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Old 01-12-2004, 05:02 PM   #193
Elora
Shade of Carn Dûm
 
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Join Date: Apr 2003
Location: Kalrienmar
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Elora has just left Hobbiton.
Sting

Naiore

The orcs were scattered in disorganised tatters through the trees. Naiore came upon drifts of two and three, spread through the pine forest and angling towards the banks. None could answer her who had given the command to attack and the pressing desire to slaughter them where they stood beat hard within her skull. But there was bigger game afoot than her own need for release.

Those she came across, Naiore sent in the direction that the other group of Rangers had been sighted, but Toby and the orc scouts. She did not need an unchecked foe descending upon her flank or rear. Besides, they were two men, perhaps three, depending on which report she listened to, with one woman and a hobbit. In short, easily dispatched once the Rangers were dealt with, and it would get the rabble out from under her feet for the real quarry she was after.

The roar of the Branduin shivered through the air as Naiore approached. A flight of arrows hissed and thwaked in bole of tree and orcs. For their part, the orcs jeered raucously. Naiore's concern was with the source of the Branduin's raised ire, and she stood on the far bank. Naiore crouched in the cover and an ancient pine, it's age seeping through her as she leant back against it's trunk. It was ancient, but she was older still and she tossed it's weight of years aside.

Still clutching swords in both hands, Naiore lashed hard, fast and perfectly on target towards the "elf-witch" that had raised the river against them. She directed a savage melange of pain, fear and doubt. Then she moved further, seizing upon her instinct honed over Ages of Man and Elf to attack.

Léspheria's mother had suffered long. But the hardest blow was her mother's realisation that she had been betrayed. Well, Naiore recalled how she had felt, for she had sensed also. It was that memory, aching, twisting, rending, tearing, fracturing the bonds of kinship, family and friendship, that Naiore directed at Léspheria now. Naiore had the satisfaction of feeling her attack nestle in before Léspheria slammed hard walls of defence against her.

Wearing a perfect smile of cold death, Naiore straightened. Calling in black speech, she commanded the orcs to press forward whilst they could.

"Strike! Shields up, cross the river, you maggots. Strike or feel my fury!"

The orcs responded with a shriek that shattered the sky and gathered on the banks under the refuge of their shields. The barrage of arrows from the other bank faltered for a moment, the archers and commanders alike recoiling in disgust and horror at the sound of the Black Speech of Mordor polluting their minds and the air around them.

"MOVE!" Naiore's voice hardened into a single command that resonated with compulsion. Orcs in the front of the group complied by stepping forward. Naiore, meanwhile, kept well back. From her vantage she could see what was happening. From her vantage, this battle would not fall into chaotic melee. She would not have her senses enveloped and swallowed by battle lust and the need for blood. From her vantage, Naiore could keep her head.
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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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