MEMORY: [seelie and unseelie]
Jul. 15th, 2014 12:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
[The locket is broadcasting.
A modest group traveling through a pass, snow covered and somewhat treacherous but none seem concerned. All but one of the group is armed, that person being herself, and each have supplies on their horses. The talk among them is light and cheerful, she can feel herself smiling, laughing even. It seems like a peaceful ride.
And then arrows fall on them and the horses rear back. She’s thrown from her horse and lands hard, silver hair blending with the snow. One member of her escort falls just head, blood already staining the snow while his horse bolts. Another manages to hold onto their horse but it bolts as well. And then suddenly there are orcs, rough swords drawn and one member of her escort dismounts and yanks her unceremoniously behind him before the others follow.
There are too many though and they’re yelling for her to run, strong elven steel singing against curved orc blades.]
My lady, run! Run!
[She has no skill in warfare, she has a Healers hand. She can feel her heart beating hard and fast against her chest, making it hard to breathe. But with battle around her and blood spilling everywhere, nowhere safe for her to even try to help, there’s little she can actually do.
And so she does as she’s told and runs. She’s light on her feet, boots barely seeming to touch to snow as she moves. Behind her the sound of battle can still be heard, the sound of elves and orcs dying but she keeps running until she feels an arrow slam into her back on her side. She falls, gasping, and suddenly realizes there’s nothing but silence around her.
There’s hardly any time for her to try to get up before there’s the sound of movement behind her, too loud to be elves, her escort. And then there are hands on her, rough and ungentle. She does all she can think to do and struggles, cursing at them in Sindarin as they drag her, drag her past the bodies of her escort and the orcs they had felled, the mountain stained red and black with their blood.
Everyone is dead and a look of dread passes her features: what hope does she have?
Her struggles intensify and then something hard comes down on the back of her head and everything goes dark.]
(ooc: Celebrían won't answer for a little while after. Likely after curling up against her mother)
A modest group traveling through a pass, snow covered and somewhat treacherous but none seem concerned. All but one of the group is armed, that person being herself, and each have supplies on their horses. The talk among them is light and cheerful, she can feel herself smiling, laughing even. It seems like a peaceful ride.
And then arrows fall on them and the horses rear back. She’s thrown from her horse and lands hard, silver hair blending with the snow. One member of her escort falls just head, blood already staining the snow while his horse bolts. Another manages to hold onto their horse but it bolts as well. And then suddenly there are orcs, rough swords drawn and one member of her escort dismounts and yanks her unceremoniously behind him before the others follow.
There are too many though and they’re yelling for her to run, strong elven steel singing against curved orc blades.]
My lady, run! Run!
[She has no skill in warfare, she has a Healers hand. She can feel her heart beating hard and fast against her chest, making it hard to breathe. But with battle around her and blood spilling everywhere, nowhere safe for her to even try to help, there’s little she can actually do.
And so she does as she’s told and runs. She’s light on her feet, boots barely seeming to touch to snow as she moves. Behind her the sound of battle can still be heard, the sound of elves and orcs dying but she keeps running until she feels an arrow slam into her back on her side. She falls, gasping, and suddenly realizes there’s nothing but silence around her.
There’s hardly any time for her to try to get up before there’s the sound of movement behind her, too loud to be elves, her escort. And then there are hands on her, rough and ungentle. She does all she can think to do and struggles, cursing at them in Sindarin as they drag her, drag her past the bodies of her escort and the orcs they had felled, the mountain stained red and black with their blood.
Everyone is dead and a look of dread passes her features: what hope does she have?
Her struggles intensify and then something hard comes down on the back of her head and everything goes dark.]
(ooc: Celebrían won't answer for a little while after. Likely after curling up against her mother)