Lost

[Morgeth]

Part I

The heat. It was killing her. Even reminded her of the desert, when the scorching glare of the sun would lick at her skin like fire itself. Was she back there?

Within the questionable safety of a hut in Garadar, the one shared with Kozgugore Feraleye, Morgeth twisted in her temporary bed of hay, simply bathing in a pool of her own sweat. In her own mind, she was indeed back in the desert, condemned to a life in solitude and torment. As she laid there, revisiting the place of her birth in her own nightmare, she could not help but see a vast array of faces. Some of the past, and some of the present. They all held such judgement within their eyes, and the power wielded by their hands and their tongues, only made her seem so much weaker. And indeed, she had been weak for quite a while now, ever since the fel-powered magics of hers had become unstable. More suffocated than unstable really, but the powers that had held these vile things under control, now seemed lessened. In the very pit of her heart, Morgeth was afraid. Afraid that she would one day snap, succumbing to the actual rush of it all, and commit the worst of atrocities in the name of power, or simply in the name of superiority.

She could sometimes feel it jabbing at her insides, this unmistakable placement of herself over all others, even the ones she dared call her family; alien thoughts, concerning murder and even viler acts, that slipped into her nightmares as easily as wine into an elven throat. And right now, she was bathing in such thoughts, just as she â€" in the real world â€" bathed in her own sweat. The dreams went on, carrying with them a changing scenery and new set of characters for her mind to toy with. The major different now, was that for some reason, Kraag was there as well. He seemed so light there, a mere puppet to her touch, and that was also his final role, as everyone else's; mere puppets, to be used. It was a morbid dream, forcing her to watch herself as a third person, as she rid herself of anything that made her proud to call herself an orc, a mother, or even a female. It was, at long last, when she was staring down at the still glowing embers of all that she had held dear â€" her mate, her son; her family â€" that Morgeth was allowed to finally awaken. She did so with a scream.

The sound itself would have been pitching enough to assault even the most seasoned of ear drums, had it not been for the fact that it got muffled into a more spluttering show of audio. She was used to nosebleeds, since they had occurred quite frequently throughout her life, but this â€" this was more than just a simple nosebleed. The blood seemed, in fact, to run from her nose, as well as the corners of her mouth. The very same liquid came in a more spewing sense as the warlock rolled over to her side, opening her mouth to gasp. Instead she showered the bed hay down in crimson red, ending her hurl with a strained cry of surprise. The alarming motions, as well as the general discomfort that had infected the room of the hut, was enough to awaken the likes of her son. Kraag was soon crying, whining out his discontent, and awaiting a pair of strong arms to pick him up, and assure him that everything was okay. In the past, those arms had never taken long to snake around him. This time, they did.
Her legs took an uncanny amount of time to adjust to her weight, as Morgeth forced herself up to her feet, wiping some blood â€" or rather smearing it â€" from her mouth with the back of her hand. She struggled, even at standing, with understanding what had just happened, or how it ought to be dealt with, but as her dark eyes darted over to the bundle of furs, holding her crying son, a jolt of realisation worked its way throughout her body. A quiet mantra built itself within the back of her head, rolling over her green lips, that twitched with each given word.
”I 'ave t'leave. I 'ave t'leave. I 'ave - ”

Another spew of blood interrupted this un-original song, but it proved â€" thankfully â€" to only be a small one. But as little as the puddle ended up to be, it did not quiet the sound of the hurl, nor did it quiet the screaming from her now truly scared son, who wailed after whatever comfort that she could not give. As she fought herself towards the exit of the hut, cursing each step forward that brought her away from the two members of her family, Morgeth knew only one thing. She knew that she had to leave, go back in fact, and return to the warm clutches of the desert. It was there, and only there, that she would finally be able to face the fel again, in its full force, and have some chance â€" if any â€" to walk out of such a confrontation.. victorious.



Part II

It was slowly consuming her; this feverish heat. Even the nightly air of Nagrand, with its welcoming, fresh breezes, brought nothing but torment to her green skin. She felt as if set ablaze, bathing in the innermost core of a mountain spewing nothing but flame. It was fear â€" fear of ruining what she came to touch â€" that ended up guiding the warlock's weary steps, even if they led her away from the screams of her son, and the promise of aid from her still-sleeping mate. Had her mind been more clear, maybe she would have stopped to consider things, and reached a conclusion that would not have deemed her to walk down this path alone. But alas, the feverish minds of the wicked seldom works in the more sober of ways, and so her feet kept walking, despite the agonizing pain building within her heart.

It waited for her on the very outskirts of Garadar, as if being prevented from entering the settlement due to some unseen barrier, but it proved that the steed did not have to seek its rider; she came willingly.  The large head, sprouting large horns, did not bow for her, but burning eyes slowly turned in obvious recognition, that most likely was vital for her to be allowed an further. As she climbed the back of the demonic beast, Morgeth could only watch as its burning legs sprung to life, carrying her to a location so obvious that no words were needed to guide its movements. It was carrying her home.

Fiery hooves trampled the soft grass, and as they rode, the rider herself burned along with her steed. Together they became a burning ember, traveling over vast landscapes at such a speed that it would have made even the proudest of wyverns grow full of envy. The journey itself held little value for the warlock, because in her mind â€" in her heart â€" she was already at the intended location. She had already been set down upon the unforgiving sands of the past, forced to search for what she had tried to keep herself from for so long ago. She clung to the beast, exhausted an in essence also helpless, guided by its steady movements, as it brought her so many steps closer to damnation.

Hours later, when she dared lift her head, grim realisation washed over the Morgeth, as it slowly daunted on her just what a big mistake she had made. She turned in her seat, her hand reaching to the air behind her, as if trying to grasp for any notion of what she left behind. Her fingers met with naught but the gush of cold air, the chill cutting into her flesh, as if punishing the warlock for her nightly escape and vain attempt at keeping them all safe.

It was a high price to pay, but the horrific possibility of hurting either Kozgugore or her son clawed at her insides with vile intent. Even now, the stench of burned flesh made its way into her nostrils, and eventually Morgeth found herself wondering if she actually had managed to save anyone, or if she had left behind her a Garadar set ablaze, like a massive funeral pyre. It proved so easy to imagine, how her hands had not been able to spare her son, or her mate, and that she had yet again proved that the corruptive mark left upon her skin held more truth to her character than any notion of honour.

Eventually torturing herself with thoughts regarding her recent betrayal against those she loved the most, Morgeth looked up, only to see the image of a large gate closing in on her. Without hesitation, since it knew no fear, the dreadsteed flung itself and its rider into the swirling mass. As soon as its fiery hooves met with the ground on the other side, the young warlock perked her ears to pick up to  a voice; a bitter whisper carried in the wind.

“Welcome home.”

[Kozgugore]

Tasty, tasty story, yet so eerie! Poor Morgie! Ought to drive the Kozzle utterly insane. I predict a paranoid, as well as immensely grumpy, chieftain the next days! In any case, very nicely written, I'd say. Got sucked all the way into it. Vacuumed like a... nevermind, I won't make any metaphores on that part. WOOSH, that's for sure!

[Burgorg]

O_o.. You allways amaze me Morgie, good to read good to read.
I must write long good stories too I must!

Tough first I must sleep.

[Mazguul]

As per usual your style of writing is simply fabulous. This story especially is wonderfully written and yet still so terrible to read!

Morgeth needs rescuing...

*wail* Doooooo something, Koz!!! */wail*

[Morgeth]

Daw. Thank you for the nice comments, reckon I had to live out my own crazy over this heat in something!

[Claws]

What can be said that not said before.

Mice    
ahh Nice