Harbringer — Roleplayer Guild

One by one, the other members of the slave line shuffled past him into the cart. With each one that passed, Eltharion's visage grew more disappointed, until he was simply standing straight, his fist clenched and his teeth gritted. His forest green eyes shone brightly in the dim light of the dawn light but they were downcast. Of course, he had been a bit...foolish with his thoughts. It was simply because he had been captured and thrown into the tumultuous events that were now transpiring. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that he had just wanted something simple to calm himself, like swift, brutal revenge. Of course being an unarmed mob of 10 rushing an entire garrison would be crushed with no effort. Not even one of them would even make it out. He was ashamed, both as an elf and as a commander. But he was too stubborn to admit it. 

The first to pipe up was the second elf, who managed to rationalise both her thoughts, and his. Hearing the words come from the mouth of another elf in the same situation truly shamed him. She may not have been part of the military proper, but she had the resolve of one. Of course, he didn't say so, but he did lock eyes with her as she passed. Next was the orc who stepped out of line and affirmed his intentions to fight in the arena. Though he may never had met one, Eltharion could already tell that this one was...different. From the texts and stories, he had thought all orcs to be violent savages, revelling in bloodshed and death. Though he was not sure if those stories were embellished or not, it seemed that this one trumped those stereotypes, voicing his opinions and reasoning.  Eltharion  let out a small nod with his eyes closed. He spoke fairly and with merit. Once again, he was reminded of how childish he had been. Like a chastised youngling, he took a step back. 

The next one surprised him. Although the image of a small child sitting on the shoulder of a gigantic beastman's shoulder was reason for a spectacle enough, the child's next words stunned the elf and a few others besides. "A slightly pessimistic view is that not?" Eltharion said as he took a step forward, his arms folded, "though we may be locked into servitude, I refuse to accept that I will die in the pits." Turning to face some of the other fighters, he grimaced before turning back. "However, it seems that we are unwilling to fight the city garrison either so the arena is our only choice, and I will be damned if I die this far away from my birthplace." Then, to further add to the surprise, the bear creature spoke up, its voice deep and primal, like the creaking of boughs in the wind. Subtly taking a step back to hide his surprise, Eltharion was slightly shocked that such a beast could speak in Common. In his experience, the larger the beast tribe, the more brawn they had over brains, and considering that the elves had the most contact with beastmen out of any other race, it was drawing from a lot of experience. Clearing his throat, the elf assumed a more respectful position. "I care not how strong I get," he said as he looked over and spotted a dwarf in their formation, "only that I am able to return and defend my people." There was some poorly concealed malice in his words, but that was only to be expected considering how he got here.

Turning around, he met the gaze of the Lanista who's face was locked into a lop sided grin as the other side nestled his pipe, the occassional puff of smoke leaking out. He raised his eyebrows knowingly before standing up and moving aside, leaning on the side of the cart. 'Don't look so smug,' Eltharion thought to himself as he took a step towards the back of the cart, ascending the ramp in a series of soft, dull thuds on the aging wood. The interior was dark and musty, lit only by the pair of barred windows on either side which allowed the blue-grey light of the early morning to leak in. Bare apart from the built in wooden benches on either side, the grey-brown wood already had some moss starting to grow. Taking a seat next to a particularly colourful skytalon, Eltharion breathed a sigh into cupped hands, resting his elbows on his knees. At the very least, the cart was roomy. Probably to make room for that giant bear-like beastman outside he thought as he let out a slight groan. With all the adrenaline from earlier burning away he suddenly felt more tired than before he had gone to sleep. As he closed his eyes, he could feel himself drifting off to sleep, and the more he tried to fight it the heavier his eyelids felt. 

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A particularly chest wracking cough awakened Eltharion from his little nap. Opening his eyes with some effort, he focussed on the skytalon who was doubled over as his mottled feathers ruffeld with the pain. Too tired to really care, he nestled the back of his head further into his furry pillow...wait a minute...Snapping up with a speed that would have put a spike wall trap to shame, his head flicked around and focussed on the hirsute arm of the bear beast tribesman. This elicited a guffaw of laughter from the thunderhoof tribesman who looked at him with cruel red eyes. "Like a child in every way," he said as he leaned back against the rough wood of the cart, his nose ring swinging with the movement. "A veteran grabs sleep where he can so that he may meet the enemy with more vigour," Eltharion replied as he stifled a yawn. Locking eyes with the bull as he sank into a more comfortable position on the seat, he displayed a small smile. "You obviously wouldn't know though, being a nubling," he said, the smirk remaining on his face. "What did you call me!?" the bull roared, rising to the bait as he stood up, his hooves thudding loudly on the wooden flooring. It was then that the cart rolled over a particularly large bump in the road, sending the beast tribesman sprawling as he lost his balance. Reaching down, Eltharion offered a hand to him. "Besides," he said, the smirk being replaced by an attempt at a smile, "I think we will have enough enemies in the arena without making more amongst our own company." Snorting loudly, the thunderhoof slapped his hand away before climbing to his feet and returning to his seat.

The wagon rolled on for a while longer in silence, broken only by the occassional clack and bump as the metal rimmed wheels met a rock on the poorly paved road. Looking to the side, he saw the giant, clawed hand of the bear tribesman once more and a thought occurred to him. It would probably be best to garner as many allies as he could before they were given weapons, wouldn't it? "So...may I ask what brought you all here, Serons?," he asked, using the Elvish word for an auxiliary ally. In their endless war with the Dwarves, elves often employed beastmen and other mercenaries in their ranks in return for certain rights and assistance. As such, they had a specific vocabulary for referring to their allies, whose strengths and cultures they deeply respected, or at least tried to.
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Death to Asgard!

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