(Finally moved under the appropriate character)
The badly beaten man slumped down against the wall, cradling his broken arm in his lap whilst groaning in obvious pain and discomfort, his blurry gaze focused on the woman who had just ravaged their camp in the ruins of Tham Varan, a single warrior who had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, and in a flurry of bladework had reduced the group of five to a single, beaten survivor. This woman now paced back and forth. Steely gaze unflinching as she observed the injured man, a bruise on her cheek and a minor cut in her midriff as a result of the scuffle.
"So... You're telling me you're all the way here. On the hills of Parth Aduial for a little boys night out? The City of Kings but an earshot away, the city which you fell ilk have infested and so fervently contest to hold?"
Breannar inquired with a venomous tone. But the man hissed at her and refused to answer. His stubborness doing little to placate the woman's anger. Who moved to press her boot upon his chest and press down slightly whilst leaning over.
"Do not try my patience, Angmarin. Make no mistake. You will join the rest of your ilk in this camp, but it is up to you how swift the end is. Tell me, what I wish to know and I'll grant you a swift passage from this world"
Anna snarled back, but the Angmarin laughed and spat on her boot. "You fail around in the dark... The City of Kings... Is ours... Eriador... Will be ours... Our Lord and Master will finish... What was started so long ago"
He laughed a hacking, wheezing laugh, which was quickly cut short by a flash of steel. A final exhale escaped the man before he expired.
"Rotten wretch... Join the dark you're so fond of" Anna hissed and spat on the unmoving man before turning around to look for clues through the camp. Still fuming anger. Brought upon by the Angmarin's arrogance, and the discomfort and pain of her injuries.
She kicked another of the Angmarin over to her back and searched through her belongings but found little aside fell scripture she quickly cast into the still burning campfire. "Come on... You had a purpose here... Surely..." She muttered to herself amidst her ever mounting frustration casting every piece and parchment that was riddled with the propaganda of Angmar into the flame.
But as she kicked over the last of the fallen doubt had begun to gnaw on her mind. There was no question: They were Angmarim, and she felt no pity for slaying the lot, but wether she could find anything that would help her she knew not and was beginning to believe she would not.
"Well... Atleast there's fewer of these ilk in..." She cut herself off upon noticing a piece of parchment tucked into the robes of the last of the cultists. She raised an eyebrow took the parchment and unfolded it. jher eyes widening with shock and suprise as she read it against in the light of the crackling fire.
Anna understood little of the raving ramblings that took up the first quarter of the parchment, but the remaining text was abundantly clear to her. A missive, detailing the group... One of three operating in the region near the Lake. Tasked with retrieving slaves, wether travelers, traders or even of the hobbit that may travel these roads alone.
The woman felt disgust and utter reprehension. She was all but ready to throw the parchment into the fire, and that's when she noticed the drawing in the corner... A hexagonal circle with a wide open iris that wept blood. Having never seen it before Breannar rips the corner where the mark was etched upon and stashed it into her pocket whilst casting the rest of the foul missive into the fires.
With the grim task done she left. Clambering onto the saddle of her steed and turned her path towards Tinnudir to treat her wounds, and to possibly trade information, for she hoped to find the remaining two groups yet stalking these old lands.
