Trials of a dwarven slave. (No comments)

[Trouble Kelp]

Day 235 of Imprisonment​

My hands burn. They have burned for so long, I remember little else. Not the mountains of my homelands, not my mother of father, not the great hunts I went on. Just the burning. And not in my hands alone. My back burns, scored from the whip of my masters. My eyes burn, dry from the heat of the fires. My spirit burns too, in the long absence of any hope. Yet among all this, one thing burns brighter. That is my hatred, stoked with the death of my comrades and years of labor. One day I will be free, and the rivers will flow with blood.​

This is my vow, and I WILL see it lived out.​

 

[Trouble Kelp]

Day 247 of Imprisonment

The slavemaster is yelling at me again. A damn slow dwarf, dirty and thieving. My kind is the scum of the earth. He should kill me for working so slow. A crank comes, a line of fire across my back. I stretch in agony at the pain, even though I'm used to it. He leers at me, then cracks the whip again, and again. My back is streaming hot blood from the cuts, covering me in a red shroud. He whips me again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again!!!

Finally the storm of hatred ceases, and the slavemaster walks away, spitting on me as he walks past. I just lay there, waiting to die....

 

[Trouble Kelp]

Day 249 of Imprisonment
I lay on my back, trying not to think about anything. The blood is still coming out from the flogging, and I need it to heal. I need to go back to work. There I will continue to forge the weapon. If my slavers knew I was creating such a thing, there would be no more chances. I would pray for safety of my plan, if I believed in the dwarven gods anymore. But I don't, I stopped believing a long time ago. I am alone, they have never helped me. I'll just have to kill the elves on my own. I smile at the thought of destruction, waiting on my back, for the wounds to heal...

 

[Trouble Kelp]

Day 271 of Imprisonment

The flame in my heart grows stronger day by day. If the preparations were not made, I am sure it would destroy me. My weapon is there, waiting, on my dirty cot. It is a flail of terrible power, spiked and deadly, black as the ravens feathers on a moonlit night. I just finished it yesterday, now here it lays, glittering like a hoard of sapphires. Tomorrow will be the day. The day of freedom. The day of justice. The day I will reclaim my life, for even if I die, I will do so in battle. I feel uplifted by the thought. I cannot sleep, but I must, for I will need all my strength tomorrow. Yes...tomorrow...tomorrow is the day it shall end, and the day it shall begin.

 

[Trouble Kelp]

Day 272 of Imprisonment...Day 1 of Freedom

Blood. Pain. Sweat. Ragged gasps of air. I suck in breath as I break the arrow lodged in my arm, then push it through. It hurts, but I must survive. Run, dodge, kill. It blurs together as I think of the last 6 hours. I smashed through the guards, still bleary eyed from sleep. I kicked one in the chest, grabbed the others arm and pulled hard. A crack sounded, then I rammed my flail into his back. Leaping into the air, I decapitated another elf with my flail. I picked up the torch he dropped, and screamed. Ah, the freedom of it all! I am here at last! Who's the scum of the earth now? Who? Who? I laugh, a mad laugh of bloodlust, and dive back in again.

Now I am in the forest. The trees are dark, and the frigid ground covered in snow. A trail of blood leads away from the camp, marking my progress. I killed as many as I could, maniaclly barrelling through them. Eventually, they fought back. I was forced to run, dodging arrows fired after me. They will send more patrols, yes. Once this bloody arm is fixed up, I can get back to my goal. I know traps, there are some unpleasant suprises I could come up with.
Come my prey, come to meet your death. I am waiting.

 

[Trouble Kelp]

Day 6 of Freedom

Light. Scrapes against my lids like a rake, invading my eyes. I don't want to open them, not yet, but I must see what happened. All I can remember is collapsing after hours of trudging thru drifts of snow, searching, seeking. I set as many traps as I could, before the weather took a turn for the worst. A blizzard swept in from the north-west, howling at my ears like wolves. Maybe they were wolves, but I cared not. I simply walked until my limbs froze. None of that matters now. What matters is here and now.

I open my eyes. A small wooden hut fills my vision, a fireplace sputtering in the corner. I am lying on a small cot, which, although it is rough, is clean and smells faintly of cedar. My eyes rove around the hut again, taking in the small items along the shelves, the stones and the roots. Whoever's house this is, they are not an elf. Probably an old hermit who lives out in the woods, away from the hustle and bustle of men. I start slightly as someone walks in through the door flap.

He is short, not much taller than me. A grey beard reaches down to his waist, and he leans on a staff for walking. He comes and sits down by the edge of the bed, smiling kindly at me with his warm brown eyes.
"Good mornin'. Old Aaron thoughts ye might be up today. Ia've got some stew, if yed like?"
I stare at him for a moment, then rasp out a few words.
"Yes, please."
He smiles again, then gets up and goes over to the fire, where a kettle is hanging. I just lie back, not really thinking about anything. Its been so long since I felt this way. What was the word? Happy...am I happy? I never knew I could ever be happy again. The elves tried to beat it out of me, they tried to destroy me. I am still here, and I am...happy. I have hope to...for the future. Hope....tis a very long time since I had that....