Tied to the stump of a large and ancient tree, fasted tightly with thick leather straps, bound by the hands and feet, and gagged with a dirty and bloody rag, the elf slumped unconsciously against the worn bark. Around him orcs were making camp, must have been ten, half of which were busy with their bedrolls and festering meals while a brawl that broke out occupied the rest. One orc in particular was intimidating, perhaps the leader of the group, an Uruk-hai, standing tall and baring a multitude of scars across his open, pockmarked chest. One of the brawlers were lying prone, fending off vicious blows from his adversary.
Upon closer inspection of the captured elf; the one side of his head was a mess of dried and dirty blood, his arm might have been broken as it angled out painfully, while where the tightly bound leathers dug into his ankles an agonizing cut sliced through his skin. He barely registered the commotion around him with a sickening sway of his head.
The she-elf stood calmly behind a tree, calming her breath. She had her weapons at ready as she started to silently sneak towards the group of orcs she finally managed to find. She frowned lightly trying to see or hear what was happening there. A small smirk appeared on her face as she realized some of them were fighting. That was convenient. She kept moving forward, towards the next hideout, counting her enemies. She crouched by the next tree scouting the camp with her gaze. Ten orcs... One of them obviously their leader. She was pleased as she was afraid there may be more of them, but such a small number was giving her a chance to save her friend. Now... Where is Saergildin?”
Nearest to her were three of the orcs busy with their rugged bags, digging in them for some meal or other while around them two were gathering wood from the dead trees that litter the desolation that plagued Angmar. Behind, Saergildin was bound ignorant to her rescue. Further along, the loud commotion of the fight was busy playing out, occupying the rest of the small warparty.
One of the orcs came closer, muttering a foul curse in Black Speech as he gathered the wood, his front to her as behind him another followed, coming dangerously within seeing distance of her most recent hideout. The three busy with bags sat with their legs splayed out, taking out recently slaid meet, arranging the group's meal upon a iron grill.
Her gaze caught the group attending the brawl but she saw no sign of an elf among them, she now focused on those closest to her, busy with building their camp. She had to get rid of them but as quietly as possible not to get the attention of others. She looked left at the water nearby and the nearest orc. She reached for a stone and threw it into the pond hoping to get his attention
Close to her the two that gathered the wood looked up sharply at the sound of something hitting the water. A large scar slides across the closest one's face, which makes his way followed by a large nostrilled monstrosity, even for an orc. Scar muttered to Nostril. They both dropped their charred wood and walked closer to inspect the noise, not seeing what might have caused it, but just as wary as it is Angmar and both of them knew of the dangers that the land provided.
Aeirillen grabbed another stone, throwing it to the water again trying to get them to approach the pond as close as possible. Her breath was calm and unnoticeable.
Both of the orcs came closer to the festering pond, looking around cautiously, yet still not having seen anything out of the ordinary. Scar cursed at Nostril, aiming a blow to his head, as they argued about something or other, gesturing wildly to the pile of dropped wood.
Aeirillen saw her chance here and quickly (but still quietly) ran towards them, trying to get them by surprise. She reached to her knife in the meantime and hit the closest one in the back of his head causing him to lose consciousness. She then made a graceful pirouette, cutting the throat of the other one before he managed to alarm the rest.
She approached the unconscious orc and pierced his chest with her blade. She crouched listening carefully whether the rest noticed something.
Her attack was quick and fluent, giving almost no chance for them to utter a sound. The other orcs busy with the camp sat oblivious to their fellow's plight, and soon to be theirs. One of them stood up by that time to look for his mates, eager to get the fire started and have his meal. He called out in their guttural language to deaf ears, making his way towards her.
She heard his footsteps on the dry ground and immediately reached to her bow aiming at him. She released an arrow that reached his throat before he managed to notice her presence. She ran towards another hideout focusing on the rest of the group, hoping they did not realize the death of their companions.
The blood gushed out of his throat as he fell lifelessly to the ground, feebly trying stop crimson tide that erupted from his neck as he croaked silently, suffering to death. Lucky for her the others were still spacing out their meat, none of them aware of her presence as yet.
Aeirillen took a deep breath relieved as she watched the rest of her foes, oblivious of her presence. She moved forward, sneaking gracefully towards them.
Shouts could be heard from the raging brawl further away, as the orcs grunted in the sheer excitement of violence. The Uruk stood with a wide sneer upon his inhuman face, standing smug with his arms crossing his broad chest. Two other orcs stood by his side, shouting encouragement. The flash of steel and blood could be seen between their legs, orc massacring orc.
She remained hidden, reaching to her weapons once more. She was trying to find a way to get rid of the next two without attracting the attention of the others
Growing tired of waiting and finish arranging the foul meat upon their makeshift grill, one of the two by their camp grunted to the other when both of them stands to go search for their missing tinder.
Aeirillen smirked and remained still waiting for them to move further away from the camp so she could get rid of them silently
As they reached over the raised ground that hid Aeirillen and their fallen comrades, one of them immediately went for his crooked sword by his side, sliding the metal out of its sheath. The other was second to realize what he saw on the ground, sprawled with their blood seeping into the dirty water.
Sneaking behind them she was read with her blades in her hands, stabbing their backs, making sure the blades reach their spines to paralyze them.
Saergilden looked up from the ground, his face pale and almost lifeless, eyes dark and ringed. She could see he was close to death, perhaps near the point where he himself would give up this hold on life. As he stared aimlessly in front of him, looking at her, he still saw nothing but the darkness that surrounded him, has surrounded him for the months that passed without hope.
Aeirillen took a deep breath preparing herself. She knew it was all way to easy and a real fight was about to start, she approached the tree nearby now scouting the camp better, looking for her friend.
Her eyes caught Saergilden by the giant tree. She frowned seeing how poor was his condition. She could feel the life abandoning his body... She had to be quick.
She found him bound to the dead stump, bloodied and battered, bruised with cuts and his face caked with his own blood. His eyes opens slightly as he saw the dreaming visage of his lost friend. A faint but wishful smile crossed his thin lips, caring and loving, as he readies himself to depart this world, believing what he saw only to be a ghost from his past.
Aeirillen frowned slightly again whispering to herself, typical for her irony. "Oh no... I didn't go through the half of Angmar just to find you dead.' Her fist clenched around her bow as she stood up, aiming at the two orcs standing next to their leader.
Behind the tree they were hiding a guttural and cruel shout erupted from one of the battling orcs. The fight must have ended. They would be coming back soon. With the two dead bodies lying upon the dirt, both having managed to injure the other beyond usefulness, the Uruk ended them both. Their entrails lied scattered and black upon the flithy gray dust.
Aeirillen released the arrows luckily killing the two standing next to the boss. As they fell to the ground she left her hideout, putting away her bow, reaching for blades. She walked forward slowly and silently, openly approaching the leader, with her face hidden under her hood.
He was still wiping his blade after slicing through the throat of the surviving combatant when next to him the two fell down to the ground, shrieking violently, desperately clawing at the protruding arrows as they tried to still the rush of blood between their fingers.
She glanced at the orc calmly, her face indifferent. Waiting patiently for him to realize her presence and attack.
The Uruk looked around him, seeing the dead bodies that lurked behind the tree, his frame looming muscularly towards her. His chest was littered with a crisscross of scars and lacerations. With his pace systematically increasing, he ran fill tilt towards her, his blade at the side as his face contorted into a hideous and hateful sneer for her race.
To be continued
