[h2] Shadar Logoth; Ardath[/h2]

Shadar Logoth used to be a work of art, biological things strewn across the ground… many in pieces, some whole, but as a whole they told a story. A story of a thirst of survival hard fought, but perished. Now… it’s just dull. Not dreary, but… just boring. Fear would be the breakfast one would wake to at dawn. Despair would be the afternoon meal that lines the plates. And suspense would be the dinner that filled your belly. And cowardice would be the desert before slumber. None of which sated Ardath, and all had left her hungering for something more in her short week long stay away from her own blood bath of a campaign. Her own beloved collection of troops had diffused among the city, commanded to live a bit and do things… that trollocs tend to do. Be it cowering, fighting, procreating, or eating one another.

And before Ardath could say that her stay is finally complete, she must of course pay her respects to her beloved lord. Ah… yes, not a day goes by had she regretted this decision. Among the voices in her head attempting to waylay her path, and a few being the voice of reason, she remained very… very loyal. And he has yet to prove unfair. By her standards at least.

She practically pranced down the derelict streets. Waving to the shadows that were holes in her grasp of reality, and to those that were very real. A right down a boulevard, and she snatched up someone… she wasn’t sure who… nor did she care. And waltz with the stranger. The voices in her head all sang their tune. But soon she let go of her partner, throwing him through a doorway as she plucked up an object of some sort and continued on.

But eventually her dance came to an end as she quietly stepped through the doors of her lord. Or at least she believed there were doors. It was quite possible she was only touching air, but could feel the grain of wood biting at her fingers.

She watched the man chide his faithful creatures with a smile. And when he asked one final question… she stepped forward with a raise of hand.

“Ah, I do so believe that I could be of service –mi’lord~” She began. Her voice nearly singing as she strolled around the table. One hand was raised with her fingers gingerly brushing over the hoods of the Myrddraal.

“Sit my children, sit~” She sang softly to each one of them as she passed by. When they were all seated she giggled softly and clasped her hands together. “For Polito will happily teach you something very important!”

She turned to face her lord with a look of endearing respect.

“These little darlings are no fools my lords, and are more than capable of critical thought.” She held a small smirk. “I enjoy asking questions of those working with me… and they endure for the most part. Real interesting answers too.”

“But… they are young despite their appearances. Not in years but as a race. They have yet to develop the things that makes humans… well humans. And as appalling as that sound….” She giggled to herself… fondly remembering the sights she has seen… “humans are the greatest monsters you will ever see. Not by strength… or the fear they can bestow. But by sheer creativity. Weeee are -very- creative.”

She soon sat in the lap of one of the creatures, her hand running along it’s chin. A crooked and broad grin appeared on her lips. “When we wish to kill, we make tools. When we wish to conquer, we make ladders. And when we wish to cross rivers… we make bridges.”

She leans in close to get a closer look at the creatures face. Her smile now gone as her tone utterly change. “But what are these! Those words… are just words... only words... words with meaning... sometimes different meaning in languages. Symbols for concepts. And concepts… are vague. A duck can be a corpse, or it can be a little amphibious bird. A bridge can be constructed of wood or of ice. But I would not trust our cute little creatures with a hammer and nail. But corralling bodies? Most certainly”

She soon turned to look to the lord.

“I’ve always wondered… when facing the gates of death, what a sheep would be willing to do to save his life or his family’s. If they are willing to endure slavery for a lottery ticket for life? Would they be willing to build portable bridges and face arrow fire as their own kind tries to shoot them down before they can push them across the river?”

Her smile soon returns, “If that does not please you my lord. Then we can simply have the trollocs rip apart the villages, villagers, animals, trees, and dreams... and throw them into the river for a bridge. We can then walk on their corpses backs as the campaign continues.”