The Hundred Year War

Even from across the room, Daerela could see that Erethor was shifting uncomfortably beneath the Orc's scrutiny. That was the question, wasn't it? Why the city had fallen to the Orcs so quickly. However, Daerela was one of three or four Elves who knew the real reason. Taking a glance at her, Erethor took a deep breath before saying, "I believe in a...unique strain of typical Elven religion. I swore myself to pacifism in the name of my god when I became of age. I cannot actively participate in harming another, nor can I command my people to. If they wish to, however, it is their decision. However, for many, the decision wasn't made until yesterday and this morning..." he trailed off, remembering the very pact he had made just a few years ago.
 
Rogdush chuckles slightly. "Really? You were chosen to be a leader, and you can't even defend yourself? That's got to be one of the worse decisions that you elves have made, isn't it? I mean... I'm all for religion, being a follower of the Spirits myself, but really? Wouldn't anyone else be a better leader? At least during war times? Especially when the front lines came here? Or couldn't you have appointed some... Leader for your warriors who wasn't a pacifist?" Rogdush was grinning. He hadn't expected that answer. He didn't really know what he had expected, but that wasn't it.
 
"Aren't you Orcs all about honor and pride? Appointing another to stand in my place, even if only for a short period of time, wouldn't be good for my pride, or that of my people. They would begin to doubt, and that's never good for a time of war. Besides, my pact states that I cannot force anyone else to commit acts of violence." He sighed, realizing that the Orc might never understand. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself for the next part. "In the blackest nights of my soul, in the times when everything is stripped away, to retaliate would be to wound my spirit beyond repair. I choose rather to die. The spirit I have created must be broken short, whether by the ruthlessness of an invader, or by my own resort to arms. It is better to be destroyed than to triumph in the slaying of the soul. It is better to be the recipient of violence than to be the inflicter, as the inflicter only multiplies the amount of bitterness and violence in the universe. I am a follower of Rimben, as I will always and ever be, until the day death claims me..."
 
"I'll give you for your dedication to your god. And I can see why you would worship someone like that. Yet what has that gotten you in times of war so far? You've lost control of your city. Probably a whole lot more elves died than needed to." Rogdush leaned forward slightly. "You know what is important for our Spirits? Strength. Honor. Kindness. Family. Living a worthy life. What most people would say is important. And you know why?" He asked, leaning back again. "Because for us Orcs, there isn't truly any greater power that we worship. We worship the Spirits of our ancestors." He took a sip from his tankard. "We worship the Orcs that came before us. And for the thousands of years we Orcs have been around, our spirits have become stronger with each of ours that die. They've got all the experience and wisdom of generations after generations. And they tell us that to survive as long as we have done, a few heads need to be cracked open. Or else everyone else will simply stomp on us and take our things. If someone wants your head, take theirs first." He was about to take another sip, but he stopped. "But don't let me change your religion." He added, before taking his sip.
 
Erethor couldn't help but think that the Orcs' 'Sprits' were hypocrites. From what he heard, they valued kindness and family, yet they condoned the killing of hundreds of Elves, many of whom had families they left behind. Apparently their protection only extended to their worshipers. However, he really didn't want to debate religion with the Orc, probably not ever. Instead of jumping into a conversation he didn't want, he focused on details, even though he'd seen the room every night for the past several years. The tapestries on the walls, the curtain at the window, the Orcs tankard...Soon, however, his mind began to wander. Snapping back to attention, he looked to just left of the Orc's shoulder, a lightly vacant expression on his face.
 
Rogdush sat drinking in silence for a while. "Not wanting to talk about religion, I take it. Either that, or you don't want to talk to me at all." He looked down into his tankard for a moment, swirling it around a bit, before emptying it. "To change the topic then; You'll most likely be handling the daily matters of the elves left in this city. I don't know much about the everyday life of you elves, and neither do I truly care. As long as you people don't rise up against us or something. You do whatever you have to do. And I'm guessing this city has some kind of resource? A mine, a good farmland, a large forest...?" Rogdush asked, looking at Erethor with his one eye. "Anything like that?"
 
"We are the King's Mind. Whereas the other cities are the King's Sword and the King's Greaves, who are the soldiers and the sailors, we are the thinkers." Erethor didn't add that the town also had its hand in gemmaking, since it wasn't a part of the city's official job. "The name of my city translates to Mind of the King," unconsciously, he put more enunciation on 'my.' He was about to say more, but a metallic crash startled him. It was Daerela. She had been attempting to pick up the sword again, but her balance had been off and she'd fallen. She wasn't hurt, but looked shaken. Wishing Seregor was there, if only to help her, Erethor carefully watched the Orc out of the corner of his eye.
 
"Hey! Be careful with that! It's my father's old sword!" Rogdush barked at Daerla, having turned towards the noise. He glared at her for a moment, before turning back towards Erethor, still an angry look on his face. "Looks like I'm gonna like having this servant..." He grumbled sarcastically. After a moment of silence, his face turned back to its calmer self, before he started talking to Erethor again."So... My city one with a bunch of thinkers, thinking in their elven ways? In other words, a city with damn little of value, except a mostly female population of elves... Isn't that just great... And how did this city use to survive, so to say? Does elven thinkers get a lot of money for thinking or something?" Rogdush asked, curiously. The city couldn't just have thinkers, it had to have some kind of income as well. So either, the elf wasn't telling him something, or the elves simply had a odd system of city keeping.
 
"Strategists, philosophers, linguists, and historians are what we are mostly. Every few years or so people from the different cities come searching for young men and women to bring back to their city to help in war preparations and such. They pay those they invite and the city's treasury and then a few more years pass and they're back. Every once in a while, though, the King's soldiers would come as well. Indeed, had my brother not left and I wasn't named the next lord, I would probably have gone as well. But fate must have had different plans for me..." he added with a dry, humorless chuckle.

Daerela quickly leaned the sword against the wall before she got part of the armor to clean it. The armor was harder to clean than the weapon, the different nooks and catches holding dried blood in them.
 
"Ah, useful thinkers then. And that explains the money issues. We don't exactly have cities dedicated to such things ourselves, but I suppose it isn't a horrible idea..." Rogdush went silent for a moment. "Though... Now that we have control of the city, that means we have every still living strategist here." He smiled slightly. "And their families, which means we have leverage over them. So we might learn a bit about your strategies. That could truly become useful." He rubbed his chin as he said the last bit.
Moments after he went quiet, there was a knock on the door again. "Yeah?" A Orc opened the door and spoke. "Sir, the alter is prepared and the priests are ready. We will be awaiting you." "Very well." Rogdush answered. "I'll be right there." He rose from his seat and walked over to a chest in the room. He opened it and started searching a bit in it. He started speaking over his shoulder. "So... Elf. Do you want to witness our ceremony for the dead, or would you prefer waiting here?"
 
"I...I'll stay," Erethor said, not caring to watch the Orcs preform their rites that they give to the dead. Besides, he wanted to speak with Daerela, hopefully. He needed to know what was happening outside the castle, who all was still alive. Watching the Orc go through the chest sent fresh waves of anger through him. Inside of it was everything his wife treasured most: The love notes he had sent her when they were young, her father's ashes, and, possibly most treasured, the diamond necklace he had given her when he'd finally gotten the courage to tell her that he loved her. She never wore it anymore, not after that day she lost it in the blankets on the bed, but he had seen her checking the chest to make sure it was there. Erethor didn't know if he could keep his pact if the Orc took it.
 
Rogdush blinked a couple of times as he understood it wasn't his chest. His eyesight had possibly become worse than he had though. He stood straight again, and looked to one of the other walls of the room. He walked over to his own chest and opened it, recognizing the content of it. He pulled out a dark shirt and a short cape, and put them both on. He started to walk towards the door, rubbing his missing eye a bit as he did. As he put his hand on the door, he turned towards the two others. "Since you don't want to come along, you'll both wait here." He turned towards Daerela. "And I expect you to be done by the time I get back. Neither of you are to leave the room. There'll be goblins running in the halls, so if you do leave, I'll know." With that, Rogdush left the two alone in the room, walking towards the courtyard.
As he got down, most of the Orcs were gathered there, around a alter made of stone. He walked over to a small group, wearing wolf-pelts. "Ah, chieftain. We are ready to pass their bodies on." "Very well. Start the ritual." The priests nodded and walked on top of the alter, standing in a circle, where they started a low chant.
 
As soon as the Orc was gone, Erethor spoke to Daerela. "What's happening outside? Who's alive? Where's everyone?" he asked a few more questions before finally stopping, waiting to hear her answer.

"The Orcs took over the city. The Wild Elves weren't able to fight them off. I...I don't know who all are still alive..." at this point, she stopped in her cleaning of the armor. "Seregor...they killed Seregor..." Overcome by tears, she wiped at them impatiently until their falling became too much to simply remove. When she was able to get her tears under control, she looked to her lord before saying, "They're keeping everyone in the square; they only let me out because I volunteered to be a servant at the castle...your wife and the boys, they are still alive, but I don't think they know if you are...They all looked so heartbroken, especially your wife..." she trailed off, returning her focus to the task at hand.
 
The priests' chant grew louder, until suddenly, their arms caught on fire, and a large flame was lit between then in the circle. The fire didn't seem to bother the priests, and the fire between them seemed to be burning on nothing other than the rocks under it. "Start bringing up the bodies..." One of them said, and Orcs started carrying their fallen brethren. They seemingly walked straight into the fire, carefully laying the body in the fire, before stepping out of it. As soon as they did, the body started to be consumed by the fire. His skin, flesh and bones, all were consumed by the fire, before another was placed in the same place.

As the last body had been burned on the Spiritfires, Rogdush walked towards the elf-pen. The others were heading for the main hall for the victory-feast, but Rogdush had something he wanted to do first. He opened the gate to the pen and stepped inside. He looked around for a moment, unsure who could be the ones he was looking for. Knowing he'd never find them himself. "Would the family of the Lord of the city come over here? I have a special surprise for you." He asked loudly.
 
Malrin held her sons closer to her as the Orc stepped into the square, Hitthor held on her hip while Nimdor was holding her hand and sucking on his thumb. Hitthor had been asleep for a while, something she had been thankful for. They both looked like Erethor, same eyes and smiles, but they had the tiniest flecks of gold in their irises, and their hair was a darker shade of black than Erethor's, something they inherited from his father. As the Orc spoke, she, like everyone else there, was listening. Standing up, Malrin led Nimdor and carried Hitthor while she walked to the Orc, both scared and hopeful about the surprise he had mentioned.

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Erethor, after a few minutes of attempting to comfort Daerela, had decided to help her in the cleaning of the armor, not wanting her to get hurt because she wasn't able to finish.
 
Rogdush assumed this was the family Erethor had spoken of, as they seemed to be the only of the families that stepped forwards. "This way then." He simply commanded, leading them out of the pen and towards the castle. He walked beside them, rather than in front of them, so he'd have a chance to have a proper look at them. That's when it struck him how much they resembled their father. He couldn't help but to smile as he walked with the family. It reminded him of his own, for some reason.
They reached the royal quarters, and Rogdush looked around for a moment after he entered. Spotting the two both cleaning his armor, he signaled for the family to stop outside for a moment, making sure the door blocked the two's vision. In a way, he didn't want them to see their father having been reduced from Lord to servant. "Come here for a moment, Elf lord." He said, never having learnt his name.
 
Sending a look to Daerela, Erethor stood up, heading to the doorway. He was about to ask, "What is it?" before he pushed back the door enough to see his family. His eyes locking with Nimdor's, his son ran forward, a childish shout of, "Daddy!" Hitthor, waking up from his brother's cry, turned around in Malrin's arms, his expression quickly becoming as excited as Nimdor's as he pushed himself from her. Taking both of his sons into his arms, Erethor was closer to tears than he had been in a long time. Letting them down, he moved to his wife, whose eyes were shimmering with tears. "I'm so glad you're all okay," he murmured as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm so sorry this all happened to you."
 
Rogdush couldn't help but to smile at the family's reunion. He walked past the family and into the room, glancing over at Daerela to see her progress on the armor. He grabbed his tankard of the table and refilling it, before walking back towards the family. As he stepped into the hallway, he grabbed a passing goblin and lifted him off the floor by his vest. "Have you found a room for the *lord* and his family?" "Yeash boss!" He turned towards Erethor again. "I'm guessing you would like some alone time now?" He asked, dropping the goblin back to the floor. "He'll show you there."
 
Erethor nodded, taking Nimdor while his wife took Hitthor and following the goblin, glancing back at Daerela to make sure she was fine before turning his attention back to his family.

Daerela looked up when the Orc entered the room, but returned to it as soon as she realized that it was him. She knew she hadn't finished cleaning the armor like he had told her to, and was afraid of any repercussions that might come from it. Not pausing in her work, she tried to finish as quickly as possible without missing parts.
 
Rogdush dropped into the chair again, making it creek slightly. He looked over at the hard-working elf. "So... What's your name?" He asked, taking a sip of his ale. "And don't stress yourself too much. I don't have a whole lot to do for servants like you. Most of the work gets done by done by the goblins, so you're work will be mostly of the cleaning kind." Rogdush wasn't lying. There was a whole lot of goblins, and they were more than happy to serve their bigger brethren. Yet they lacked the *finer touches*. They could build and make a whole lot of things, yet making good looking things usually wasn't their area of expertise.
 
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