Post by Valdrik on Dec 31, 2005 20:12:44 GMT
For some time now the Elves of Middle Earth had journeyed to Mithlond. They came in great numbers, boarding ships to make their voyage to the Undying Lands. They left their hardships and the stifes of Middle Earth to live in peace, and untill now their voyages had gone without toil.
The morning was brisk and the Elven sailor pulled his cloak tight around his body to keep warm. Dawn would come soon and his watch would end. HIs mind was more on the warmth of his bunk than of watching the horizon for any perils that lay before them. Though, it mattered naught, how many times had they made this voyage unhindered. Steam rose off the water and mixed with the falling fog as first light broke on the horizon behind the ship. The Elf stretched his arms in anticipation of his relief arriving and readied himself to climb down from his perch in the crow's nest.
This is when he saw it. Before he had believed the other watchmen to be lying. Telling tales to frighten him. But now he saw it with his own eyes, the ghost of a great dragon approaching in the mist. He rubbed his eyes and leaned forward, peering out for a better glimpse, but just as suddenly as it had appeared it had vanished. His heartbeat slowed and he laughed a little, cursing the others that had told him these ghosts stories. He wouldn't let his imagination get the best of him and be the jest of the others jokes for the remainder of the trip.
He leaned back against the mast, lifted his face towards the sky and closed his eyes as the suns warm rays began to break through the thick fog. Finally the chill began to leave him. A smile curled on his lips and as he drew in the fresh morning air and listened to the cry of the gulls that accompanied their vessel most every day.
The arrow hit him with great speed and his eyes flashed open as he grasped his throat. His face was a mixture of shock and terror as he looked before him. A fleet of ships approached silently out of the breaking fog. Long boats carved from white cedar with great cavings of dragons and serpents adorning bows. Vikings.
He reached frantically for the bell rope, he must sound the alarm! His arms flailed above him, but the effort was in vain. The arrow pierced his neck and lodged deeply into the mast, pinning him there. He let out a cry but found he had no voice. All he could do was sit there bleeding...... and listening.
The sounds were awfull and agonizing. The Elven men had no warning and their deaths cames swiftly. He could hear their grunts and groans as they were slain. Next came the sound of the women and children. Crying and screaming, begging, sobbing. The children cried out in horror as they watched their mother being ravaged and torn apart by the Viking Terror. The Elven watchman's heart sank as his thoughts settled upon his wife and children. He could no longer hold his emotion and began sobbing, causing blood to spew and gurgle from his neck.
Soon it was over though, the crying, the screaming, it all faded away. The screams were replaced now with chanting in some foul tounge he knew naught of, but it was all to apparent to him what had become of his friends and his family. All were lost.
He opened his eyes one last time, seeing the sun now before the ship. They had turned. This vessel would never make it to the shores of the Undying lands, nor would many that followed. Unbeknownst to the watchmen this was not the first Elven vessel that had met this fate. Siezed by the Vikings of Enedwaith and added to their great fleet.
The arrow's shaft finally gave way and snapped under the wieght of the dying elf and his body fell limp on the floor of the crowes nest, his dull lifeless eyes still staring forward as his blood spilled from his neck, trikling through the planks and staining the white sails of the ship with blood.
The morning was brisk and the Elven sailor pulled his cloak tight around his body to keep warm. Dawn would come soon and his watch would end. HIs mind was more on the warmth of his bunk than of watching the horizon for any perils that lay before them. Though, it mattered naught, how many times had they made this voyage unhindered. Steam rose off the water and mixed with the falling fog as first light broke on the horizon behind the ship. The Elf stretched his arms in anticipation of his relief arriving and readied himself to climb down from his perch in the crow's nest.
This is when he saw it. Before he had believed the other watchmen to be lying. Telling tales to frighten him. But now he saw it with his own eyes, the ghost of a great dragon approaching in the mist. He rubbed his eyes and leaned forward, peering out for a better glimpse, but just as suddenly as it had appeared it had vanished. His heartbeat slowed and he laughed a little, cursing the others that had told him these ghosts stories. He wouldn't let his imagination get the best of him and be the jest of the others jokes for the remainder of the trip.
He leaned back against the mast, lifted his face towards the sky and closed his eyes as the suns warm rays began to break through the thick fog. Finally the chill began to leave him. A smile curled on his lips and as he drew in the fresh morning air and listened to the cry of the gulls that accompanied their vessel most every day.
The arrow hit him with great speed and his eyes flashed open as he grasped his throat. His face was a mixture of shock and terror as he looked before him. A fleet of ships approached silently out of the breaking fog. Long boats carved from white cedar with great cavings of dragons and serpents adorning bows. Vikings.
He reached frantically for the bell rope, he must sound the alarm! His arms flailed above him, but the effort was in vain. The arrow pierced his neck and lodged deeply into the mast, pinning him there. He let out a cry but found he had no voice. All he could do was sit there bleeding...... and listening.
The sounds were awfull and agonizing. The Elven men had no warning and their deaths cames swiftly. He could hear their grunts and groans as they were slain. Next came the sound of the women and children. Crying and screaming, begging, sobbing. The children cried out in horror as they watched their mother being ravaged and torn apart by the Viking Terror. The Elven watchman's heart sank as his thoughts settled upon his wife and children. He could no longer hold his emotion and began sobbing, causing blood to spew and gurgle from his neck.
Soon it was over though, the crying, the screaming, it all faded away. The screams were replaced now with chanting in some foul tounge he knew naught of, but it was all to apparent to him what had become of his friends and his family. All were lost.
He opened his eyes one last time, seeing the sun now before the ship. They had turned. This vessel would never make it to the shores of the Undying lands, nor would many that followed. Unbeknownst to the watchmen this was not the first Elven vessel that had met this fate. Siezed by the Vikings of Enedwaith and added to their great fleet.
The arrow's shaft finally gave way and snapped under the wieght of the dying elf and his body fell limp on the floor of the crowes nest, his dull lifeless eyes still staring forward as his blood spilled from his neck, trikling through the planks and staining the white sails of the ship with blood.
