Nardol had just spun to face the elusive Orc that had evaded his swipe when an arrow pierced his leg from behind and to the side. Maintaining his footing, he hopped to one side, cursing as he went, and sank down next to a rock. When the Orc made no immediate move to follow, he glanced back to see the woman standing next to a rough shelter and no foes in sight from the direction the arrow had come. More treachery?
He sat on a log and pulled at the dart in an attempt to dislodge it. Even as he did so, the woman ran forward to crouch next to him and lend him aid. He grimaced in pain and looked darkly at the Ranger. "Daughter of Man, did you shoot this arrow?"
She stammered out a denial even as the Wizard raised his staff. A fiery bolt shot out to land in the midst of the three remaining Orcs who ran off screaming. "So there is some good to being a Wizard..." muttered Nardol.
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Beleriand, Beleriand,
the borders of the Elven-land.
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