Jon Trent

Estel was sleeping soundly when JT got home. He walked wearily back outside to stand under the waterfall hoping the cool water that rained down on him would wash away the feeling in his gut after the night's slaughter.

The emptiness he felt wasn't out of remorse for the orcs he had slain, they were a curse upon the lands, but was caused by the fury with which he had fought and the ruthlessness with which he had killed.

He started to remove his armour, dropping it at his feet in the pool and began to wash away the grime of the night's battle. Estel's former master must have been amongst the pile of orc dead left in their underground fortress... He had to be. Not a single orc shaman was left alive as the band of Covians had sacked their sanctuary.

As he rubbed his aching muscles and ran his fingers through his wet hair he hoped the orc's hold over Estel would be broken, surely it must? He looked down to his feet, his armour stained with gore and gristle had turned the pool more pink than blue. He sighed and set about scrubbing it.

He had just finished cleaning the last piece when he heard Este's light footfalls behind him. He turned swiftly around to see her beaming at him.

"You're back!"
"I am!" He smiled softly.
"How do you feel little one? Did you have any more memories return to you?"
"Numa."

His hopes of her former master being among the orc dead that night seemed dashed. The young guardsman sagged, his eyes hollow and skin pale.

"More memories?" He asked.
"No, no more. Why?" She shook her head.

Disappointed he took her in his arms, burying his face so she would not see the tears in his eyes. The shaman still lived.

"Amin mela lle tithen pen."
"Amin mela lle vithel JT."

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