Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplays/@comment-26453572-20151113004759/@comment-26444332-20151114154412

Faenor and three wardens descend into a cave, at the base of the misty mountains. A foul reek emanates from it, and the wretched smell only grows stronger as they venture further.

"Are we sure, doirion Faenor?" one asks, the honorary term giving the warden away as a Ñoldo.

"We are. Only these could be so foul." Faenor replies, then takes a deep breath. He blinks, then whispers, "Yrch."

The four Eldar move forwards, needing no torches. When they finally come into an open place, they can see the source of the reek. Thirty or so Orcs, remnants of the days when they stalked the land, lie hidden in the chamber. They curse and shove, pushing and thrashing for more space in the cramped cave. Faenor draws his sword.

One looks up and sees the four Eldar.

"Dago hon." Faenor says quietly, motioning to the yrch with his blade.

The Orc dies silently and quickly, an arrow protruding from his neck. Faenor looks at the other wardens, nods, and then leaps into the chamber, drawing an identical sword. The other three Elves take out their longbows and begin shooting.

---

When it is all over, the four Eldar make the short trip back to Lóriën, and Cerin Dolen their watchpost.