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Old 12-28-2003, 07:23 AM   #182
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

"Man's blood," Naiore said icily as she materialised through the early morning fog. Those before hunched and swayed, fingering hilts that had already seen action. She could sense their longing for it, recent conflict lying noisome in their hideous thoughts and emotions.

"And you've lost four of your number," she finished, swiftly tallying the orcs that ranged before her.

"We found trouble," one hissed in a harsh and fell voice. She applied a deathly cold gaze to him and the challenge dropped away, for the moment. Behind him, the others watched. They always did. Loathe as she did such creatures, orcs, they had their uses.

"You are late. I gave no order to engage." Her only reply was a growled snarl.

"Who was it," she inquired.

"A man," the leader replied in a cringing voice now, whining and wheezing before the spectre of beautiful death. He had not expected this.

"There was a woman too, and a hafling," one of the others supplied. Rage moved like frost through Naiore. The one who had spoken noted the flare in her silvery starlight gaze and grinned fiercely. He had done his homework before setting out on this lark. Kaldir's party had a woman and hafling in it, Naiore well knew from her time spent in observation. She knew that much only, due to the distance she had to keep. Kaldir was canny, and she knew his wiles well, very well. She had contented herself with tasting his dreams and watching only, well aware of the peril of even that. It was a thrill, it was part of the hunt, and now this orc had robbed her.

An equisitely made sword sliced the cowering orc, cleaving twisted life from him. She lifted the bloodied point at the one who had furnished the details and fixed her gaze fully upon him.

"Did he die," she asked serenely, deceptively, deadly.

"I do not know, Lady," it replied, dropping its gaze to the now soiled grass and earth. Naiore considered matters an instant longer, bent and wiped off the blood from her sword on the fallen orc and sheathed it once more at her shoulder in a move so swift it seemed to bend the air around the blade.

"There will be no further distractions. I give to you man-flesh and elf-flesh. 'Tis yours for the taking. I give to you death slow and lingering should you fail me. 'Tis also yours for the taking. The choice is your own."

She spoke calmly to the crowd that leant forward. They were clearly orcs of the Misty Mountains. A great many gazed skyward in the growing light, fearful of the sun.

"There are Rangers nearby. You may have them for your sport as you please. Leave any elf-women you find, unspoilt, for me to deal with. Have your sport otherwise. We will fall on Imladris once the Rangers are dealt with. We attack at nightfall."

"Who will join us, Lady," the new leader croaked.

"I will," Naiore replied and in her gaze they saw battle terrible and places now forgotten and fell. They saw the dark magnificence that was Barad-dur, that once she had glided through in silks and velvets as beautiful as the dawn. The fog was steadily burning off with the rising sun, and there was no need for more questions.

"You will find cover for the day and meet me here at nightfall. Dispose of that well," she added, flicking a gloved hand at the orc carcass. Naiore turned and melted into the trees as she heard the ripping of flesh and the fearsome sound of orcs feeding. With fortune, she'd be rid of the vermin come Imladris. The Elves would take out a good many before they fell and she could deal with the remnant easily enough. For now, they would swamp the Rangers and deliver her Lesphéria. That irksome battle would come with nightfall and she had much to prepare before then. Naiore stalked like a shadow back towards her camp set the other pawns into motion.

Vanwe

Vanwe lowered the water bottle from her lips and held it in her hands. Toby's kindness had startled her, and warmed a corner of her soul despite the desolation inside. He had settled back into place again, and she wondered what she could do by way of return. She had started to rise, to return him his water flask when her mother emerged from the trees. Vanwe froze in her place, fear thudding through her and hiding the water bottle in the skirts of her mother's dress that she wore.

Naiore strode across the camp, where Barrold watched from beneath slitted eyelids and Avanill restlessly stirred, to stand before Vanwe.

"It is time, daughter," she cooly announced. Vanwe rose from her seat, water bottle carefully held in a fold of the luxuriant silk skirt. The clearing was grey, morning light filtered.

"You know what to do," Naiore said. Vanwe nodded, replying "I do, mother." She spoke with a confidence she did not feel, yet quashed her uncertainty before it leaked out and betrayed her.

"Then go." Uien nodded gravely and cast a glance around the camp sight. Barrold and Avanill now openly watched, both men suspicious and uncertain. Her blue gaze passed each by in turn, wondering what company she would next find, if not death. In silence, Vanwe made her way to the edge of the clearing, passing by Toby. As she dropped the water bottle onto the soft bed of pine needles, her mother hailed her. Fear again blossomed within her heart as she turned back, the silk of her gown whispering with her movement.

"Remember, do not be seen and return at once. Do not tarry on your path, if indeed you be true of word and heart." Vanwe felt her hands clenching within the long wide, pearl encrusted sleeves. Again she nodded, delicate blond hair falling foward. Relief that she had not brought disaster on Toby for his kindness warred with rage and despair. Vanwe turned once more, gazing at Toby with pleading for him to flee, and made her way on the path her mother had set before her.

Would she prove true or not? Vanwe no longer knew what the truth was, or who she was. She walked in silence, a lone Elf maiden, through the trees towards Imladris and her father.

Behind her, in the clearing, Barrold protested as he watched her graceful form be swallowed by swirling fog that clung stubbornly to the trees and branches.

"Where's she off to, then?"

"That is no concern of yours, Ferney," Naiore replied with clear warning. Already her sword had drunk. She fancied cleaner blood than that of orc and it would help take the edge off the coming battle.

"I think it is. We 'ad a deal!"

Naiore was across the clearing and her dagger pressed uncomfortably against Barrold's throat before Avanill could find the hilt of his dagger. His fingers curled around it's security just as Naiore crooned,

"Leave that be, Master Avanill, if you wish to be." Death thrilled through her as Barrold tried to swallow around her dagger tip. A crimson jewel of blood appeared and Naiore smiled with longing.

"No oathbreaker am I! Do you say otherwise, mortal?"

"No," Barrold managed hoarsely. Naiore's dagger remained.

"Vanwe will return and you shall have that which you desire in good time. I know what you want... I can taste it, hear it, see it, feel it. All in good time."

Barrold watched Naiore's lips shape the words and wondered deep in his heart what it was he wanted. Gold, yes, power also... death too? She would be pleased if that was the case. Fear howled through him like a banshee and Naiore's eyes flared with pleasure. She smiled, wet her lips and pulled back.

Barrold was gasping as though he had just ran a race as Naiore unfolded herself.

"You would do well to prepare yourselves to break camp by nightfall. My allies have arrived and there is work to do this night."

"What work," Avanill unsteadily asked in a voice that found its legs by the end of his brief question. The exchange between Naiore and Barrold, so close, was disturbing to watch.

"Knife work. We strike at the Rangers that have been following us, as reported by good Master Longholes here. Be ready to move as soon as dusk falls."

With that, Naiore settled into place and began fishing out pouches she carried in her light pack. She added clear bottles, which she unstopped and began a painstaking process of measuring out powders. It would take most of the day to prepare her tincture for Lesphéria, but it was worth the effort and the process would soothe her. Naiore loathed the wild disarray of battle and the scent of it unsettled her more than she was prepared to allow herself to admit.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:36 AM December 30, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]
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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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