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Old 10-25-2003, 06:48 PM   #123
Elora
Shade of Carn Dûm
 
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Join Date: Apr 2003
Location: Kalrienmar
Posts: 402
Elora has just left Hobbiton.
Sting

Naiore

Oh, she longed to drink in the hobbit's wretched fear. It had been so long and she had been denied this small quenching of a far deeper need for too long. The flash of defiance would only make the morsel a little sweeter. He slumped on the floor, a messy puddle of hobbit, right there to be taken. Perhaps he would squeak... perhaps a desultory struggle and then he would be gone...

By a tendril of restraint, Naiore withheld. Toby Longholes watched her hands draw the garrot taut and then relax. Instead she waved him to a nearby stone with a gracefully aloof gesture.

"Please, sit Master Longholes. I do detest mess." The measured modulation of her voice sounded as though she were a lady in the gleaming halls of her King, not a Ravennor in a cave near Bree. Naiore hated clutter. Toby dragged himself to the indicated perch and huddled miserably. Still, he was not as subdued as one may think. He calculated and connived, Naiore could feel the shape of his cunning move through his discomfort.

She took a steadying breath as her own thoughts wheeled.

"And so you are an associate of Barrold Ferney, Master Longholes. He has found satisfaction in your services in the past?"

"Yes.... no better than me," Toby replied with more than a hint of stubborn pride. He shifted again, uncomfortable beneath the weight of her relentless stare. Without a word, Naiore started to coil her garrot. Toby was flummoxed and she could sense his uncertainty.

So, Lespheria is about, and with the Dunedain rabble no doubt. Soiling herself by association with such mortal refuse of a failed nation washed up by unhappy circumstance when their mettle failed. A fierce flash of anger lit Naiore's gaze, betraying her ancient hatred for Gondor. Stowing her silk at her hip, where it would be ready, Toby found himself delicately positioned next to the Ravennor as she took a nearby rock and curled her lithe form to sit upon it.

"Did the Rangers also have satisfaction of your services, Master Longholes?"

Toby stammered as he fished about. Naiore's lips curved into a knowing smile. She placed a long fingered hand gloved in black on his shoulder lightly. He stilled, mouth drying further and swallowing any words he may have caught.

"No need to answer, Toby. We both know the way of such things, do we not?" Toby nodded and shook his head, unsure of which answer would best behoove him and the sinking feeling that none would. Naiore ran a light finger down Toby's cheek and then withdrew, her face once again dangerous serenity.

"Tell me, who else have you seen in Bree of late, Master Longholes?" She fixed a cool gaze on Toby squarely, filled with the certainty of a reply. Toby's brow furrowed as he wondered what she would want to hear as well as how to zip past her into the open. Both were knotty conundrums.

He cannot be permitted to leave now, and he will soon realise it. Strip him of all value and leave his body here... or mayhap he has some future use... What better than a Hobbit for entry to the Shire...

Toby was listing a string of local names, none of which interested Naiore in the least. Her patience wore thin and it showed in the way she cut across his stream of ridiculous botanical names that were the fashion in these rustic lands.

"I care not for those to whom you owe money or those who owe you money, and well you know it. Perhaps you would be interested to learn that those who disappoint me seem to be cursed with unfortunate ends that would make the hairs on your toes curl, Master Longholes. Hardly the topic of polite conversation."

Naiore spoke casually, as though discussing the weather or grain harvest. Toby shivered and watched her cock her head and smile strangely, almost as if she were tempting him with something.

"Those who please me are well rewarded for their service and wisdom. Few are able to reward as handsomely as I, and that is no idle boast.

"Perhaps you have observed something of interest to me recently. I do hope so."

Toby knew that somewhere in there was a threat. She seemed to wear threat like a mantle, and he didn't much like her smile either. Still... rewards... maybe there was a way in on Barrold's rich scheme. If so he'd have to make the most of it before the Man appeared to put an end to it.

"I... I saw Barrold talking to someone last night," he ventured. He found himself rewarded with an expression of genuine pleasure and warmed to his task.

"I will be rewarded,"

"Amply, good Master Longholes. I am as good as my word." Incongruous as that was, a Ravennor as good as her word, Naiore meant it. Naiore listened intently as Toby unfolded his tale of Kaldir. When he was done, the cave was silent. He dared a furtive glance at the Elf by his side and regretted it. She was fell and dangerous, no matter how big her purse was. After a time, Naiore broke from her musings.

"You've done well, Master Longholes, and I am pleased. I can see why Barrold retains your services. A master spy indeed. 'Tis fortunate we met for I can well use your remarkable talent for observation."

Alarm blossomed in Toby renewed as it became obvious he was not about to part company with Naiore any time soon. She shook her head as though fondly waiting out the intemperate objections of a child.

"Really, Master Longholes, you did not expect me to send you off with Rangers looking for you after having seen me? One of your professional standing should know better." Toby heaved a miserable sigh.

"Such glumness when you are set to become one of the most powerful and wealthiest Hobbit ever! You are a mystery indeed. Fascinating."

Naiore's voice was drily amused as she stretched her long legs and settled in.

"No, I'm afraid you'll be sharing my company yet. You have two choices and you would be advised to ponder them well. Prove yourself of use and I will keep you with me. Prove yourself useless or trouble and I will leave behind your lifeless remains. Alive and rich, or dead.

The decision is yours, Master Longholes."

With that, Naiore fell as silent as the stone she sat upon. She settled with the ease of her kindred to let time pass her by, awaiting Barrold's return.


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Barrold

Barrold was not idly tarrying. Indeed, Tallas was giving him much more trouble than any old man had any business being. Grim and surprisingly strong and wiry, it was like trying to subdue a snake. Tallas could twist and strike with his staff with blinding speed and painful accuracy.

Still it was one man against two. Fight as he did, Barrold had enough of such stoushes to know that sooner or later they would put an end to him. Wheezing after earning Tallas' staff to his sternum, Barrold gasped, "Enjoyed that, I 'ope old man."

He circled warily with Avanill, who seemed unusually fierce and preoccupied at the man's jibes. Then with an shout of animal murder, Barrold lunged forward with his dagger reaching for Tallas' blood just as Avanill sprang into action. The two men hit Tallas hard, and they tumbled to the ground with a thud that sent dust and leaves spraying skywards. Sunlight flashed off daggers raised and suddenly dropped, bright gleams of death reflected, first clean blades and then bloodied red.

The knot of men crabbed across the ground, hands clawing and feet kicking, grunting between clenched teeth. It was wildly chaotic, atavistic struggle beneath the woodland trees. In the dappled light, life was being ruined but not quietly and not without a struggle. Across the ground they lurched, towards a tree that bore a prisoner whose horrified gaze was torn between Tallas being stabbed before her and the dagger he had given her.

She had been able to saw through some of the rope, but when the first dagger strike met Tallas' flesh, she had sagged in horror. Her healer's senses of injury and pain were being torn as surely as Tallas was. Desperation had her teeth clenched against the sensations of death and violence. With a snarl, she stowed the dagger beneath her tunic as best the ropes would allow and launched herself as best as she could, untrained and untutored, towards the murderous knot of Avanill and Barrold as they stole Tallas' life from him.

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Characters: Rosmarin: Lady of Cardolan; Lochared: Vagabond of Dunland; Simra: Daughter of Khand; Naiore: Lady of the Sweet Swan; Menecin: Bard of the Singing Seas; Vanwe: Lost Maiden; Ronnan: Lord of Thieves; and, Uien of the Twilight
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