Thread: The Breaking of a Sword (Vixen_Mistress the fifth Master)

The banners snapped and hissed on their poles. The dirt swirled in devils that blinded man and beast. Shields jerked from the hands of strong men with the force of it. A wind so fierce it was unnatural in it's making. But the storm had been blowing in between the mountains, pushing thru the great canyon, pushing the natural cold from the high pass ahead of it. It rushed into the valley where the battle rages and dumped snow on all those engaged, indiscriminant of which side the color of their armor or the banner of their flags. It raged it's own war. Leather was unaffected but all that was armor went cold to the touch. So cold so instantly that men either stuck to it or could no longer feel the weigh of it in their grasp and weapons slipped from sweated grips while blunt force weapons. Pole, pikes and dagger, those weapons were reaping a harvest of dead and unconscious as the snow hid them and spread a pristine cloth on the red where the blood ran in streams in the land. It lasted some hours and in the end those strangers who brought their mighty war engines abandoned their cause and their fellows. Those that could turn their mounts and race for escape. While the sky filled with arrows of eleven making which rained down on those still deciding. Adan El'Glaive had no knowledge of the ending. He had fallen protecting his Lord from four eleven warriors. The bludgeon struck cracking his helmet and he fell to the ground to be buried by the fallen bodies of others. It was that luck that saved him from the arrows, that luck that kept him warm in the two foot of snow as night drew over the land. Adan El'Glaive had woken up. He knew he was awake because the pain to the back of his head was now dull and throbbing. He was unable to move much between the bloating corpses over and around him. He pushed. He pushed again. He took a deep breath and growled and pushed. It gave. The mound gave and obstacles that had once been men moved or rolled away as he grabbed and clawed his way out of his warm hole. The cold hit him fully as a blow and he stagger. Putting out a hand to keep from falling again. Slipping and falling into the melting snow. There was little he could see. A mask of rumpled white and here and there dark shadows mingled. The crush of snow nearby and he turned. His hand on his empty dagger sheath. No longer holding his sword he ran. But they were fresh, and far more than him alone. He fought to be sure but in the end he wore his arms behind his back chained at his wrist in manacles meant to hold a large man such as one like himself. The leash at his neck a chain drawing moving heavy carts. They could find nothing else that could manage him. The end of it jerking for time to time as he stumbled. The prodding of a spear at his back kept him moving. Into the camp of the High Elf. He stood head and shoulders above the rest. So broad he turned to the side to enter the building. Into the building of the Noble encampment. The leash jerked as he came to stand before her. The spears wooden tip gouging the back of his legs and he dropped to his knees before her. His head came to these elves shoulders as he knelt. Their eyes betrayed their concern for his size. Dread. Rage. Guilt. He had a mix of all and he kept his eyes on her. He did not feel shame. He had chosen his side and had fallen in battle. That was honorable even if she did not think his choices wise. Silently, Adan El'Glaive waited kneeling in chains on her pleasure.