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Old 03-10-2006, 09:06 AM   #343
Ealasaide
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
 
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Naiore

Naiore felt a sharp flush of anger as Menecin's grip tightened around her. Her armor now hung open on one side where he had cut the bindings, leaving her vulnerable to attack as she never had been before. Fury threatened to overpower her reason as now Vanwe thrust a hand into her clothing to lay it over Naiore’s heart, daring to make the attempt to read her emotions and, to Naiore’s mind, manhandling her like a common criminal. How dare they take such liberties! Daughter or no daughter, former lover or not, the two of them touched her as no one had ever dared to touch her before. She fought off a rush of murderous fury, knowing that she must think clearly now in order to free herself else all would be lost, but her pride reared up inside of her, all sulfur and brimstone, like a cornered dragon.

Pity! The stupid lot of them. Who were they to pity her? Had they no idea who they had before them? Naiore was the Ravener of Mordor. She had led fell armies and sat at the right hand of the Dark Lord himself. She had seen things, nay, perpetrated the very acts that haunted these petty creatures’ worst nightmares. And they had the audacity to pity her, to lecture her on the value of fear, whose only real value was as the answer to a philosophical, forever enigmatic riddle, which had eluded her for years. Fear had never been anything more than the root cause of their failure. Naiore narrowed her eyes and looked sharply from Léspheria to Vanwe and back again. That was why it had fascinated her so over the years, and now, her captors sought to gain strength from it. Such irony! And the irony would be even thicker as again they failed, captives of their fear.

“It is not a gift to be without fear,” whispered Vanwe. “But a curse! You will never fully know or understand the beauty of life, the strengths bestowed on us in life for life.” As Vanwe withdrew her hand and began to walk away, Naiore let out a mocking laugh.

“Since when have you become such a sage, daughter, that you think you may explain the complexities of knowledge or understanding to me?” she hissed. “You are like a mortal child and see things with a mortal child’s eyes. Yes, I saw to it that you were raised in darkness, but does not the memory of the dark make the sun shine so much brighter for you now? One must love both," she added, turning her fair eyes toward Léspheria. "And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

“And you!” Naiore now addressed Léspheria directly. “Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak? You know then that I am not the enemy. She is someone you carry with you in your heart. You cannot destroy her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet. I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.”

Her eyes still on her kinswoman, Naiore twisted gently under Menecin’s hold, testing his grip. He was weakening, his mind growing foggy under the influence of the drugged dart, his muscles less purposeful. She knew it would not take much to slip away from him, but she waited to make her move. With the ranger standing so close by and edging ever nearer, she knew she would not have much time and must make every second count if she had any hope of escape. She cast her eyes around for a weapon and a way out. Yes, yes, she could see both. Her own sword lay at her feet only slightly to her right, and, just a few paces beyond stood a riderless horse, perhaps Menecin's, the reins looped loosely over the saddle. The animal had wandered up at some point on its own. If she made a clean break from Menecin’s grasp, she could reach the beast and make her getaway. The serene smile returned to her face.

“Come closer, my kinswoman,” she said softly to Léspheria, a new idea having entered her mind. She would create a diversion. The few seconds she would gain while her remaining captors coped with their shock would be enough. Her beautiful eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,” she continued. “Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

Obediently, perhaps confident in her own righteousness, Léspheria moved in closer, her bow held low at her side. Her other hand raised in a mute signal to Amandur to keep his distance. Naiore’s smile widened as the ranger ceased his slow advance. It was the opportunity she had been counting upon. Catlike, Naiore sprang into motion. With a graceful turn of her slender body, she slipped from Menecin’s grasp, pushing him away from her with one hand, while the other hand reached out for the sword at her feet. His reactions clouded from the effects of the drugged dart, Menecin staggered and fell to the grassy forest floor, his dagger dropping from his hand as he fought in vain to right himself. Naiore closed her fingers around the hilt of her sword. With a chilling fluidity of motion, she raised the weapon and swung it toward Léspheria’s unsuspecting and unprotected throat.
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