasmodically. The pleasure of killing Sawney would be endless. "Lord Crimson! Lord Crimson!" Crimson sat erect in the throne, narrowing his large, black eyes as a Chareuset warrior rushed in. "What, fool? I have important work to do!" Crimson snarled, his voice clear and hard as bladesteel. The warrior, leaning on the spearhaft of his blood- red spear, said wheezilly, "News from the Overlord! King Iye has fallen!" Crimson's lips curled into a smiled. "Of what rank are you?" "Charrap, sir!" Barked the red warrior, saluting his master smartly, touching the sandstone tip to his forehead in traditional Chartreuse fashion. "Than you should be demoted instantly. Your stupidity isn't tolerated in the higher rank." The Charrap opened his mouth instantly in shock, but Crimson continued. "I have been informed by Grall. As Iye's second in command, I now rule Iye Castle. As the new lord, Iye's messenger jackdaw Grall has come with news already. He was sent by me yesterday to check our lord's progress. Unfortunately, Iye is dead. And as Sawney is already on his mission, it looks like I'm in charge. And as your new ruler, I order you be added to the slave-line that should be arriving on ship tomorrow from the Far Coast." Crimson smiled darkly. "You are dismissed."
Crimson rarely showed emotion, let alone joy. But he couldn't help letting his solid beetle-black eyes glimmer in happiness when the news reached him. Crimson, dressed in long sweeping robes of blood-red, put the tips of his very long, pale fingers together, crossing over his waist as he snuggled deeper into the make-shift stone throne in the grand hall of the newly- erected Iye Castle. The castle was based on the medieval architectures before them, except omitting the inner wall due to a shortage of red limestone. But a grander castle, including the subterranean Saurovive, never stood in Mordor. Although the iron spikes stet into the walls, each holding a thick pine-resin torch letting off a sinister feeling to the building, the castle was spacious and richly furnished with tables of mahogany studded with ruby. Crimson's Charraps (the band of higher-ranking Chareuset warriors assigned to him by his creator, Iye) and the lower-order Charmarks (outnumbering the Charraps at least five to one- all of them equal in appearance, except the higher-order Chareuset fighters hand a black diamond tattooed on their left cheek) had finalized the castle in preparation for Iye's enemies. But, thought Crimson, chuckling, this wouldn't happen, not now, not ever. He was in charge of over six-score Chareuset warriors, all left to him by Iye. Crimson smiled inwardly to himself- if the cat died ten leagues away or right on his own soil, it didn't matter. At least Crimson didn't have to do the dirty work. But how he would have loved to. Crimson's hand strayed to his forehead, where began a black stripe running down to the tip of his nose, outlined in red, and patterned with a running chain of red diamond shapes. This tattoo marked him above all of his creator's red warriors, and in the same breath, marked him below the highest order in Iye's mind- Iye himself. Crimson was separated from the other red Charraps by another thing- his skin tone. Unlike the blood-red skinned Chareuset warriors, Crimson's skin was very pale, thin, waxy, and hugging tight to a pointed bone-frame. Crimson's head was cloaked under a wavy mat of reddish hair- the only part of him that he inherited from the long-dead red-haired elf from which his body first originated. But that elf's goodness (for he died a hero against the orc troops of old) never resided in Crimson's blood. Iye only used the elf's body, thusly bequeathing his creation pale skin, and narrow, pointing ears. Crimson, also in an act of displaying rank, pierced his right ear with a large red- coral hoop-ring, studded with ebony chips ground into diamond shapes. Crimson's large, round black eyes glimmered in their sockets. He was so much unlike that non-magic fool Sawney. Crimson had never understood Iye's choice of his other right-hand creature. The man not only lacked magic, he lacked the power, the intelligence Crimson saw in himself and his maker. Sawney, a dark-haired, black-cloaked man, was often portrayed as 'handsome', with large green eyes and a charming smile. Crimson snorted. Charming smile his foot. What utter nonsense. If Iye wanted a cunning warrior, why choose some Goth pretty-boy? Crimson shook his head slowly. He had never understood Iye- sure, Sawney was smart, and witty, but was he trustworthy? Or worse yet, was he overly loyal? Crimson was never sure. The one thing Crimson remotely admired about the man was his gift of covering all his feelings- wiping them from facial expression. What went on in that little man's head, Crimson could only guess. But Sawney wasn't the problem. Oh, no. Sawney was far from the problem- Sawney would either be killed by Iye's enemies approaching from the east, or by his own hand. Crimson's eyes sparkled, and he flexed his abnormally long fingers spasmodically. The pleasure of killing Sawney would be endless. "Lord Crimson! Lord Crimson!" Crimson sat erect in the throne, narrowing his large, black eyes as a Chareuset warrior rushed in. "What, fool? I have important work to do!" Crimson snarled, his voice clear and hard as bladesteel. The warrior, leaning on the spearhaft of his blood- red spear, said wheezilly, "News from the Overlord! King Iye has fallen!" Crimson's lips curled into a smiled. "Of what rank are you?" "Charrap, sir!" Barked the red warrior, saluting his master smartly, touching the sandstone tip to his forehead in traditional Chartreuse fashion. "Than you should be demoted instantly. Your stupidity isn't tolerated in the higher rank." The Charrap opened his mouth instantly in shock, but Crimson continued. "I have been informed by Grall. As Iye's second in command, I now rule Iye Castle. As the new lord, Iye's messenger jackdaw Grall has come with news already. He was sent by me yesterday to check our lord's progress. Unfortunately, Iye is dead. And as Sawney is already on his mission, it looks like I'm in charge. And as your new ruler, I order you be added to the slave-line that should be arriving on ship tomorrow from the Far Coast." Crimson smiled darkly. "You are dismissed."