Drevorin was lost within a dream which at the time deceived his mind into thinking it was reality. He was standing upon a small hill bare-footed, twiddling his toes within the grass. It was summer so naturally his clothes were fit for the occasion. He felt a strong eastern breeze wash over him as he stared out into a field which held a small house sending smoke from its chimney. He blinked as he heard a voice cry his name, for in those days it was different. A pale raven-haired woman could be seen beckoning him to come to the house, he smiled. He and his wife Clarissa lived within realm of Gondor and at this particular moment were expecting. Life in Drevorin’s eyes could not possibly be any better. Reality however to him was a living nightmare.
He woke, savouring the first few second of regaining consciousness. Not knowing where you were, who you were or what you were doing. The realisation struck Drevorin like a ton of bricks as he stared up at the dark stone roof of the hole he slept within at the side of a cave. He was woken by the sound of fear, whimpering and screaming, blubbering and wailing, frantic whispers and frustrated curses. These were his comrades, his brothers, his fellow knights in arms who like he had suffered an unfortunate fate. The current upheaval was caused by a series of echoing clanks coming down the caves tunnel in the distance. The repetitive, rhythmic sound of metal upon stone here caused once proud and noble men to shake and weep into the darkness of their prison. Drevorin was no different from the others, the sound sent his skin hot in panic as he jumped from his hole out into the open. He was shirtless, wearing only rags to cover himself and there were a large number of whip marks crossing upon his back. Two of his fingers were broken and cruelly bound together with cloth and a freshly made raw scar had been added to his face, amongst other various cuts and bruises. He had long dark hair running down past his shoulders and deep dark blue eyes which were contorted with fear.
He took none of his former comrades into consideration for they all had the same trail of thought. Drevorin pushed his way through them searching for the closest thing he could find to cower behind, burying his face within his dirty hands. The cell door was opened with a loud screech as three large dark-skinned men entered, laughing cruelly. The two behind the first to enter began grabbing some of the prisoners at random by the hair pulling them out into the cave’s tunnel. They put up no fight but begged and screamed for help from the darkness as they were pulled and beaten down the tunnel. The man who remained was Mordevin, the most dark and evil man of them all. He and his men were Easterlings, men of the south who were sworn enemies of Gondor. Mordevin scanned the room for a moment eyeing each prisoner in turn as though perusing a box of fresh apples until at last, his eyes fell upon Drevorin who still cowered in the corner his face hidden. “Ah,” he spoke in a deep and dark voice hinted with glee. “It’s been a while since we’ve disciplined you friend.” Drevorin jumped to his feet backing against the stone wall as Mordevin advanced, his eyes filled with malice. All Drevorin could do was take the beating as he was forced down into the other cave where already screams could be heard echoing on the other side.
The men who were now prisoners were once soldiers of Gondor who had been sent to patrol the northern boarders of Henneth Annûn in Ithillian. On that particular day however the enemies of Gondor were scouting the lands in greater numbers and had come across the knights within the twisted woodland. Ambushed, the soldiers stood very little chance and most of their number were slain by arrow fire alone. Those who remained however, Drevorin being one of them, were taken as prisoners of war to be brutally tortured and interogated for information. These men however were proud and noble folk who loved their country beyond all else. For the first few months they endured much to their torturers distaste, but one by one wracked with torment and pain soldier after soldier became overwhelmed and eventualy gave them the information they required. The Easterlings however were not known for their mercy, they decided to keep their prisoners (those who survived the torture) and use them for sport to test new methods.
After five months of agonising and brutal pain those who remained had either gone mad or lost the will to live. That was when Drevorin became the man he is today, casting aside his former life embracing his new existance without hope or any form of love or happieness. Mordevin could see this, he could see that his work had taken effect having witnessed Drevorin kill his last surviving comarade with his own bare hands to silence his dispare. Now only he remained. On the sixth day of loneliness within the cell Drevorin awoke to the familiar clanging, echoing in the distance. He did not move, he did not speak, he stared at the dark stone above him with a vacant expression having accepted long ago the punishment that was to come. He was incredibly thin now, his ribcage clearly visible against his flesh, his face hollow and dark. He was dragged and kicked whilst blindfolded into an unfamiliar area of the cave, for he knew each number of steps by heart which lead down into the chamber. He was forced to a halt, his vision given back to him soon after. He opened his eyes squinting at the light having not seen it in such a long time. He dropped to the floor, his bloody hands pressed tight against his eyes. “Get him up!” spoke the dark voice of Mordevin who sat upon a horse before him his token whip still in hand. “Prisoner, we are quite satisfied with your progress and have decided to set you free. You are clearly broken, disturbed and insane and we feel you will be an excellent addition to your people.” Several laughs could be heard around him yet Drevorin could not see them, his eyes squinted and wild as he breathed heavily. “However, let it be known that we know more about you than you can ever know. We see potential, a darkness waiting to be awoken. We may find you in the future and call upon your… skills. For I am sure you have acquired many having received them as a prisoner!” A swift kick was aimed at Drevorins knees and he buckled only to be swiftly lifted back to his feet as Mordevin moved closer. “Farewell, filth!” he spat aiming a swift whip to his face as he turned the horse and galloped off with his men following close behind, leaving the broken man cowering upon the soil.
Having not a clue where to go he went back into the caves, somewhere familiar which calmed his mind as he tried to think. He sat starting blankly at the dark stone wall of the cell before recalling the dream he once had of the raven-haired woman. Warped memories came flooding back to him and he smiled slightly, his piercing blue eyes still staring at the distant wall. “Gondor…” he spoke aloud climbing to his feet, walking into the echoing tunnel from the cells. “Home, at long last!” he spoke again, his laughs now echoing loudly into the darkness.
