The restraints upon the beasts arms felt rather heavy that day. Metal snakes of chain hung low, pounding in a rhythmic fashion to each, antagonizing step. Their black luster gleamed brilliantly in the noon sun. Heavy footfalls of plated boots thundered against the sandy ground with strong authority, their march synchronizing a silent tune. Characterized guards clenched upon each shoulder and urged the beast onwards. Erokor stumbled as a fool, having been forced to double over while he strode to match the pace. Three persons continued down a strip that was the market place. Baskets were dropped and stalls closed temporarily as people piled around the Uruk in awe. The thrums of chatter rang against the beast's ears and he cringed to hear each insult, purple lids shut against his perception, there the darkness comforted him as an onslaught of drone continued.

“An Orc? I can't believe the guards let such filth taint our streets, I knew he was a menace!”

“Oi 'ere dat 'ee killed a 'ole crowd 'o people wid his dirty 'ands.”

“Quiet yourself you fat oaf, he's too stupid to do such a thing by himself.”

“Down with Raku's insolence! Kill all those beasties!”

A smile spread across the dry, cracked lips of one particular guard. Parading his accomplishments about the terrace, his mammoth of a hand swung around, absorbing the praise. Erokor later found out that this boob's name was Valyn, whose stomach was as large as his ignorance. He'd a crop of fair brown hair but nothing else was appeasing. His body stuck out it sickly proportions, and he constantly leaned upon a walking stick. 'Twas the finest the town guard had to offer. The thought caused Erokor to smile, immediately recognized by the almighty fat one.

“Why're ye grinnin you stoopid beast?”

“Nah, jud wondrin 'ow dey pil eet dat 'igh ahahah, na!”

“Why ye li'lle. . “

Valyn's quivering hand snapped towards his hilt, drawing it in a sloppy manner before a high squealed pitch rang, the snooty countenance of Butch stretching as he sung his disapproval.

“Nnnever, raiiise yooour swooord agggainsst a caaptiivve!”

Butch, the other lovely , had a mild speaking disorder. Emphasis was painted literally upon every word that flowed from his mouth which made chewing upon tin-foil all the more tolerable. The contrast to Valyn was distinct. He was a bony man who wore brass knuckles and carried no sword. As of now he was the leader of the regiment of five. Five idiots of the lowest order were prancing around the streets of Lomedor, waving their insignia about. A comforting thought, right?

Valyn seemed to disregard this command but had second thoughts and sheathed his blade with muttered profanity. The tip of his cane dug into the ground with ferocity and he walked again, not so eager to absorb the admiration as it was.

“Nah, dat's rite, poot yur swordi e' way fat wun, na!”

They took a sharp turn into an alley, rats scurried underfoot and threatened to strike with hissing tongue. A shudder could be felt creeping along Erokor's spine, one that belonged to alien forces. The guards apparently knew this place well and quickened themselves to hurry from it. Revolting objects of all kind littered this place from skeletal heads to vials of nasty swamp toned liquid. A number of ritualists rumored to live beneath the sewers inhabited this area and came out only to seek fresh meat to experiment upon. Shadows licked upon the figures as their pace slowed. Otherworldly eyes watched them in silence, flicking to and fro over the delectable specimen. The beast knew himself safe, for these ritualists feared his might and would only scurry from his presence.

Further and further they pierced into the black heart of the beast, yet found that the exit was not to be found at a short end. The light that marked the beginning of the alley was gone from sight and now they had been trapped in the darkness. Tempo slowed even further now and the breath of the two guards grew erratic and out of sync. Their pupils shrunk, their eyes trembled, one dared to look to the side of them. What he saw invoked immediate reaction. For an old, pale woman cloaked in black stood hunched and moved towards them, knife in hand. Her eyes had been carved from her very head, pools of shadow in which worms slipped freely from.

“WIIIITTTTCCHHHH! Saaaavveee yoursseellvess!”

An immediate burden had been lifted and the two guards relinquished their grip upon the orc, running forth towards the darkness, screaming damn near bloody murder. The great ripped neck craned and Erokor stood at his full height once more, growling upon the demented woman. She snarled back before retreating into the shadows. An otherworldly draft ran through the Uruk's hair, and he continued the trek the guards could not finish. A pale yellow marked the end of the tunnel and the guards were nowhere in sight. Truly the Uruk grew suspicious, but he questioned no gift and ran free into the sunlight.

“Thhkk!” A great blunt object smashed against the back of the Uruk's head and he was forced to the ground. His nose shattered and warm blood surged upon his features. Tongue lolled and his perception blurred. A number of voices spoke in a dialect unknown to the Uruk, or perhaps he could not put the words together. It did not matter, sleep seemed better anyways. The world turned black, and for once in that day, Erokor was at peace.

“Wake up ya mangy brute! Dinna's here!”

A piece of stale bread was lobbed at the Uruk's limp body. He awoke to find himself within the confines of a dank dungeon, illuminated by only a small oil fueled candle. Noises seemed to repeat themselves, or otherwise the continual pounding of his head flustered aggravated thoughts. He felt himself terribly hungry, however, and let his teeth sink into the hunk, allowing his saliva to intake the sawdust flavor of the bread. The questioned remained, how long had he been sleeping?

Head reeling, the lupine stumbled around yet another corner blindly, the mundane task of finding new cloth to replace her old leather garments; as attached as Quess was to the her only consistent companion for what had been several years – no, she didn’t change, but she did wash it – even a bellicose-minded warrior like her knew that she couldn’t go running around wearing clothes ripped and ruined by that infernal Malboro. Not knowing what to think, she found, to her relief, a small patrol of city – four or five of them - guards up ahead. Despite her misgivings about the competency of this city’s defense, seeing she’d already had several run-ins with them, most of them involving idiots clearly flipping around the phrase, “Innocent until proven guilty” , the white wolf woman hailed them, starting to slowly jog towards them.

“Humans! Guards! Wait! I need – I –“

She broke off when one of the guards, who had all turned around at the uniquely lupine voice, rudely cut in with a shout of surprise, laced with fear and yet an edge of triumph. More confused than ever, Quess stood still when the guards – equipped with far more than the standard armor and weapons of a routine patrol, she finally noted – clamored over each other to get to her, all yelling random things that made no sense to the tall white lupine, as they were all meshed together into some odd battle cry. Only the last booming cry reached Quess’ ears, breaking past all the lesser cries.

“GET HER!”

Her fighter’s instinct completely deserting her, Quess backed up a step, and did nothing else. What did they want? Had the imbeciles devised of yet another crime to try and pin her to? With a gasp, Quess hopped back as the leader unsheathed his sword, brandishing it wildly, clearly expecting opposition. Her eyes fixated on nothing more than the lethal blade, so much sharper and sturdier than the usual cheap guard blades, the lupine finally demanded to know what was going on.

“What – what is the meaning of this? You have no right – No right to do this”

“Shut it, beast” piped up another guard before being silenced by a nudge by one of his companions, clearly showing that the man with the drawn sword was going to do the talking here.

“Alright, listen now, an listen good, got that, Kess?”

“It’s Quess you moron!” Burst out the white-furred lupine, her pride apparently thinking it alright to insult those pointing sharp things at her.

“You are in no position to call me names, y’hear? We don’t want any…slip-ups to occur. I don’t want to accidentally kill you while you were resisting capture. Now you’re coming with us. We’ve overlooked your past crimes” – that was a flat-out lie – “But this is too far. The brutality of those killings…” As if to emphasize her point, the man shook his head in disgust.

“I had nothing to do with whatever you’re talking about. Now –“

“Oh? Really now? That’s not what the evidence – a dozen of your hairs on the bodies – tells us, lupine. You know how many other white haired lupines there are sullying the streets of Lomedor? None. Now come quietly, you bloody beast.”

White-haired? Dammit. There was no way she could weasel out of this one now…And her predicament all traced back to her pack. Again. If those bloodthirsty ********s hadn’t slaughtered the whole bloody lot of the white-furred sister clan, Quess would have had some leeway here. She gave the deepest of sighs, and resigned herself to the guards, knowing a physical confrontation would only throw away her life carelessly. She raised her arms expectantly, submitting herself to the guards, so they could get on with it and bind them. Satisfied, the leader of the patrol nodded for another guard to come over. Dropping his spear, he pulled a strong rope from somewhere – she couldn’t care less where – and bound the furry hands together.

“Hey boss! Should we muzzle her?”

Somewhere inside, the guard calling the shots knew that the resigned lupine posed no further threat. But he was still ticked that she had named him a moron, so she nodded him ahead anyways, with a short command.

“Go ahead. That lupine’s a dangerous one.”

Humiliated and angry at being dragged about like a common, stupid animal, Quess blinked back frustrated tears, she was paraded through the city, through painfully public places, to much laughter and ridicule. Just as the shackled warrior was entertaining the idea of breaking free, she was led into a dark and gloomy building, clearly the city’s prison. At the doorway of what appeared to be her cell, Moron unceremoniously slashed her bonds off, shoving her into a grimy looking cell, causing her to land hard on the ground, splashing into liquids the lupine did not even want to identify, ruining her white coat. With an inhuman howl, she leapt at the door, only to stumble back, having crashed into the unrelenting locked prison door.

(This is…Five seconds after your post)

The world spun about Erokor as if he were its own center of gravity. Eyes snapped shut to relieve the dizziness but only reminded the beast of his pounding headache. A hand wildly swung out to grasp the side of the bed, clenching with great emphasis as Erokor writhed in pain. Finally, though, he'd managed to get up, bread still caught between his lips, the hunk stickied from dry saliva. Not even the mighty jaw could crush this food, so Erokor opted to spit it out and place it in the pocket of his new pants, his only clothing. His eyes flowed over the scenery at no real pace or intention, just wildly floated around.

Position gave way to insight and insight allowed new perception. White slate slandered in shadows provided a flat surface for a roof. The candle which illuminated the cell itself glowed with ferocity and toned every item to its crimson demeanor. There was a wooden table, but nails protruded from every which way, displaying the fine craftsmanship that went into the decor of these cells. A second bed lay parallel to Erokor's. A foot-long gap between them was the only free space allowed.

Erokor himself was in worse condition than he had anticipated. His nose was prostrate from its usual position and crimson blood was ever dripping from each nostril. The mouth hung agape, unable to regain a true composure as if some sedative poison had been inserted to calm him, or otherwise keep him alive until he was released. Thoughts were sound, though, and rational. Erokor was not surprised at all that he was in prison. Crime upon crime had been his sin, none in Lomedor though, which intrigued him. Figuring only that there had been a complex system of interlinking security, Erokor willed no more argument against it. Serve his time, and leave, it was the only plan he could truly conjure.

Visions danced about him in wonderful colors, contorting his surroundings to hideous figures. The witch he'd met earlier sprouted from the candle as a flame of aquatic tone, her blackened sockets ever visible. Murals painted themselves upon the stone walls. Guards were moving in these pictures, their massive spears leaning upon their shoulders while their lips puckered? This was no normal state. The beast found the realm of sleep again and was to fall onto his bed before an abrupt slam crescendoed throughout the entirety of the prison.

Quick and astute steps rattled against the floors, the clinking of metal could be heard, as if an entire suit of plate armor shifted with each individual movement. As luck would have, the frame of a woman cloaked in purple stood outside Erokor's cell. Her brow was arched and her grimace fierce some. Blond hair wrapped itself in a snake the humans called "ponytail." Another would have found her attractive if wrinkles hadn't burdened her aged face and she didn't appear so masculine. Ears may have decieved the beast but he heard faint words far off, not belonging to the one that stood before him. There was an erratic shuffling in the background before finally her sneer caused her upper lip to curdle. Words from the pits themselves run outwards, pounding against Erokor's temple.

"You are awake. Good. I would not have a criminal so easily die before suffering."

The Uruk was dumbstruck, the words passed in through one ear and soared out the other, all meaning was incomprehensible to him, this one had impeded his rest, she needed to stop.

"I will explain myself quickly as you seem not to grasp my words you idiotic thing. You and your 'accomplice' have been captured! You fancied yourself clever outwitting the guard but rest assured, we have eyes and ears all over the place. While you decided to snack on our citizens you gave us plentiful evidence to sentence you for your crimes of brutality. Your death shall be in a week. Spend the last moments withering with your partner in crime!"

She raised a hand shadowed in red velvet, snapping her fingers before walking away. The shuffling began again, this time the scraping of nails dragging against stone shuddered the Uruk, and he dearly wished the noise would stop. It grew nearer and nearer, the maddening pitch only flared its tempo, forcing the Orc to claw at his bloodied ears. Eyes rolled to the back of his head and it slammed against the straw that was his bed. On and on it went, to the point where it would have driven the Uruk to kill himself were it not to stop abruptly.

The calm was evident, a hushed breath whispered thankfulness and clarity returned. In place of the claws dragging upon stone floor a struggling lupine grunted as two guards attempted to throw it into the cell. They'd need to bash it against the iron bars to compensate for its wild behavior. Calming for a second, it was thrown against the wall, but it rebounded. Success looked to be in the wolves favor until the foreboding gates shut upon it, impeding escape. What a pity, the lupine was as helpless as a lost puppy now and Erokor would not get the sleep he so maddeningly desired.

For now, he just stared upon the other. The sensation of words had still not returned to their full flavor though he regained the ability to make nonsensical utterances. The common "Uhhhh. . ." and all pressing consonant syllables were toyed with on his tongue. Very likely had it been that the creature had been wracked so heavily with a blunt object that his brain ceased to function even the simplest of verbal expressions. A common state known as Amnesia, whether permanent or temporary was beyond his scope of understanding. Rather, his pupils slowly flicked upon the other.

There were "legends" of bipedial animals that contained aspects similar to humans. The rarity was renown, there were so few of them as Ea, even fewer than the close to extinction Uruks had been. Its fury could be felt, as if the candlelight had refocused its intensity to a tenth degree, rivaling or perhaps even passing Erokor's.. His state of delusion left him to many speculations, though, and none of them were certain. Rather, he allowed himself to drift onto sleep again unless awoken. Perhaps when waking again the full scope of the situation would reveal itself. Death seemed a peaceful option, the twists and turns of life would then be no longer then.

Enraged but otherwise unharmed, Quess continued to howl like the caged animal she was being treated as. For the millionth time, she mentally screamed that the blasted humans had no right to do this to her, that they had taken it one step too far. But it wasn’t long before the once-white furred lupine, quiet by trade, had howled her anger out ‘till her throat was hoarse with pain. Angrily, Quess whipped around, kicking the filthy ground, noticing for the first time the Uruk sharing her cell. Her mind instantly jumped to a conclusion, her fury jumping past the hurdle that was common sense.

“YOU! URUK!” Roared Quess with venom in that hoarse rasping voice of hers, “I don’t know what you’ve done and I couldn’t care less, but why the bloody hell did you drag me into this!?”

Chest heaving with the rapid turn of events that had all made so little sense, the lupine attempted to stand upright for the first time, bashing her sensitive ears on the low ceiling. Well, low for a lupine. Disgustedly, all while waiting for her “partner in crime” to respond, Quess attempted to wipe the worst of the muck and grime off her soiled coat, something she had always taken for granted, always blamed for her lack of camouflage and exile, never realizing how beautiful it was. And, especially seeing as she was sentenced to death in a week, Quess doubted it would ever be restored to its former luster.


(Small post. Sorry. i kinda rammed all my energy into the first post)

White lips tumbled onto an ebony canvas, their vibrations rang with a frequency unheard. Silent, the tune, an echo of horrid proportions divine past the whim of mortal comprehension. Meshing scream blasted against the ears but caused no disturbance. It was a calamity far past irritation, a beast's beautiful howl reveled in great emphasis. The white interlocking snakes opened, the rusty whistle of tense hinges rattled as the massive maw opened. Final tune sung, fire raged from its crimson depths and the realm of sub-conscious was shattered, the piercing eye of the beast shone in a light whose spectrum was far too beautiful to recognize. Nearing, the illumination consumed, waring those who opposed it. Reality spiraled downwards, and the beast's dreams hit rock bottom.

Erokor awoke, conflicting a restrained respiratory system. Objects reflected against the mirror that was his cornea, reality's sublimation out stood above all others. Heart fluttered in the Uruk's chest, its beat rung against his ears. Tendons stretched in agonizing renewal, neck arching to comprehend that was before him. Previous measures were blurred, their deciphering beyond Erokor's ability. Quess' presence was new, yet repetitive at the same time. Why? It was not a question to be tampered with in a fragile state. Simply he stared upon the other, cracked vocals sung in a raspy voice.

"Nah. . . 'oo be joo, nah?"

Coarse divinity ran through his veins, it amplified against restricted speech. Delusion had remnants, though perception was legitimate. Inspection furthered would realize an increased breathing within the other, snarled maw, and an all around gritty appearance. Long since past, though, was its initial hostility. Its words contributed to the Uruk's dreamlike state and awoke him to this place but caused him to react in no other manner. Had it been an hour? Maybe two? Desolate places such as these bore no time, but light gave clues.

His neck rotated further, now facing parallel to the bed, he could make out the wispy smoke rising from the deadened flame. Ashen black cut midway. Wax, the amber liquid drew upon the floor into one hardened pile. Interesting, the light did not burn the entire time, but where it cut off gave some perspective of thought. Succumbed to weariness for more than a few hours had he been. Whatever the lupine had done to him in such a time was alien to him and could not be picked out here and now. Legs brimmed with life for a brief moment, spasming as they shook the tension from their coiling nerves.

A pulse began to rhythmically beat along his frame. Slowly recognition occurred. The pain in his occipital ridge was sour but was not as severe and raw as before. Once limp muscles perked and synchronization of literally everything came into focus. Full rehabilitation would have taken weeks, but a day would suffice for mobility to return. For now, he felt the wind chill rush throughout the cell, heard the drips of water fall downwards upon the prison dungeon. The crusted blood upon his upper lip painted an abstract scene of brutish proportions. His nasal cavity was not broken as feared before. Rather, it was dislocated. Measures were taken to fix things that could be fixed. A palm affixed itself upon both nostrils and beefy fingers clenched upon the nose itself. Sickening crack ushered in new life and the Uruk felt relief flood unto him, as well as the rusted liquid fall freely once more.

A recollection of the events flashed through his mind with crystal reception, thankful for that. The Uruk saw things in new life unrealized by his hasty escape from the guard. Details were faint and outlined and the feedback fell short of horrible, but it played as any old-fashioned quality movie would and allowed him as much information as possible.

A great thud marked the final footstep unto the light from the black alley. The beast's hair flew behind him while his legs thrummed in harmonious rhythm towards the exit gate of Lomedor. Voices of Imperial authority rung from a distance and worried the Uruk little. His route would prove swift and act as a fail-safe for emergency escape. Finally, in these meek times things seemed to be looking up.

Dust kicked up with the tempo, and the shuddering silence caught the Uruk unaware. Stalls about the merchant district of this city closed, a shell of the former bustling crowd. Piercing eyes from within the safety of their houses examined the Uruk and whispered harsh prayers about him. A thought that was all but comforting and worsened. The clacking of approaching footsteps from all corners perked against Erokor's ears. Scent of man wafted at an alarmingly high rate. News stretched farther and faster than ever could the beast run.

Teeth gritted in silence, the crunching of fibrous bony fangs against each other a sickening melancholy. Desperation overcame the Uruk and he sought to make a wild step forth. Chance had never been tempted. From within the corner of peripheral vision a blurred participant stepped forth. His quavering fat hands held a steel war hammer and raised with a swiftness gifting luck rather than skill. No time was given to react, and the heavy rounded bullet struck the back of the Beast's head and ended his escape. It was no guard, and as fate chanced it, just a good honest citizen whose smithing skills were more than capable. Erokor minded himself to kill the fellow later if ever he was recognized. . .

And then the replay stopped, constrained by a solid wall of black Amnesia. The beast breathed heavily and awaited the response from the other, volatile or not. Too weak to truly hate the Lupine or assault it the beast could only tolerate and vocalize his neutrality lest he find himself torn limb from limb.

Despite the copious internal action spiraling the Uruk’s mind at the moment, the only reaction Quess actually observed, besides that absolutely disturbing nose crack there, was…

"Nah. . . 'oo be joo, nah?"

What in the world did that mean? Accustomed to speech much more clear and precise, Quess could only twitch her ears in confusion as Eroker grunted out his question. Nahvoo bejoo Nah ? Never be jew…nah? No, that couldn’t be it. Giving up on the half-orc before her as nothing but a mindless beast, Quess simply continued with her tantrum, despite thinking Eroker would not understand, if he could even hear he.

“I have had quite enough run-ins with the guards – I don’t need more complications or every other nonhuman crime being pinned on me! I don’t know what fancy nonsensical argument they’re going to throw at me now, and I couldn’t care less. What I do want to know is how a fool like you could of gotten me thrown into prison…That hair were mine, for sure…”

The short-lived tirade soon softened into her own private musing, her mumblings unintelligible to anyone else. How had it been possible at all for those stray strands of her fur had ended up at the crime scene…Or how she’d even ended up there for that matter! All she knew was that she had been headed to the tailor’s, amidst a sea of disapproving citizens…And the next thing she knew, she – probably turned around a corner of some sort – was face to face with all those bodies on the floor, guts and body parts stung all over the place.

Seething, Quess picked a stray hair out from under a claw and sat back on the bed, more like a slab of rock than something to sleep on.

In the center of the jail was a large pillar with a torch tightly bolted to it. The light was dim, the cells darkened as were the corners of the room. Vermin could be heard as they quickly scurried about along the cold stone floor. Damn, I hate rats. thought Elessar to himself. The Half Elf was tucked away in a corner nearby Erokor's prison cell.

Elessar eyed the Lupine fearfully as it continued to spout its rage. Having only seeing them in pictures while reading text books, Elessar felt fear plant its seed inside his mind. Seeing as the guard was up the stairs in another room to the Half Elf's left, Elessar decided to reveal his person to that of Erokor. He could only pray that the Orc new English. That and Sindarin were the only languages that Elessar spoke.

As silently as possible, Elessar got to his feat. With the Lupine's howls and roars echoing throughout the room and possibly a majority of the prison Elessar easily could get to his feet without being detected as long as he timed his movements correctly. Which he did.

"Psst, you there. Orc." whispered he, his right hand cupped around his mouth to help project his voice.

A rain droplet tumbled, falling upon a larger body of water. Erokor's vocalization was a ripple effect that tampered with the Lupine's temperment. Its hostility invoked satisfaction whilst shocking realization. Massive hips swung on their axis and feet fell upon ebon floor. Shadows rippled upon the stone floor and echoes alien rung out in weak tremor. Clanging of great bars rung against the dungeon and the scope of its massive entirety crammed itself within the beast's "confined" intellect. Eyes simply lavished upon the other and toyed with the idea of neutralizing its rage. It was a feat that could have easily accomplished itself at full strength (so said the bloated ego.).

Thunder rolled onwards, sourcing a great wolven maw. Fangs bared and eyes glowered disdainfully forth. An ethreal wound had offensed the beast and a brow arched. Nauseating waves of anger rolled sickly against the beast's stomach and forced him astute towards the other. Stature was irrelevant, the Uruk's massive width stood strong as it eyed a potent opponent. Tsk, rushed Erokor was into meager matters, his anger simply spewed from his mouth. Coarse jittery patterns relieved themselves upon the other.

"NAH! Foo' joo dink I am, boot eet is joo dat jumped to concluzionz! Dank yurself dat I eez wounded or I'd 'ave keeled yur mutt ass ba now, nah!"

The words seethed with timid atrocities. Erokor spoke only with direct thoughts, for subtle matters were foolish and consumed time specimens clearly did not have. Voice rung with a fire to the boom of the other's drum, but soon died as any climactic event would. Invisible hands lifted aching legs upon themselves for precious moments. They shook with evident troubles and once more they buckled inwards, collapsing on straw bed. Its impact did little to comfort the beast but he strived to make the best of the worst situation. He rolled upon the jagged edges and let his arms hang to limber themselves. Whatever provoked the beast of his hostility was gone.

Sanity had driven itself from the recesses of Erokor long ago. From the moment he'd tempted to dine upon the corpses, the cold unappeasing blood dizzied his thought and tendered his soul. It was an infestation that blurred his perception and senses. It was explanation for being caught by mediocre guards and citizens. Very clearly it seemed that Erokor dined upon a strong hemopoison. Its dilluted remnants failed his systems and drove him instincts outwards. He faced false death which initially seemed so very real.

Head turned inwards, and orbs looked upon the ceiling in its true lustless form. Chest rose with each slowed thud of his heart. Occiptal ridge rung its bell of melancholy once more and visions flew before him. This time, however, no illumination caused the shadow to dance. Figures, proportional figures flew in silence against the ceiling as if reflected upon a surface. Angular measurements would have shown that the shadow was approaching, not dancing as many delusions had. It was too static. .- No, Erokor was anticipating too many loose thoughts. Rest resolved conflict, and so he'd allow blankets to slip over his eyes...

"Psst, you there. Orc."

Cataclysmic greyed visions shuddered the beast's internal functions. Breath caught a pocket of air in Erokor's throat and his eyes snapped open. Mouth contorted in awry fashion as he forced himself upwards to look upon the undeciphrable shadows. Realism could not be percieved, but it could be heard and felt. Hell, Erokor could taste it had he wanted to. Once more had Erokor forced himself upwards upon aching stature. Eyes darted about the terrace warily, the slinking shadow of a human had dared chanced their luck to communicate. Further reason that they were pompous fools.

Dare the Uruk look upon the Lupine's reaction to this, what thoughts racing through her mind would lack pleasant authenticity. No, wild tantrums would be thrown, conclusions would be hopped upon and the bandwagon theory would entice above all others. What more could one suggest? A stealthy covert ops sort of man had snuck into the dungeon on some sort of stealth operation to retrieve the Uruk. Could it evidence any more the involvement of the Uruk in the murder that simply was not there. Twists had to straighten themselves, and harsh manneurisms were used to express outrage.

"Nah, imbeceele, 'oo are joo! Whut do yur wunt!"

Erokor's tongue was held against what truly wanted to be uttered. Outrage would invoke unnecessary attention. Regardless of how foolish the other one was, were he capable of prying them from the jaws of fate and alleviating both of them from death, and preventing feuds to bubble within the confines of the small cell. Detail was scarce as this one did well to hide himself within the shadows. An assassin of some sort? Perhaps a thief? Either one would have failed to display such recklessness, but their creed was far beyond the comprehension of one so brutish. Erokor merely awaited the pandemonium destined to follow.

"NAH! Foo' joo dink I am, boot eet is joo dat jumped to concluzionz! Dank yurself dat I eez wounded or I'd 'ave keeled yur mutt ass ba now, nah!"

What was he saying?... Nah! Food Jew dink I am, but it is Jew that jumped to conclusions? Dunk yourself that I E’s wounded or I’d have keeled your mutt ass baa now nah ? That was a rambling, totally incoherent jumble of words! Well…Quess understood PART of it, which meant that the Uruk spoke her language on at least a basic level…Meaning it had some wits about it after all. Quess watched, still with no idea of what was going on, watched the hulking beast flail about for a moment, before he settled down again, making little movements.

A hushed sound caught the lupine’s ears suddenly, as they flickered in surprise. But, with no time to think, she missed whatever had been said – in anything at all. Suspiciously, the stooped lupine looked at the Uruk, wondering what he had done. But suddenly he called out again, making no more sense than he had before. She head it as…

Nah! I’m be seal! Ooh, are Jew? What do your want?”

Quess was now glancing uncertainly at the beast before her, unsure of how to react. In the end, she decided it would be most logical to call a guard and ask what had happened, if possible.

“GUARDS! GET OVER HERE!”

The was a moment of silence. Elessar was dumbstruck. "Insolent fool! Do you know what you have done?!" hissed the half elf in outspoken rage. His mission had been compromised, almost too soon. Quickly getting to his feet, Elessar whirled around trying his best to find some sort of hiding place.

Standing up so suddenly caused his knees to crack. This sound also echoed throughout this small section of the jail. He winced, though shrugged it off and took a few steps back. Elessar took a deep breath, then vaulted himself towards the wall in front of him. His right leg was extended, his right foot perfectly vertical. His foot then landed with a silent tap, and he proceeded to take a few more large steps up the stone wall.

As he ran up, the half elf used his natural skills for agility to push off once more. He turned in mid-air to face the direction he and jumped from earlier and extended both his arms outward. Elessar landed perfectly, his hands gripped the wooden ceiling rafter rather tightly and he quickly hoisted himself upward and onto it. The shadows were his cover once more.

Of course this had not come without a price, even a small one. The old, dry wood and managed to do its own part in restricting the young acrobat from completing this new task set before him. Loose wood riddled with splinters penetrated the delicate skin on his hands and small trickles of blood began to seep from the now open wounds.

Lomedor was usually colder around these times, and it could be reflected in the activity on the streets. The trademark bustling crowds were minimalized, and one could choose a side of the road to walk on and proceed along it all the way to their destination rather than worry about moving away from merchant corners and back alley salesmen. Even gamblers ran rampant if you knew where to look. There were always the broken men with wide-brimmed hats, though at the coldest parts of the year they were usually fastened in place and long beyond the realm of the living. Feral cats, wild dogs, all of it. Lomedor would never attain the same peacefulness as the Estolad village, but it was a fair substitute when one wasn't keen on travelling.

Such a stillness was shattered by the gathered crowd and armed guards though, as men screamed bloody murder and all other manner of fear. Rystoff had originally been elbowing his way through the crowd, not caring for such spectacles. Deaths were common, especially in this dank city. Most people knew well enough to leave such things alone, and yet here they were making a ruckus. With practised disdain he quite sharply strode forward, a young boy in his way quickly pulled to the side by his father. The sandy blonde haired lad stared up at the armoured male in surprise, but Nathaniel was unable to return a sneer and harsh remark; his attention was affixed to a rather heavy set woman.

"Oi! It won' be 'appy till all us are right dead! A monster I's tell ya! Mickey 'ere saw it, didn't ye??" The woman, dressed in a patchwork of dresses, with all varying degrees of brown attesting to her lack of currency, turned to a crooked man beside her. The man wore a beard down to his knees, and was hunched forward from either a hard life of labour or a birth defect. Nathaniel imagined it may be the former, given the latter meant he would likely be disowned and left to fend for himself; hard to do when your shoulders are just barely above your waist. Unlike the well endowed lass he was thin, his face sunken to an almost deformed sort of collapse. His eyes were small and beady, mostly hidden under tangled strands of straw-dry white hair.

With a limp he lumbered forward, hands clasped painfully tight on a staff. A simple brown cloak, also missing patches, made up the clothing Nathaniel cared to examine. He knew the man no doubt wore pants and footwear for the outcry caused if he chose not to, but the words intrigued him more than such petty things. Sucking in a deep breath the man stopped in his lumbering, chest expanding comically. Then he exhaled slowly, and the entire crowd leaned forward as if to catch the whispered words on his very breath. The man chose that moment to get in a coughing fit, and everyone leaned back as a single unit to avoid the spittle. Again his whole form shook and trembled, and after what sounded like the coughing up of a man's lung he stopped. Raising one of his hands he wiped at the tears collected at his eyes, then slowly set it once more on the staff.

Once more the crowd leaned forward. The man trembled, shaking like a frail branch. Then his crusted, chapped lips parts, and words as soft as silk were eased between his teeth; "Is true." If the man said anymore it was drowned out, for immediately the crown broke out into loud chatter. The conversations were so diverse that one could not possibly hope to understand what was said. Quickly his eyes scanned the crowd, as if to relieve himself of the trouble of trying to find things out at the slow pace the couple (siblings?) offered. Instead he turned to the father near him, busily chatting to a balding man behind him.

"Sir. Do you know what's going on?" Nathaniel's voice fell to something of a friendly question, trying to hide his growing irritation. The man turned, looking him up and down slowly; resisting the urge to punch him in the mouth he merely raised an eyebrow in challenge. The man's eyes met Nathaniel's, and for a good minute they stared one another down. When finally the young lad from before tugged on his father's coat the man sighed, nodding. "They say some people got ripped apart way back. Like a monster or some such." Nathaniel nodded slowly, as if the information was new; it was anything but, yet still if he was to milk this man he needed to play nice.

"Do they know who did it? Surely it isn't safe out here for everyone?" For a moment the green eyes that met his made Nathaniel's stomach churn. The man lifted his chin, a distrust suddenly clouding his features from the simple question. Typical moron; Nathaniel was hardly a beast. "I wouldn't know. S'not my place." Nathaniel frowned, looking to the boy as he muttered, "Ah, I see." The father watched him unsurely, before giving a sigh. "Well, I guess if you'd gone done it you wouldn't need to ask, eh?" Nathaniel smiled his own disturbing smirk. "Of course." The man nodded slowly, looking to the two "reporters" the spectators were oogling. They didn't seem to be revealing anything new, so the man looked to Nathaniel and whispered slowly, so as not to be overheard. "Rumour is they caught the blokes that done it already. Some sorta wolf and troll." "Orc." Chimed in the boy perfectly, eyes remaining affixed ahead. The man looked to his son with a startled expression, Nathaniel gifting him with a rare smile of amusement.

"I uh... yeah. A wolf n' orc, or so the story goes. Paraded 'em earlier, so's that all could see." Nathaniel raised a hand to his chin, stroking his goatee thoughtfully as he considered the man's words. He nodded slowly, carefully. "I see. Do you know what they looked like, perchance?" Another suspicious look, which Nathaniel tried to quell with a laugh. "I've got a girl at home, you know. Pregnant and such. I certainly don't want her roaming if there's beasts around." Apparently the ploy worked, for immediately the man's face broke into a grin and he clapped Nathaniel harshly on the back-- nearly enough to knock the tall man over. "Well good on ya! Yeah, they were real peculiar folk. The troll thing," "Orc." The son chimed, though the father continued unabashed. "Was an ugly bloke. Stunk real bad, was pretty big too. The wolf, uh.. well, it was big. Real big." Nathaniel tried to be as friendly as possible. "Did you see what colour it was? I mean.. what if it were to transform into someone's normal dog?" The man seemed to consider this, also stroking his chin's stubble. "Yeah, I guess that's true. I think it was white, but it mighta been more of a golden colour."

"Nuh uh, it was white." Both men regarded the boy again, Nathaniel wearing the same amused smirk. The man stared long and hard, then turned to Nathaniel and shrugged. "Sounds right." His voice dropped lower. "I think it was black, really, but they threw stuff on it. So they could see it in the dark, y'know?" Hmm, it wasn't unheard of. Nathaniel nodded. "Well, thank you. I suppose I'll stop pestering you now." The man laughed, once again clapping Nathan on the back; this time the armoured human was ready for it and his knees were locked, keeping him from sprawling into more of the crowd members. "Good luck with that girl!" Nathan nodded, smiling. "Thanks." Then a loud, boisterous voice rang out over the crowd and people once again fell into silence. While they remained affixed on the broad woman he slipped back out, sliding into a side street so he could move with less obstruction.

"An orc and a wolf? I'm surprised the guards could handle both," Nathaniel strode easily down the street, hands resting comfortably in the pockets of his coat. "Likely a Rumour." Boots rung off the stone as he walked, the materials clashing with every step of the male. "Still, if everyone saw it... I might as well look into it." It was always odd to get a desire to look into things that weren't his business, mostly because he was usually swamped with his own work and goals. Really, this wasn't so out of the reach as one might expect. He had some knowledge of the crime and suspects, and it even seemed the man in the crowd had caught on to such a thing. Thank the Gods he hadn't asked for the name of his imaginary wife; Nathaniel was cunning, but poor with false names.

Bright day turned to a cloudy afternoon quickly. Hours passed in silence, the male mostly left alone. At one point a cat had decided to race between his legs and wrap about them, but a swift kick to the side of the feline had sent it skittering off. A few beggars had made the unwise choice of approaching him, and he regrettably had shoved one quite harshly when she followed him incessantly. The sound of her hitting the ground had been sharp, and he hadn't the will to look back and see if she'd injured anything. She stopped following him and he was happy to be rid of poor breath and grubby hands. At most he'd likely only knocked a few teeth out of the old woman's skull.

"Halt!" The sharp voice made him stop abruptly, legs going into an automatic lock as he stiffened. His gaze, once affixed to the ground in contemplation, lifted up to regard the soldier before him. A simple red tunic with silver chain mail, armoured legs and boots. A sword was at his side, and a round, common helmet sat upon his cranium. Brown eyes met Nathaniel, and both men were flooded with recognition. "Nate?" "Michael." A smile snuck across Nathaniel's lips, though it was the other who initiated a hug. "By the Gods, I haven't seen you in ages! I thought you were dead after that spat with the council!" Nathaniel chuckled, though it was dry and lacked any soul. "Yeah, me too. Here I am, though. What are you doing out here, shouldn't you be out in battle?" The man pulled away from him, swaying on his heels. "Nah, they needed more city guards and I volunteered. It sounded like it'd be easier." Nathaniel smirked as the other frowned, Michael no more than nineteen and yet talking as if he were a man that'd seen the world.

"More boring, though. But hey, fancy this!" He playfully nudged Nathan in the shoulder, and the other shook his head with clear fondness. "So what is it you're guarding, anyways?" Nathaniel had been focused on the man, but now he let his gaze rove the building behind him. Ah, of course; the jail. Here the prisoners were stored; everything from simply stealing a few crusts to slaughtering a dozen innocents. The building was entirely stone on the outside, and was chipped and marred by age. Some of the stones had worn a black colour in their age, others fading to a soft grey. It was as poor to look at as that woman, but unlike her the inside was anything but fair. Though the upstairs was fine, the dark basement where everyone was kept was as much a punishment as execution.

"Well, just between us two? They brought new prisoners. Guys who went and did the ripping." Nathaniel leaned back. "Really now?" An eager nod, the young lad clearly caught up in his own voice. He had a pretty face but feminine shoulders, hardly worthy of a warrior. Still, Nathaniel had enjoyed his company. "Yep. Two big monsters. Vicious things, could easily tear a man apart. Killed twenty-two guards just as we tried to haul 'em in!" Like most young men, he was exaggerating. Like most older men, Nathan could tell. Humouring him, he asked in a low voice; "Can I see them?" Michael's mouth, which had been open to no doubt spew about how he had heroically helped in the effort to bring them in, closed abruptly.

"Uh... what?"

Nathaniel smiled, nudging the other. "Come on, just for a minute? I used to work here you know, it isn't as if I'm going to do anything stupid." The man looked unsure. "But I'll get in trouble, we're meant to keep everyone out, lest a mob or something get in."

A broad, hearty laugh rung out in the streets, and Rystoff bent over in delight as he laughed, tears of mirth streaming from his eyes. The boy watched for a long moment in uncertainty, before a smile slowly crossed his features and he offered a, "Ha.. ha?"

"Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. I'm flattered you think so highly of me, but really? A mob? Come now, you know I can't do anything like that. It isn't as if anyone is around, anyways. I'll just be a moment. Come on, for old times' sake?" Another flattering smile, and the boy sighed softly. "Oh, alright. But... be quick, alright? I don't think you'll even get to see them, anyways." Nathaniel didn't ask, just patted the other robustly on the shoulder and opened the doors for himself, striding in to the place. As soon as he walked in he immediately learned why the other had little faith in his abilities.

It was a mess upstairs. The place, meant for sorting out paper work and dragging in people to be tagged, was almost entirely empty. The men were no doubt on their breaks and had gone to eat in separate rooms, leaving the place empty. A single guard lay resting at a table, head rested on his arms and sword sheathed. On the table rested the confiscated weapons; a certain dagger caught his eye most immediately. The sleeping guard's hair was trimmed short and he had a moustache, though that was mostly obscured by his angle. It wasn't needed to get closer though; Nathaniel recognized the man instantly. Jevon, an old friend that he'd seen through some thick and thin times. Sometimes friends, sometimes enemies. They'd done so much together he doubted there was anything else left to experience, as far as encountering another human went of course.

"No sleeping on the job!" He barked harshly, moving to the side of the table to slam his hands down harshly on it. Aimed correctly, he was able to swipe the dagger into his sleeve before the other noticed. He felt splinters from the unpolished wood prick his left palms but it wasn't anything he sought to focus on while he had someone to toy with and a dagger to steal. The man, Jevon as he was so named, jumped bolt upright and nearly stood at attention. When a dark chuckle reached his ears he blinked blearily, then fixed Nathan with a glare. "What was that for?? Are you daft??" Then, after a moment, "Nate..? Nate! What're you doing here??"

He mentally decided he needed to stop by more often. This was a terribly pleasurable experience. "Enjoying the ferret on your face, Jevon?" A pointed glare. "Still a comedian, I see." Nathaniel smirked. "Hardly, you just play the part of clown so well. If you're feeling particularly generous though, I heard you had quite the fascinating prisoners..." Jevon sat back down, rubbing his arms and giving a loud yawn, flashing yellowed teeth at the other man. "So? It isn't like you can see them." Nathaniel tilted his head, not sitting. "Just the opposite, Jevon. An unnamed noble wishes me to speak with them, to ah... ascertain what I may from them." Jevon chuckled. "And this unnamed noble wouldn't happen to be unreal as well, would he?" Nathan merely waved his hand. "Mock all you wish, Jevon. I was sent here on my skills; you should know well of them." The moustached man rubbed the back of his head unsurely, before parting a sigh. "Nate, I swear if I find out this is fake..."

That was when Nathaniel scowled, and the temperature in the room seemed to get that much colder. "Whatever you may think of me, do not dare call me a liar. You know me better than that; or have you grown daft in my absence?" Jevon shifted uncomfortably, though his set eyes showed no submission. "It seems odd that they would be questioned when we already know they did it. What could a noble possibly want to know?" Here a think smile graced Nathan. "That's for me alone to know."

"No, it isn't." Jevon rose, Nathaniel watching him like a cat watches the fish in a bowl. "If you're going down there, I'm coming with you. There are rules to be followed, and last I saw you didn't know what those were." Nathaniel growled, a soft, irritated growl, then looked away. "Fine. But you tell no one of this meeting or what is gleaned." Jevon nodded, and with a sigh Nathaniel walked over to his side. They walked towards the door, and Jevon muttered, "I can't believe I missed you." Nathaniel chuckled. "The feeling is mutual." The tone of his voice had lifted though, and it seemed the initial tension had been over come. A good thing, for the door opening revealed what could only be described as the culmination of suffering.

Moans and laments of those wishing freedom rattled throughout the place. In the far back wooden planks affixed to walls held men, and where it had been affordable shackles chained them instead. Large cages contained prisoners along the left, some large ones holding grouped prisoners who could be shackles to wheels and whipped at the torturers convenience, and still other cages were small and contained only single prisoners. The stench of the place hit Nathaniel full force, who had been able to blissfully escape the stench of human filth for a small while. The reek was enough to make him believe it'd waited for him, though. As they descended the stairs Jevon grasped a convenient torch from the wall, and Nathaniel was able to enjoy the stimulating visuals of cracked and ruined stairs. This place could really use some repairs....

"GUARDS! GET OVER HERE!" The loud shout made both men pause, looking at one another. A smile broke across Nathaniel's lips though, that could truly be called only sinister. "I know that voice. Don't worry, no need to rush. Don't want to cater, do we?" Jevon nodded slowly, accepting Nathan's words. He had no reason to suspect the other was simply buying time to think; hard to do when rats kept scurrying past. "You should really invest in a cat. A female one, at that. Males tend to be terribly ineffectual." Jevon shook his head. "I'm not wasting money on nothing for this place. Not like I don't pay enough into it already."

A smile. Some things never changed.

They fell into something of a silence, seeming to get at the cage within an instant and eternity at the same moment. Nathaniel smiled at the sight of the two prisoners. "Well now, here's two friends! Quite a find, to be sure." Jevon looked to him unsurely, raising a brow. "These two are friends?" Nathaniel smiled, turning to regard the other. "Yes. And ever have you been a true one, even to the last." The move was lightening quick, but with an instant he had an arm around the other's waist and had forced the dagger up out of his sleeve and into his hand, stabbing it deeply into the other's side. The man gasped against his shoulder, staring up in shock as the blade was pulled up harshly. The man tried to mutter something, but with a great shudder was instead forced to still. Considering the brutality of the actions, Nathaniel set him down quite lightly against the stone floor. Then, with sickening squealches he grasped some of the severed intestine within Jevon, and pulled them out to mess about. The effect made the wound larger, and to the untrained eye looked like he'd been torn open a lot more brutally than he had.

Nathaniel had worked this road before. He knew the ins and outs.

"You two have quite the story racked up about you, you know," He muttered over his shoulder, trying to perfect the body. "Naturally, I wanted to come see for myself." After wiping his hand on the shirt of the other he rose, regarding Erokor and Quess. "You I'd believe ripping apart people," He told Erokor pointedly, before his eyes rolled onto Quess. "But you? No. Which means one of two things; they're wrong, or I'm wrong." Nathaniel sighed with mock sadness. "I really do hope, for poor Jevon's sake, that I'm right. You see, I'm here to spring you out!" Nathan spread his arms grandly, causing the bloodied hand to splatter droplets of it everywhere. Seemingly noticing this he calmed down, settling. His eyes were alive though, a fire burning just under the paper-flesh. "Of course, I can't do everything." He gave Jevon a harsh kick, then nodded at them.

"The guards will likely be finished eating in fifteen minutes. Maybe a bit more; they've a lot to talk about. If you value your lives, you'll be gone by then. Hopefully the real killer will emerge, and well, everything will work out happily ever after. Or, however that goes." Once again he grew tame, and he regarded the blade in his hand with some disdain. "Here, a gift." He tossed it at the bars, aiming it low so it would skitter into the cell. Then he set above moving Jevon's corpse with his foot over near the bars, just out of reach. "Get his keys, and you'll get out." For the first time he looked genuinely thoughtful, and he tilted his head with true curiosity and full tameness once more. "That is what you want, isn't it, my friends?"

( Please note, I'm happy to edit any of this if need be. Just send me a line.)