The days had been drawing out for Maiestas, seconds stretching to hours. It seemed that once the gates of memory had been parted, they refused to be closed again no matter how depserately she tried. Rising, she walked from the talan and down the winding stair, the length of her gown dragging behind her even as she moves across the ground. Mallorn trees surround her, allowing only brief glimpses of the stars above. It seemed in this place that time held still, not entering beyond the borders of the Wood. The days had melded so that she had only a vague knowledge of how long she had been here with the party that had just returned from the Ered Lithui. They had remained so those who had felt the kiss of the Orc Scimitars or the touch of the Wargs teeth had time to heal, to recover. The wheels of time had been turning, regardless, and the time was nearing when they would finally take their leave.
Lifting her hand, she touches the wide trunk of a tree she passes, feeling beneath her palm a warmth, vitality, and life that has roots deeper then just those planted so firmly into the earth. She would love to feel such when she looked within herself, yet this was not to be. Despite Elronds words to her, his advice, she still held the guilt of her actions close to her heart. She knows what she has done to them all, what curse she had brought into the home of so many of those that now looked at her with suspicion. They did not know the half of it, for it was not even the capture of Elladan by the Nazgul that had been the worst of hardships they would face.
Despair emanated from her features as she came to small stream that gurgled and sang it sweet tune to the air around her. With a sinking heart, her legs folded beneath her, allowing her to sink down to the soft bed of grass that beckoned her. Into the water her eyes went, staring into the clear depths that rushed by. She found it odd, holding a twisting sense of irony, that here, where the crystalline liquid ran freely she would find the terrors of the memories to haunt her.
Having had little to no recollection of the actual journey to the Dark Lands, she now found herself released from talons that held her tightly, cast upon the hard soil, sharp rocks digging quickly into her flesh to bruise. The pain seems to draw her back from the edges of the cliff where unconsciousness awaited her, eliciting a soft moan as she pushes herself to sit up, supported by her hands. All around her are sounds, horrible screaming and growling. The noise is familiar to her only because she will never be able to forget it. Her eyes, as her head lifts, settle on beasts all around her. Black eyes, rotted teeth, grotesque flesh all seem to swarm before her.
Reaching out with a snapping motion, she tries to grab at her staff, which had fallen some distance from her. Her movement is too slow and the staff is lifted from the ground by the thick and meaty hand of one of the Orcs whose voice sneers in disgust at her.
"Want yer toy, do ya?" his voice is high pitched and squeals, yet it is the coldness in his eyes, the pleasure he is getting from taunting her that makes her recoil. "We can give it to ya, can't we boys?" and, nodding, spittle drips from his mouth as he looks to his comrades for support. Their leering features and suggestive gestures cause her to yell at them.
"What do you want? Why have I been brought here?" Though she uses all of her ability to stay the trembling of her voice, it does no good.
She cries out in pain as cruel claws dig deeply into the flesh of her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. More out of simple reaction then a planned defense, she lashes out herself, her hands curled into claws that rake across the face of the one who had grabbed her so viciously. His angry growl was nothing to the outraged yells of those surrounding him who witnessed her retaliation.
"You filthy elven whore!" Sharku's hand lands heavily onto her cheek, causing her to fall back again to the ground. Parchment flies from her satchel yet these she scurries to collect, wrinkling and bending them as she clutches them desperately in her fingers. The pain from his blow brought bile to her throat, yet she could not risk losing all that she had worked so hard to discover, to learn.
Scrambling to her feet, she stuffs the papers to the satchel, yanking firmly on the flap to close it and secure the documents within. Looking back to Sharku, she gasps at the fury that she sees in his eyes, the black blood that oozes down his cheek surely the reason. Turning, she bolts from him, finding an opening she thinks she could get through. She has no knowledge of where she will go, what she will do, only that she must get away from them. Her way is shut, however, when arms snake out to surround her, one ripping the satchel from her, the strap snapping under the pressure of the pull.
Crying out in anguish due to the many years she had worked on the contents of it, she turns her silvery eyes to look where it has gone, only to see the orc that had taken it disappearing into the Tower they are near. Its looming presence casts a shadow that stretches vastly, seeking to fill all who stand in its darkness with only abject terror.
She finds out shortly that it is not the bag she should worry for, but her life, her being, her light. The hands that had hold her rip at her clothing, pulling at the fabric until it is rent from her flesh. The heat of the air, though not affecting her in a manner to heat her temperature, burns her flesh as humiliation rapes her mind.
"Daro! Stop, please!" Her yells are unheeded as she is now shoved from one to another, arms encircling only so hands tear brutally at her flesh, ripping, digging, and clawing. Red blood flows from many wounds that already mar her skin, ragged wounds that ache deeply. It is when she is turned to look into the mocking face of Sharku once more that she knows just how deeply she is able to fear.
"Yer gonna learn a new form of beggin' now, Wench." His putrid breath rushes over her, spittle from his lips flies to land on her face.
"Why is this happening? What do you want of me?" She meets the darkened gaze of the one that apparently is the leader of these Orcs, having at least that small measure of pride. Fear quakes to her limbs, yet she does what she can so as not to falter in the stare.
Sharku is a master not only of the masses he leads, but also in doing his masters bidding. His orders had been made clear several months past, yet it is only just now that he is able to fulfill them to his own satisfaction and, hopefully, that of his Master. He pulls her naked and bleeding form closer, the smell of the she-elf barely tolerable to him.
"I want you to scream."