Unknown
Drachen Keep, The Aerie, The Pomarj
Elrohir couldn't move, but the earth did.
It was a slow swelling, almost like being at sea, save from the rumbling and creaking of stone everywhere. A fine shower of dust and pebbles fell down upon the ranger, drawing him further back into consciousness.
His left eye was swollen shut, but he managed to open the other one enough for a somewhat blurry picture to emerge.
He was lying face down on what could only be a prison cell and clad only in a dirty loincloth. Bare stone walls loomed over him. A thin stream of light from off to his left suggested a window, barred no doubt, to the outside. An iron door was situated in the midst of the wall to his right.
Elrohir's left ear, pressed against the cold stone, picked up the rumbling of the earth deep beneath him. Somehow, it reminded him of his cooshee Dudraug on the rare occasions that the elven hound showed his displeasure.
It sounded like nothing so much as a growling.
Now other sounds impinged upon the ranger's hearing. Cries of terror. They seemed to be coming from both outside the window and from the other side of the iron door. From the latter also came the sound of a man shouting in anger.
The growling ceased, and the earth stopped rumbling.
Elrohir couldn't move.
There was a grating noise on the far side of the door, and it swung open.
Mordrammo barged in.
The High Priest of The Earth Dragon needed only two long strides to reach where Elrohir lay on the floor. He quickly knelt down so as to stare directly into the ranger's one open eye.
Mordrammo was no longer wearing his dragon helm, and Elrohir could see the cleric's round face, a very light brown in color. His thin mustache, extending a good three inches past his lip in either direction, was literally quivering as the priest trembled in rage.
The cleric grabbed Elrohir's hair and yanked his head of the floor several inches.
"What have you done, Elrohir of Furyondy, that you have angered the Sacred Scaly One so?" Mordrammo hissed, hate billowing from his dark brown eyes. "Never in the history of Suderham has he made his displeasure known so graphically. Even now, with you and your allies helpless and awaiting final judgment, does he still stir the very Oerth itself to quake in rage!"
Elrohir couldn't move.
He couldn't even speak. His throat was cracked and raw, and even the effort of attempting speech was beyond him, but his face apparently betrayed the thought that ran through his mind.
Helpless? Then we're all still alive?
Mordrammo grinned maliciously and dropped Elrohir's head back onto the floor.
"Oh yes, Elrohir; you're all still very much alive, but don't become too comfortable with that thought. It's a strictly temporary state of affairs, I assure you."
The High Priest seemed to relax somewhat, sitting down on the floor next to his prisoner, bending one leg underneath him and clasping his other knee with both hands.
"The Little Death is just that," he explained to his captive. "A useful tool for securing sacrifices. "Of course, I'd just as soon slain you all after you'd served your purpose, but criminals in Suderham not sent into slavery have always been thrown into the caverns far beneath Drachen Keep to perish there, a symbolic if not literal sacrifice to the Sacred Scaly One. Tradition must be maintained. It's very important in an ordered society like ours, or yours; wouldn't you agree?"
Elrohir couldn't move.
"There'll be quite the ceremony as you're lowered into the caverns. All the nobility of Suderham will be there with us, as will a few of the common folk, chosen by lottery, to see justice done. You won't be awake for it, of course. I'm a practical man, as I told you before, Elrohir- and I don't believe in taking chances."
Mordrammo bent down further so as to be eye-to-eye with the ranger again.
"For all that you've accomplished, you're such a blind, pitiful fool, Elrohir. You had no chance from the start. You were surprised to see Scurvy John amongst our number, were you not? You shouldn't have been. We needed a new naval strategist to replace Feetla, and who better than one who just happened to have first hand experience with the very same upstarts who had wrecked our operations in Highport and at the stockade? And he did so much want the opportunity to meet you all again."
The cleric straightened back up, his eyes gazing upwards towards the dim streaks of daylight.
He chuckled. "It was so very amusing to listen to you try and play along with my idea, Elrohir. Of course I've always known that you are here on the behest of King Belvor. That little charade was for the benefit of my fellow Slave Lords. I wanted them to be in the right frame of mind for when I discovered those papers on you after," he grinned again, "personally searching your unconscious form."
Mordrammo glanced down to see the ranger's questioning eye upon him again.
"Why, the papers that proved that you had been hired by Edralve herself to kill me, so that she might assume command of The Nine," the High Priest continued in a mocking tone. "Don't you remember making that devil's deal with that accursed black elf? No?"
The cleric bent down close to Elrohir's face again.
"Such a pity you won't be around to tell anyone that."
Mordrammo straightened up again, drumming his fingers on his knee as he glanced towards the open door.
Elrohir couldn't move.
"Edralve has been a pain in my side for too long," the High Priest continued, his voice lower now as he continued to stare out into the corridor beyond. "Naturally, Feetla, despite his useful skills, had to go; he was a slave to her every depraved whim, but the rest of her faction will think twice about supporting her now. Soon, I will once again have no rivals for my leadership of The Nine."
He looked back over at Elrohir. "A pity you all have to die. Anyone of you would be a more than adequate replacement for Edralve," the cleric mused. "But that would go against your oh-so-important morals, wouldn't it, Elrohir? Tell me, Furyondan, how are you going to, as you put it earlier, do the right thing now?"
Mordrammo laughed softly again, then glanced back towards the door as new sounds came from outside.
It sounded like shouting to Elrohir, and there was also a clanging noise, as if a small gong was being struck.
The High Priest's eyebrows rose. "Ah, it must be that time again. The priestess, Talass…"
He abruptly spun around to face Elrohir again.
"Your wife, isn't she, I believe?"
Mordrammo bent down once more to stare directly into the ranger's face again.
"Rest assured, Elrohir. She's getting our… special treatment."
Elrohir could move.
The ranger's right hand shot out to clamp down on the priest's throat.
Mordrammo gasped, his eyes bulging. The cleric flailed wildly, but Elrohir rose up on his left elbow and managed to slam the man down on his back.
The High Priest's left hand reached for the jeweled idol of The Earth Dragon that hung on the chain around his neck, but Elrohir's left hand grabbed it and held it tight.
The cleric bucked with his legs, twisting and squirming. Elrohir tried to climb on top of him to pin him down, but the ranger's legs just weren't cooperating.
The pain in Elrohir's hands was excruciating, but all he concentrated on was squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter.
Panic was showing in the High Priest's eyes now. He tried to scream for help, but nothing came out. Elrohir's dirty fingernails were starting to cut into the flesh of his neck.
Mordrammo suddenly slipped his left hand free. Elrohir grabbed what he presumed to be the cleric's unholy symbol to prevent him from making use of it- but that wasn't what the priest was going for.
A bright light exploded in front of Elrohir as something slammed into the back of his skull.
With a moan, Elrohir went limp, slumping onto his side, and Mordrammo brusquely shoved the ranger over onto his back before the cleric rose to his feet, still gasping and clutching his neck. The war pick in his left hand dripped fresh blood.
The Voice of The Sacred Scaly One was only a blur through a pain-stained eye as the cleric paused at the cell doorway.
"Save your anger, Elrohir of Furyondy," Mordrammo snarled. "In the dungeons, you'll have nothing else."
A boom and a clank indicated the High Priest's departure. Without his rage to ignore it, the agony overwhelmed Elrohir again, and he had no choice but to surrender to it.