The woods was as quiet of as the air itself. Here and there ancient oaks join their branches across a canopy of light brow from which rays of gold cascade around him. Between the trees he could see the orcs. They must have been travelling from Angmar up North. Zargodon quickly turns back into the shadows, hiding as one of them screams to the others. The language uttered in that gutterence and growling raptures through the air. The leader in front shouts out to a man while whipping his boy. Screams of pain erupts from the boy as the beast stands aside, blood dripping from the lashes on his back. Deep red marks the poor figure on the ground, knees pressed against the muck. The man was kneeling, pleading for his son’s life.
-
The first arrow hits the orc's head back fast, topping him over without as much as a sound, he had time to aim. With the second that he lets go, it travels straight towards the shocked grunt of the beast with the whip; hitting him in the chest, letting out a gush of blood that seeps into its grotesque chest. The whip fell limp from his hand as he clasped the shaft, desporate to stop the crimson tide that erupts freely from the wound. The group that stood on the road, exposed and caught off guard, now reaches for their weapons and begins charging, leaving the man and his boy hunched over in the dirt as two of them had already fallen and as cowards be their nature knows to fear their lives. The elf takes a step forward, dropping his bow, swings out his twin daggers before ducking as the head of a blood drenched axe travels in front of him. In the heat of battle the gruesome cries of pure hate echoes from the lungs of these fell creatures, eager for elven slaughter. This would be a good report for the one that brings to camp the head of an Elda.
The blade of one of the daggers made it’s mark, pushing deep into the shoulder of one while the two other descend on him. Only three more meters to go and they will be within blade’s reach. From around he brings the other dagger with great force, plunging deep into the chest before with a kick to the it’s mid-drift pushes the orc back on top of the fast approaching danger.
From behind the cover of the tree he used as shield, the elf plunges once more with his daggers down on the pile of vile flesh and limbs. From the mass of screaming filth a hand reaches to grab hold of his boot, trying to pull him from his feet. It was here that a wail of such anguish reached them that he saw as the boy fell face down dead on the ground.
Such anger that he felt at that moment would never be explained. The sight of the father bend down weeping over his son surged inside him such hatred at that for these heartless abominations. With great might and flurry of slashes he fell upon the beast underneath of him, gashing the throat of two and embedded one of his blades in the eye of the other.
-
Zargodon jumps up and ran hopelessly towards father and son, unable to help while the boy lies dying on the ground. The man was sitting with his son’s head cradled on his lap while blood pools out of the boy’s soft, innocent mouth. The elf turned around and looked down the road as he notice now small flakes of ash rain down amongst them. From the over the tops of the trees he could see huge clouds of smoke accent into the beauty of the blue sky defiling it with it’s darken evil.
--
“And what happened with the man?” Elenath asked as memories of the past flooded through his tormenting mind. The flames in the hearth, brightening the little cottage behind them, shown gently against her delicate elven face. She was leaning with her head against his shoulder and her hand holding his on his lap. Her soft black hair fell down the front from behind her slender neck to shimmer in the soft orange light that cascades on her serene face, her eyes looking up at him “I “ Zarg looks back into the flames recalling the rest of the tale.
-
Another wail of pain pierced the air behind him. The sound of pure anguish and rage, of vengeful and retributive anger echoed throughout that forest. Cradling the limp form of the boy in his arms, the man stumbled towards the elf, pleading for help. “Please, sir, I have heard of your powers. Please, I beg you. Save my son” he says placing the boy down on the ground before Zarg’s feet.
“All that we can do now, my friend, would be to give him a decent burial and pay our last respects. I’m sorry for your son’s death, but not even us can call back life”. He couldn’t save him. Once again he was to late, only in time to witness more of the heartache and sorrow of the survivors. So many times it has happened in the past and he has sworn never to turn from the protection of this race he has grown to love and admire.
--
“I- I helped bury his son. What else was there to do?” he says softly.
