The Darkness Between the Stars

[ruinous_fortune]

This.

This place.

It is Angband.

It is Angband.

Not an illusion.

When Gorlim wakes, he is in his cell. Beaten. Bloody. Tortured as he was, starving and thirsty, dizzy and exhausted, as if the Bar had only been a dream of possibilities and nothing more.

Screams ricochet over stone.

Flesh is rended.

Blood flows and drips steadily as the moan

Comments

[gorlim]

It is exactly as it was the first time.

Gorlim becomes slowly, painfully aware of where he is, of the sounds, the stench, of the creature hovering above him. An old friend. It takes immense effort to push himself over, to roll his head up and peer through blurring eyes at his tormentor. But every effort is worth it, because it preserves a little bit of rebellion. It's that spirit that, despite all, has yet to be brought to its knees

[ruinous_fortune]

The Orc bends down, yanking Gorlim up, paying no heed to shattered bones or pains the motion might cause him. It growls, fetid breath breathed into Gorlim's broken face, and grunts in its own language. Its spittle sprays on the Man's torn chest and neck.

It had its orders.

Spoken by a master that had long ago bred its kind.

Sharp talons pierce skin as the Orc grips Gorlim's upper arm tightly, half-carrying, half-dragging the injured Man after him.

Toward a dark, dank, looming throne room where he sat.

Eyes glowing deadly.

Iron crown upin his head.

It brought Gorlim the Unhappy to the feet of its master.

[gorlim]

This is a new game. He'd realized it shortly after the initial tug. He'd been cataloguing his wounds and his surroundings since consciousness found him, trying to determine -- not where he was, but when.

He knew by the aching in his ribs and the fire in his flesh that it was near the end. He could remember every bruise and every butchery session. He knew the face that went with every scar.

Only they weren't scars now. They were open, festering wounds. Oh, yes, some had scabbed over, some even healed entirely. He had been in their care... how long now? Weeks? Months? A month, surely. Maybe more. And they hadn't hurt him badly early on. He had been meant to live, at least for a while. Their treatment had been rough, but not until Angband had they begun the real torture. And by now, the frozen rain and septic dog-pen at Rivil's Well seemed a memory of luxury. His wrists, neck, and ankles were held with barbed iron shackles where once had only been ropes. The chains linkin arm with arm, with leg and leg were heavy, but not, overall,

[ruinous_fortune]

From beside him walked a robed figure, dark, emotionless eyes watching him.

The form was almost-feral, but still human-like.

Elf-like.

When the robed figure stood beside him, it parted its thin, bloodless lips, revealing sharpened teeth and blackened tongue.

"Wouldst thou," it began in a guttural, mucus-thick voice, "forsake thy life, who with few words might win release for her, and thee, and go in peace, and dwell together far from war, friends of the King? What wouldst thou more?"

[gorlim]

Sauron.

Melkor's special little Wormtongue of First Age Arda.

Trying to make good with Master by finishing the job he'd failed to do on his own sweet time, in his own lair at Rivil's Well. Kitty caught a rat, and having failed to make it squeal, took it and dropped it at Master's feet. Hoping, perhaps, that fear of the greater evil might compound enough upon his victim to make him give in at last.

And unfortunately, in this as in many cases, the simple persistence of true evil will often win out over light's brief, fierce flair.

And by now, it had been just enough.

The Gorlim who kneels before that throne knows more than just the moment, but he does not think of it. He cannot. Because he knows Melkor is real, and has come to the bar, and through the mist of pain, it's possible this might even be him. He'd have been good friends with Ruin. And it's possible that, out of spite, Ruin might allow the wounds inflicted in Melkor's prison to stay when he wakes up from this scene