Nardol dismounted and led Rustal into the underbrush. Drawing his sword, he approached cautiously a group of shadowy figures gathered in the road. Sliding behind the trunk of an ancient oak tree, he peered out at the strangers. They were gathered about a gaping hole in the road; Men, Elves and several of those foolish half-Men who dwelt near the Dwarf-road just east of Emyn Beriad.
Apparently, they had triggered one of the traps which had appeared in the area. He snorted. Not surprising that Men would be so heavy-footed but the Elves should have known better. Of course, the mere fact that these Elves chose to travel with Men marked them as over-trusting and lacking in caution and sense.
At that moment, a loud report sounded accompanied by a flash. He cringed, then straightened and leapt out into the road with his blade held high to meet whatever foe had caused the explosion...
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Beleriand, Beleriand,
the borders of the Elven-land.
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