Wolves of Mirkwood - [Adanedhel]
Oct 10, 2017 6:50:50 GMT -5
Post by Captains on Oct 10, 2017 6:50:50 GMT -5
The guard never saw it coming, being both overconfident in the safety of Mordor lands, and presumptuous about how broken the prisoner had truly been. When his legs were kicked from under him, he fell will a yelp and a hiss, but before he could grab the hilt of his sword, Adanedhel had taken it up himself.
The fire as it plunged into his chest was severe, and he gurgled and attempted to thrash about. It was no use. The orc guard’s limbs were growing heavy and tired, and he soon didn’t have the energy to fight. The last thing he felt before the world went dark was the elf drawing his jagged blade from his chest and the fading footsteps as he crept away.
Elves, gifted with light feet, had little trouble moving silently. As he sneaked through the orcs, he killed those he could and stayed downwind of those he could not. Things went well, for a time. One of the orcs, though, caught sight of something skulking, and a stray, dry tendril of wind brought the scent of elf-flesh to his nose.
“You lazy maggots!” He roared to his fellow orc, and he shoved them forward and drew his own blade. “One of the Dark Lord’s pets has escaped!”
He took a deep breath, sniffing as if to track like a hunting hound. His red eyes shifted in the direction of the elf. “You’re in the land of orcs,” he called to Adanedhel, even though he could not yet see him. He could smell him. Even dirtied, the elf’s scent was fairer than those of his own kind. Positively revolting. “You don’t actually think you’re going to make it out past the gate?”
The other orcs drew their weapons as well, and began a slow press in Adanedhel’s direction, laughing lowly. “You can kill us,” one offered with a sneer, licking his lips. “But the gate guardians?”
The fire as it plunged into his chest was severe, and he gurgled and attempted to thrash about. It was no use. The orc guard’s limbs were growing heavy and tired, and he soon didn’t have the energy to fight. The last thing he felt before the world went dark was the elf drawing his jagged blade from his chest and the fading footsteps as he crept away.
Elves, gifted with light feet, had little trouble moving silently. As he sneaked through the orcs, he killed those he could and stayed downwind of those he could not. Things went well, for a time. One of the orcs, though, caught sight of something skulking, and a stray, dry tendril of wind brought the scent of elf-flesh to his nose.
“You lazy maggots!” He roared to his fellow orc, and he shoved them forward and drew his own blade. “One of the Dark Lord’s pets has escaped!”
He took a deep breath, sniffing as if to track like a hunting hound. His red eyes shifted in the direction of the elf. “You’re in the land of orcs,” he called to Adanedhel, even though he could not yet see him. He could smell him. Even dirtied, the elf’s scent was fairer than those of his own kind. Positively revolting. “You don’t actually think you’re going to make it out past the gate?”
The other orcs drew their weapons as well, and began a slow press in Adanedhel’s direction, laughing lowly. “You can kill us,” one offered with a sneer, licking his lips. “But the gate guardians?”