Dec 16, 2018 1:44 PM
I have a crush on demon cam not the kind where you kiss them the kind where you torture them
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There wasn't a question. Oksa does not say this. "I am sorry. I don't think I brought you here. I don't know how to do that."

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"If you not did then what?"

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"Maybe Melkor brought you here. Maybe Elf gods did it."

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"What those?"

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"Melkor is the god of the orcs. He lives in Angband and tries to protect us from the Elves and to protect our souls from the Elf gods after we die. He might have brought you here to protect us. The Elf gods don't live here, they live far away. They hate orcs. I don't know why they would bring you here. The things they do don't make very much sense."

 

An airplane dips below the clouds again and she trembles. It doesn't drop any bombs, though.

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The winged one looks up at it and keeps an eye on it.

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It circles. Orcs flee from it, at least the ones that haven't gathered around the strange confused Maiar for protection. It continues not to use any weapons.

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The strange Maia doesn't look confident in his ability to protect them but maybe he's just bad at faces or something!

The woman addresses him in her language.

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Oksa wonders absently if the winged one would be more helpful if Elves killed the not-winged one but she doesn't see an avenue to bring this about without getting killed herself.

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She writes with the device again. "How fast do those planes go?"

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"I don't know. They can go faster than that one is going now. The Elves can leap light but not with that plane."

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"How fast would they go around the world?"

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"I don't know."

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"Why don't you know anything?" she says, but she says it out loud so presumably it will not be understood except in sentiment. She jabbers at the winged one. He sighs. He makes a plane-type thing. It has room for all the orcs still in sight.

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They look more shocked by this than they've seemed by any of the previous shenanigans. They hurriedly clamber aboard the plane-type thing. 

 

The circling Elf plane still doesn't drop any bombs. Instead, another one of a different model joins it, and starts to land.

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The winged person hesitates to board his plane-thing. The human shouts at him. He's watching the Elf planes.

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The one in the sky keeps circling. The one on the ground settles down lightly in a puff of dust. 

Someone gets out. 

They could be a human, though one who spent quite a lot of money on angel-assisted plastic surgery and had very good taste on top of that. They're taller than human, armed but not holding a weapon, carefully neutral in expression. They're in a bulky uniform.

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The human continues to shout ever more stridently at the winged person.

The winged person plops to the ground and sits cross-legged a ways away from the plane.

The human sounds like she really needs a cough drop, she's hollering so much.

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The new arrival will walk over to the winged person, then, rather than the yelling one. He stops a respectful distance away and tries a sentence in fourteen different languages.

 

Orcs cringe miserably on the plane, and speculate in whispers about whether they are being handed over to the Elves for horrible torture. Elves don't usually bother torturing orcs while they're still alive since it'll be done thoroughly enough once they're dead, but you never know.

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The winged person holds his empty hands up helplessly and doesn't reply to the Elf, or look like he understands any of the languages.

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All right, he'll try the yelling person next. 

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The yelling person's yelling rises to a fevered pitch and then she breaks off, takes a deep breath, and says something in a more normal tone of voice. The winged person makes her more devices like the ones he made before. She taps her foot impatiently; apparently they don't work right away.

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(Anyone keeping a close eye on the sky will notice that there are a lot more planes now, though they're mostly ensuring only one is visible at a time.)

 

The Elf waits patiently.

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Eventually she's impatient and produces a screenful of appalling Sindarin: "You are what wants?"

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He blinks at it, pulls out a notepad, and writes, "you are in a warzone. We would like you to come with us to somewhere safer."

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