Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Warning: torture and violence

Chapter fifteen: Journey to the Stars

Dima pushed them all to the very limit. They were still a day and a half away from Barabor’s reported position, and he wondered how long it would take Nanern and the recruit to get to them, bring them towards the south and gain the valuable time he knew they would need.

He turned his head to the rest of his company as they galloped on, enshrouded in a cloud of dust, for here, the ground was dry, although not yet barren. They stood upon their stirrups, allowing their horses more freedom of movement, their skirts and capes flowing behind them, like banners in the charge. Their faces were set in a grimace that would send the bravest of elves to quaking, their chestnut hair flying around them, broken only by the darker mane of their Noldo warrior. Four were missing, four brothers taken by evil’s minions, and they would not stop until they brought them back to the light and struck down those that had dared to harness them. Time was of the essence - if they were lucky and rescue could be carried out within 48 hours, maybe, just maybe, they would avoid what they already knew, was inevitable.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Sometime later, a scout thundered into the Western Detachment’s camp, two warriors hot on his heels. They skidded to a halt and, to the utter awe of those that looked on, one was already on the ground, panting hard as he doubled over, placing his unusually strong arms upon his skirted thighs. It was then that Barabor realized who this was – it was Nanern, of The Company.

“Lieutenant, what has happened? Speak!” he cried harshly, as he strode towards him, for his mind was way ahead by now, realizing that something dire had happened further south. He regretted his tone, however, as the warrior stood to meet his eyes, his chest still heaving, his voice coming in forced spurts, alternating with harsh whispering when it failed him.

“Abnormal orc activity to the south-east. Brethil is razed to the ground, its inhabitants slaughtered. The Company requires help, there are at least two large groups – they were closing in on us when we left, almost two days ago…”

Barabor held out his hand and placed it on the heaving shoulders of Nanern. “Take food and water, we ride out in fifteen minutes. We will provide you with fresh mounts for the ride back, you must guide us.”

“Captain, I request you send a scout to the eastern and itinerary detachments, each group is fifty strong at least, an inordinate number of which are Uruks.”

Barabor’s eyes were wide, for these were dire numbers indeed, numbers he would expect closer to the Tower, yet so far north was not a habitual occurrence at all.

“Wargs?”

“We have not seen any,” replied Nanern, finally finding his voice.

Barabor simply nodded briskly, as he called two of his warriors, giving them their orders.

Nanern nodded in satisfaction, help was on the way, ‘they would be saved’, he repeated to himself incessantly, he would see to it, for he would not allow it to happen again. Turning around to face the recruit, he smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “We will get them back, I swear it!” he whispered fiercely, to which the recruit smiled wickedly, taking Nanern’s breath away momentarily, for he had only ever seen a scowl like that upon his commander’s face…

“And I will help you,” he replied boldly. Nanern smiled wickedly then, for here, was a recruit no more, this one, now had a warrior name…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Three Uruks moved over to Hwindo, yanking him up on unsteady feet, before one promptly swung its iron-clad fist into his gut, winding him and sending him to his knees once more, wrenching a pained groan from their victim. He was now surrounded by them - they leered, mouths twisting horrifically to reveal the fetid teeth inside the leathery flesh of their faces, their eyes gleaming in lustful anticipation. They snarled and gnashed their jaws, sending a cloud of stench into the air, much to the enjoyment of the orcs that had inched forward as far as they dared to watch the spectacle that was surely to come.

“Beria,” whispered Idhreno, knowing what was about to happen. “Listen to me. They will not kill him, however much it may seem like it. They will beat and torment him, but as yet, they will not disable, for however much they wish to torture, they seek information that will not be given. Remember your training, he will delay as much as he can, more than you will believe him capable, do you understand me?”

Beria listened as he watched Idhreno with wide eyes. He wanted to believe it, but his mind was taking him down another road, and Idhreno saw it.

“Trust me, Beria, I have been here before, as has Hwindo. I know of what I speak,” he said, as he held the young warrior’s gaze, willing him to see the truth in his words.

Idhreno glanced at Rafno then, and caught the look of grief upon his dark features, not quite sure how to interpret it. At least he was not panicking, and so he left him to his own devices. Little did he know that Rafno was immersed in his memories of that fatidic day he and his twin had found their mother, in a camp not unlike this one, for the smells were the same, the feeling of dread, the incomprehension that assailed him every time he pondered the nature of darkness – he only hoped that the outcome would not be the same.

The strange one approached the now, barely standing commander, a strange purring under its breath as it circled him. His hair was beautiful, it thought. It would ask its master to gift it with hair like this, as a reward for the information it would glean. Its hand suddenly lashed out and struck Hwindo across the face, sending him to the floor with barely enough time to register the Uruk’s boots as they were buried into his middle, kicking him twice before stepping back, watching in delight as the elf curled into himself on the floor. It realized then, that the dark elf was watching, his eyes wide, searching. He cared and was trying not to show it.

Yes, he had chosen wisely.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

It was but hours later that Barabor and the Western Detachment met with a relieved Dima and what remained of The Company. They had sent their bird calls forth when first they sensed the presence of the detachment, and Nanern in turn, had informed Barabor that The Company was approaching from the south. As they slowed and met, Nanern and the recruit were reunited with their brothers, and all were immediately briefed on the dire turn of events that had spurred their mad dash through the forest. Scant minutes later, the two detachments faced south and set forth with Dima and The Company at the fore. Barabor’s elves took turns to ride abreast of them, reaching out their hands in a silent gesture of comfort, a gesture that brought a wave of love and gratitude over them all, such that their hearts ached, as the faces of their brothers came to the fore – they would not fall, they could not, not with warriors like these.

“Valar let us not be too late,” murmured Dima, although Pengon and Ram en’ heard him - his words had reflected their own silent pleas perfectly.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

It bent down, taking the lovely hair in its fist and pulled up the elf’s head, its own face just inches away from the kneeling warrior.

“I want information, I wish to know how many warriors constitute the ‘Mirkwood’ army. What armaments you possess, the organization of your patrols – that sort of thing, I am sure you understand. Now, will you indulge me?” it asked. It knew, of course, that there would be no immediate answer, for that was the nature of the game, he knew, and so did the elf he had chosen, he was sure, for his eyes were bold yet wise, and if his suspicions were correct, he was also their leader, he would be well-trained to endure situations such as this.

It smiled sadistically then, watching as the emotions flashed over the fair face of its elven captive, a face it would so much enjoy destroying, distorting beyond recognition.

“So nice, it smiled sadistically as he fisted the blond locks that had so mesmerized it since they had caught the elves. Tilting the head back to look into the elf’s eyes, it was disappointed to find only steely resolve in the crystalline green irises, no fear, no panic, only pure defiance. This one would be a challenge to its training. It lingered a while, fascinated by its own reflection that smirked back from the large, black pupils. A strange feeling assailed it then, one that it didn’t quite understand, making it angry as its face contorted into one of sadistic intent. Gripping the commander’s leather jerkin in both hands, it ripped the garment apart, pouring its own frustration into a movement so violent it sent Hwindo’s hair flying around him, throwing the leather to the ground as if it were a sheet of parchment. It took a firm grip on the strong chin, pulling the elf first towards him, and then pushing backwards into the group of waiting Uruks, who cheered as they moved in, as Rafno struggled futilely against his bonds, for he was destined, as where the others, to watch the beating the Uruks would inflict. Rafno looked around frantically, willing his unit to materialize and rescue the king, yet they could not be there, for if they were, surely they would have reacted by now, besides, it was too early, it would be at least late evening tomorrow before he could even start to think of rescue. Idhreno, however, remained silent as he stared at the floor, his face a practiced mask of indifference, and Rafno wondered at just how much experience this elf had had in other, similar circumstances, for what he did was one of the most difficult feats that he could imagine, to remain impassive in the face of wanton violence.

All they could hear were thuds, gasps and a few strangled moans as the king was mercilessly kicked and punched. The strange one watched in sadistic fascination, yet there was an odd crease to its brow, something that puzzled Rafno, for it seemed confused, disconcerted almost, yet how could that possibly be? It approached Rafno then, crouching down to speak into his pointed ear.

“Does it not make your skin tingle, excite you beyond your wildest fantasies, make you hard to see beauty spoilt and broken?” it purred sadistically, sending its stinking hot breath into Rafno’s sensitive ear. I could kill him and save his suffering – and yours, if you would but tell me what I wish to know... How many warrior’s in the Greenwood army? Hum?” it asked softly. Rafno kept his eyes on the group of Uruks before him, weighing up his possibilities. He could lie, or remain silent. However, before he could decide on a strategy, the Uruk stood and called a halt to the proceedings, the Uruks moving away immediately, their chests heaving with the effort they had put into the beating, eyes aflame in unspent desire, for they wanted more.

“When next we see each other, I will have my answer,” it said calmy, “from you,” it pointed at the tree, “or him,” pointing at the prostrate body that lay unmoving upon the ground. With a nod of its head, they were gone, back to the tents, leaving the orc on watch to drag the inert body closer to the tree and his companions, taking the limp arms and tying them harshly behind his beaten and bruised back.

Idhreno’s face transformed then into one of wrath and indignation, utterly breaking the spell of indifference from before, as he trained his eye on the body at their feet. He didn’t move at all, and in spite of Rafno’s desperate hisses for him to wake, silence was all he received. The golden hair was splayed around his head, obscuring his face, yet revealing his back and side, which were red and purple in some places, where the blows had been hardest.

Beria’s eyes were closed, beads of sweat now too heavy with accumulated moisture, began to trickle down his face, his heart finally slowing its frantic beating as his muscles began to lose their tension, leaving him physically exhausted. He had panicked, had failed to carry out his training, he had shown his suffering and was left wondering if that was why they had been so cruel…

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Gondien sat, eating his well-deserved chunk of roasted meat. They had made camp in a peaceful area towards the south-east, yet they were not that far south to feel the oppression, and so they had taken advantage of an uneventful mission to find some comfort.

The meat was hot and juicy, the liquid dribbling down his arm, finding its way under his cuff, yet he cared not, for the taste was sending him into a frenzy of delight. As he bit into the soft, tender flesh, more of the gravy ran down his chin, to his neck and under his collar. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, for he had not had fresh meat for two weeks.

He had almost finished, yet there was still one, enticing chunk in his hand. About to take it to his mouth and engorge it, his lieutenant came running towards him. His hair was in disarray, eyes too large, his brow furrowed, this was no mere request for orders - something was wrong.

He stopped chewing, the meat still in his mouth as he listened to the report.

“Captain, an urgent plea for help has arrived from Barabor to the West. The Company require urgent aid, Brethil is destroyed, its inhabitants slaughtered. Two groups of fifty were moving in on them, now 36 hours ago.”

“Go, rally the detachment, we ride in ten minutes,” his voice was muffled, the sound traversing the half chewed meat in his mouth, yet he cared not. When his lieutenant had left to do his bidding, he chewed and swallowed, looking longingly at the chunk still in his hand. He wasn’t going to squander it, and considering he already stank of roasted meat, he stuffed it into his tunic, for the road would be arduous and he would need nourishment along the way.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Night had turned to early morning, and the three tied warriors had fallen into an exhausted slumber, their heads resting on their brothers’ shoulders. However they were jerked back to reality by a shuffling noise, followed by a cough and a groan.

“Hwindo? Called Rafno urgently under his breath.

Hwindo drew his knees painfully under him and sat up slowly, somewhat unsteadily, closing his eyes as a whirling bout of vertigo hit him. He coughed, before swiping at the blood running from his nose with his good shoulder, and spitting more out of his mouth.

Groaning again, he closed his eyes before opening them once more. “Well, that could have been worse,” he slurred, sniffing as he rubbed his eye.

The comment would have been humorous under different circumstances, but where he had been red and purple just hours before, he was now purple and black. Every inch of skin was marred by a bruise or a cut. His hair had stuck to the blood from his eyebrow and a cut on the cheek, plastering it to the side of his face he had slept upon. A black eye, a somewhat puffy nose and a split lip completed the damage inflicted.

“What? Hwindo, you are black and blue, I fail to see how it could have been worse,” answered Rafno, almost indignantly.

“I will not answer that one, Rafno, but trust me on this. Now listen carefully, this Uruk is not natural – it thinks, its thought processes are much more advanced, it is dangerous for it knows not its own nature I think, I can see confusion in its eyes and it makes it unpredictable – you must guard yourselves, especially your hearts, for it will delight in your suffering – the more you suffer, the more pain it will inflict, and the more excited it will become, and therefore the more barbaric it will be - remember this,” he urged, looking first at Rafno and then training his eyes on Beria a little longer.

“Are you alright?” asked Idhreno quietly.

“I am alright, brother,” answered Hwindo quietly, before turning his eyes back to the new recruit.

“Beria,” called Hwindo softly. “Stay with us, warrior –“

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Barabor had finally arrived, the stench alerting them to the camp at last. Yet the captain remembered that there were at least two groups. The other group could appear at any time, probably from the south, and so he sent two scouts to watch their position from the back.

His was a full detachment of twenty, add to that the members of The Company and you had close to thirty, albeit each member of that elite detachment could be counted as at least two, he knew. Thirty against the sixty or so still let in this camp, plus fifty more somewhere to the south - the odds were dire, they needed to wait for Gondien’s elves, and that could well be another day… Elbereth, over two days of captivity was bordering on madness. His heart clenched at the prospects. To lose Legolas and his Company would mean a disaster for the Greenwood, not to mention the psychological impact it would have on them all – no, that was not an option – as the Valar were his witnesses, that was not an option.

They had taken up positions around the camp and had settled in to wait out the tense hours before Gondien made rescue a possibility.

Ram en’ cursed them all to Mordor, and he supposed the others were doing the same, for they were all there, watching yet unable to intervene - unreasonably outnumbered. The beasts had beaten their already wounded commander, that much was clear although they had arrived after the ordeal, and then there was his long-time comrade, Idhreno; the Valar knew he had already suffered through this, they both had, side by side. And Rafno, whom he had come to respect in the short time he had been with them, he sensed greatness in this Noldo warrior and he would be saddened indeed, should anything happen to him. His eyes strayed to the young recruit then, Beria. He was tied at the end of the line, next to Idhreno. ‘The Valar give him strength’, he pleaded silently, for of all of them, he was the most vulnerable.

Glammo too, was pondering the dire situation. His own lord was there, tied, awaiting the Valar knew what torment they would inflict on him. It brought to mind the plight of his lady, Celebrian, and he was sure that Elladan too, would be thinking the same. He could not imagine Imladris without Elladan, could not imagine Elrond still there at the fore, without his eldest son, more he did not want to, for Elladan had become a dear friend to him.

Lindo watched Glammo as he stared off into the distance. His face was an open book, he thought, and how beautiful he seemed to the Bard Warrior then, vulnerable almost, as one lost. He wanted to take him in his arms and comfort him, just embrace him, but he could not, not here, not now – yet soon he would tell him what had only recently become clear to him – for those things should not be left unsaid, not in this profession.

“Glammo,” he whispered, waiting for his lover to turn and look at him.

“We will get them back,” he whispered fervently, and Glammo, in that moment, believed him.

………………………………………………………………………………..

Morning turned to afternoon, and blissful peace prevailed a while longer, for the beasts still rested, the fires extinguished, even the orc that sat watch was insensate, its ugly head resting on its armoured chest.

“They are here,” smiled Hwindo, before grimacing at the pull of his split lip “They await in the trees, it will not be long, my friends – rescue is imminent,” stressed the commander, watching as his warriors’ faces lifted. They had not sensed anything, but neither did they doubt.

However, the fact that they had not yet engaged could only mean that they were still outnumbered, all four had realized this. And so they sat tight, or in Hwindo’s case, lay tight, trying and failing to find a comfortable position.

“Cease your fidgeting, Hwindo, you need to keep still until your ribs are set…”

“’Tis uncomfortable, Elbereth…”

“And it will become more uncomfortable in a moment, for they return,” warned Idhreno, watching as the four Uruks strode towards them. There was a glint in their eyes that Hwindo liked not, and he told them so.

“Remember, do not show your suffering, whatever they do.”

Moving up behind Hwindo, one Uruk cut his bonds, as the others too, were freed from the tree but not from the bonds that held their hands together.

The orcs were stirring now, realizing that the torment they so wished to witness, was about to begin again, and that this time, their lust would surely be slaked.

“Get up!” shouted the strange one, watching as Hwindo slowly stood, his arms out to the sides in an attempt to balance his swaying body. Taking Hwindo’s battered face in its massive hand, it observed the now scabbed over cuts, deciding to open them again. A harsh backhand to the mouth and a punch to the eye did the job, and blood dripped from his cracked lip and split eyebrow, his arms wrapping around his heaving torso.

“Now, tell me again. How many warriors in your militia?”

“I, 300”, he said slowly, as serenely as he could manage.

“Ah, of course – well perhaps we can persuade you to reconsider”.

Taking one arm in a vice-like grip, the beast twisted viciously, causing the shoulder to leave its socket in a sickening crunch that made Idhreno flinch and Rafno grimace. Pain exploded down his right side as he yelled it to the heavens, the sound echoing around the camp, through the trees and straight to the heart of those that waited in silent vigil.

The others twisted in the beasts’ grip, unable to rip their eyes away from their commander, for surely they would tear him to pieces if he did not satisfy the leader’s questions.

Just as the pained scream finished, the hoot of a Tawny owl echoed through the glade, and although he was left gasping in pain, a slight smile appeared on his bloody lips as he sank to his knees, his dislocated shoulder hanging limply, face contorted in a mask of extreme pain, yet strangely soothed, for they had called to him, had comforted him by their presence through his torment.

Moving over to Rafno, it jerked him to his feet and looked into his face. “How many warriors in your militia?”

“300,” he shouted angrily, earning himself a backhand that cracked his nose and made it bleed.

It repeated the gesture with Idhreno and Beria, both of which had answered the same, and suffering the same punishment as Rafno. It had not made itself clear enough, then.

Whirling back to Hwindo, the leader knelt behind him, pulling him back onto its chest, the embrace of a lover or friend. The beast flaunted its victim before the three captives, stroking his golden hair as he watched the three, restrained warriors.

It tightened the bulky arm it held around Hwindo’s chest, oppressing his ribcage and making him moan miserably as his brow furrowed in pain.

“See, how lovely he is like this? Do you not desire him? No? I know that my warriors do, perhaps I should indulge them, for their obedience…”

Rafno and Idhreno clung to their training by a thread, their eyes downcast, faces as schooled as they could manage, but Beria was failing again, he could not do it, he simply could not.

The beast smiled triumphantly, as it placed a clawed hand on the king’ injured shoulder, stroking softly, eyes now fixed on Beria.

“I would have him, this one,” it continued as it stared, its hand now stroking across the beaten chest, across the pink nipples. I would rape him before your very eyes, before tossing him to the wargs…”

Idhreno realized the beast had singled out Beria, for it stared constantly at him, and Beria was watching! ‘Fool!’ he cried to himself.

“Beria!” He shouted, eyes to the floor, warrior…”

But Beria was caught in the malignant gaze, mesmerized by the evil that was being played out before him – he could not wrench his eyes away, for surely they would not, not to him –

Its clawed hand moved back to the shoulder, squeezing in a macabre gesture of friendship and comfort. “Will you not tell me what I wish to hear?” it asked, sadly almost, thought Hwindo through the haze of pain.

The leader was unimpressed with the silence he received, however, and so he asked again - “I know you care for this one, how can you sit and watch as I torment him? As I rape him? All you need to do is tell me what I want to know, and it will end, or should I cut his face, open his belly, impale him before your very eyes...” he said viciously as the other Uruks roared their approval.

Silence.

Pinching the collar bone with two fingers, it began to squeeze, its smile widening in satisfaction as Beria’s face crumpled, inciting it even more, as the need to cause suffering peaked to almost unbearable heights. It felt its victim stiffen, his legs moving before him in a futile attempt to escape the painful embrace. It watched as blood began to trickle from a small wound, then roared in delight, its saliva dripping from the sharp canines as his victim let out an involuntary, long, drawn out cry of pain. It released the pressure a little, watching the restrained warriors once more. The nervous one, yes, he was on the brink, just a little more…

“Tell me, warrior, how many troops in your militia?” it asked angrily, staring straight at Beria.

“I…..,”

“Beriaaaa!” yelled Idhreno, making the beast roar and turn on his victim, pinching viciously on Hwindo’s bone, making him wail in pain, the sound shaking the souls of all that could hear, for it was an uncontrolled, desperate expression of agony that finally turned into a screech, as the unmistakable sound of snapping bone could be clearly heard, a gush of blood streaming out of the now open break, pouring down his chest and onto the ground below. The hidden warriors pressed their hands to their ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds of distress, the younger, less experienced warriors beginning to despair at what they would be forced to witness before Gondien arrived with the eastern detachment.

Hwindo’s eyes were wide in shock, his breathing fast and erratic, sweat beading on his bruised face, his legs moving weakly, in an obviously futile attempt to escape the iron grip of the strange one.

“Tell me, and it will end,” it tried one more time, for the other warrior had interrupted what was surely the information he had worked so hard to glean. Yet the nervous one simply gasped, looking away as tears pooled in his eyes.

Rafno’s heart jumped to his throat as he remembered Legolas’ words; ‘cruelty that must be visible in order to render its crippling effects – the wearing down of one’s opponent, until they err – and lose’, and Beria had lost… a wave of panic surged from his core then, for he had seen the moment the change had come about in the beast, reaching and passing that point of no return, where it would not, could not be distracted from the spiral of cruelty it would wreak now, for it was an inbred reaction to suffering, and for all its training, the instinct could not be held at bay.

Rising abruptly, leaving Hwindo’s body to slide to the ground, the Uruk rounded on the young warrior, still restrained from behind. Kneeling before him, it drew a long dagger and plunged it into his upper belly, watching as his eyes widened in surprise. There was no scream, but three collective gasps as it slowly began to draw the dagger downwards. Beria looked down in stunned fascination as he was cut open, the agony only now registering as he screamed, earning a roar from the Uruk that held him fast and which was now peering over the elf’s shoulder.

‘Yavanna, give him strength, for mercy, take him away, to peace…’ implored Hwindo silently, holding his body upright in a show of strength he did not stop to ponder…

Hwindo’s next words cut through the horror that Beria was immersed in, and in spite of the pain, he turned his head to his commander as he listened, for the voice was powerful, compelling, and he was unable to disobey.

“Beria, don’t look, warrior, look at me, look at me. Breath through the pain, Beria, it will soon be over…” he said in a voice that seemed to Rafno was full of magic, love and compassion, it was not the voice of a tortured and beaten elf, it was the voice of a shepherd, and it could not be disregarded.

Idhreno’s eyes were now trained on the commander’s glowing green eyes, just as Rafno stared in uncomprehending confusion, for he thought he knew what was to come, and he had no desire to see it, or to fuel the lust of these, sadistic beings any further than it had already been, and for the life of him he could not have ripped his eyes away even had he tried.

The dagger had reached bone, and in one rapid movement, the Uruk plunged its fist into the cut, opening the elf’s abdomen and disemboweling him, sending the beast into a frenzy of pleasure as the Uruks roared and the onlooking orcs cheered, licking their lips in morbid anticipation …

“Beria, hear me. It will soon be over, brave one. Look at me…. calm your breathing…”

And he did, as the pain evened out, his mind concentrating on the eyes before him, and not on his body. He saw the face of a Vala then, beauty and compassion, love and understanding…

“Look to the stars now, for they shine brightly for you this night, brother… go to them now, to peace, at last.”

The pain was shifting to the back of his mind as he tilted his head back towards the navy blue sky. The shiny, silvery dots that danced and scintillated merrily, seemed to move towards him then, or was he being propelled towards them? It was beautiful, he thought, this new journey; it was his last coherent thought before his consciousness simply slipped away, into the stars and their welcoming light, the last sound to reach him was the hoot of a Great Horned owl, it was time, and they were safe.

Rafno and Idhreno sat in stupefied awe, uncomprehending of what it was they had just witnessed, the jeering and shrieking and howling had faded away to nothing, as if they were no longer there, captives to the Uruks, watching the disembowelment of their companion.

The shrill cry of an eagle hunting its prey split the night, then, and chaos erupted, but Beria had already left on the wings of a white dove, the face of a smiling Kelementari in his mind’s eye, as they rose up into the heavens together, on a journey to the stars.
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Arcane Land