|
|
Post by Orrë the Wise on Dec 31, 2005 17:42:24 GMT
Cile walked through the black lands, comming from the south along the Misty Mountains. Dressed in war armor of Mithril, his finely crafted war hammer in one hand. "Morsereg! Come and fight me! Do not cower in your fortress of darkness. You wanted me dead. Now is your chance."
|
|
|
|
Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 31, 2005 17:46:09 GMT
"At long last, the coward shows himself," Morseregs voice slithered from the shadows as he walked to meet Cile. "Why did you run at Moria? A true man would have stayed and fought. But, ah, yes, that's right," He drew his sword from its sheath, eyes locking along the runes enscribed upon the sword. "You aren't a true man."
|
|
|
|
Post by Orrë the Wise on Dec 31, 2005 18:05:26 GMT
"You made me. I am your vision. I am your thoughts. So tell me, father, what am I?" His grip on the hammer strengthened, a small grin spread accross his face. "A wise person knows when to retreat. When to give up. Apparently you are not a wise person, Morsereg Dindaedel. Especially for believing in your small-minded decision of allies. Your brother plots against you even now, but unconcerning to you. You are too power-hungry to notice or even care. But when the deceptional cloak is whipped off, you will see. You will see that your creation was right, and you were blind."
|
|
|
|
Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 31, 2005 18:19:07 GMT
Morsereg laughed softly as what little sun that could reach Angmar even now clouded over, his hand silently tightening its grasp of the sword hilt. "Wise, nay I am not wise. I am beyond that. A true genius can see the way to win in any situation, meaning there is no reason to retreat."
"Do not speak of my allies, wretched creature!" He growled, "You are the one who is lost. You assault the lands of the Free with your Bats...and now you run to them for aid? They will steer clear of you. You are all alone. Soon you will be overpowered with no place to run. And this pointless game of cat and mouse will be over." He idly kicked a rock out of his way.
"I shall not be the blind one, nay. You will. For when you are in the ground, what use is there to see? You will eventually go blind, and not even the Valar will accept you." He let a demonic smirk crawl onto his face. "And lest we forget which of us does not feel pain. I passed on my likeness to you, and small doses of my strength. Nothing of my Maiar powers. Nothing even closely related to the true stature of my powers. And, most of all, nothing of my curse." He swung the sword idly at his side, "Come then, Cile," As his eyes grew darker with the skies, his voice became much less bored and much more serious.
"Let's finish this."
|
|
|
|
Post by Orrë the Wise on Dec 31, 2005 18:34:16 GMT
"I do not pretend to be something I am not."
Cile growled and shrugged. He let his malat drop to the ground, refusing to fight. "Darkness only leads to darkness. There is no fighting. Kill me, as you wish to do. Stab me, father, for I am not worthy enough for you." The younger man walked forward a few steps, eyes locked on Morsereg's. "Destroy the person who has the power to destroy you." His voice was hoarse and just above a whisper, just feet away from the demon of a Maiar.
|
|
|
|
Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 31, 2005 18:58:27 GMT
(Okay, I'm taking this to mean you're letting me kill you. If not I'll mod my post.)
Morsereg nodded, tossing his sword to the side. In instants, with his eyes not moving from Cile's, his left hand was on Cile's throat, clutching tight enough to keep his grip but not enough to kill him. "Stab you? Nay, I will not give you the pleasure of a quick death where you would get to keep your soul. You won't have an afterlife to go to, Cile." He began to slowly breathe in, and as he did a small light emitted from his sons mouth, going into his. He was slowly sucking out Cile's soul, taking it into his own body, slowly absorbing what little life his son had, regaining all the power he had sacrificed. As he began to bring it to a closure, Cile began to speak.
|
|
|
|
Post by Orrë the Wise on Dec 31, 2005 19:06:14 GMT
Cile winced, legs giving way so he was simply hanging there by the thick hands of his creator. Pupils went black as death slowly took him, yet his head turned to continue to stare. Silvery-blue hair messily drapped over his face as his hand rose to just barely touch the skin on Morsereg's face though his black elather glove. "I love you, father. Regardless." That said, his body slowly became limp.
|
|
|
|
Post by Morsereg Dîndaedel on Dec 31, 2005 21:40:06 GMT
Morsereg tossed his son to the ground, eyeing the abomination. "Love? You could never know love." He whispered to his sons body, driving his foot into it mercilessly a few times before picking it up and tossing it over his shoulder, walking off into the mist.
|
|
