The dark figure prowled through the grove of twisted trees, grasping branches catching upon his armour and weapons as he passed. He moved as silently as he was able to, but he knew that the sound of the constant rain would mask what little sound he made with his passing. Pausing for a moment, he peered into the gloom, trying to discern any signs of movement. He had not seen the scout since they had slipped away from the camp together, but he knew that he was headed in the right direction. He began walking through the cloying shadows once more, nodding to himself as he passed a dead ash tree and saw three small vertical lines with a horizontal line bisecting them carved into the dead bark, the stylised mark that Belegos used. Pulling his sodden hood over his hair, he shrugged the spear and shield upon his back into a more comfortable position and walked into the darkness.
Belegos did not turn as he moved softly across the small clearing towards him, but Estarfin knew the scout would have marked his presence long before. He stopped beside him, sheltering from the rain as best as he could under the needles of the pine trees overhead. The two figures stood unmoving for several minutes, staring down a slope at a small dirt path that ran beside a swollen stream. The two elves were starkly different in their appearance. Belegos was dressed in thin layers of green cloth and brown leather, fine garments once perhaps, but too many years spent in the wild had not been kind to them. He carried a long bow upon his back and a beautiful sword hung at his side, concealed within a shabby scabbard. He was tall and lean, appearing relaxed but with a hint of tension to him; a strung bow but with no arrow yet nocked upon it. Estarfin was much broader; even without the the heavy leather and steel armour that he wore. The fine crimson robes that he wore over the top could not disguise the clinking of armour plates, nor the added bulk to his outline. He carried a large steel shield and long spear upon his back, the only things about him that were not covered in mud. Although he tried to appear as relaxed as Belegos, his impatience became more apparent the longer he stood in silence.
"Well?" asked Estarfin when he could contain himself no longer. Belegos turned his head slowly, laid a hand upon Estarfin's shoulder, smiled slightly, and then brought his other hand to his hooded face, placing a gloved finger to his own lips. Leaving his hand upon Estarfin's shoulder, he turned away and pointed to the path. Harsh voices began drifting through the darkness, and then two foul orcs came into view. Estarfin reached behind him to grab his spear, but found Belegos' hand restraining him. Belegos pulled a curved knife from his belt and released Estarfin's arm. Nodding with understanding, he drew his own straight dagger and watched the orcs with a cold expression upon his face. They would be taking one of the orcs alive after all.
The orcs walked with no urgency, for they felt safe under the dark boughs of Mirkwood; an evil had been seeping into the forest for many years, and it gave the dark creatures within it courage. Belegos had gestured for Estarfin to move behind the approaching foes and he watched his friend as the warrior made his way through the trees.
The path that the orcs were on broke away from the side of the stream and curved gradually northwards and gently uphill. Belegos crouched in the undergrowth not far from the path and waited to move until he judged the time was right. He could still hear the orcs talking with one another, yet he did not pay heed to their words, only to what they carried. One held a wicked, barbed scimitar of black iron, with an iron club dangling from its belt; the other carried a short wooden spear topped with a rusted spear-head. Both of the orcs wore crude leather and patchy black and rusted ring-mail.
When they were perhaps twenty metres from Belegos, he stood from his hiding place, strolled out into the middle of the path and sheathed his knife. The two orcs stopped almost immediately and Belegos could see the confusion and apprehension in their ugly faces. They were not brave he knew, when in such small numbers, and they feared him. As casually as if he was preparing for target practice, he unslung his bow and plucked an arrow from his back-quiver. The shaft was almost three feet long, wattled from ash and tipped with a deadly-sharp bodkin, easily able to pierce the orcs shabby armour. He had timed it perfectly. He could kill them both, and they knew so, for by the time they had closed the distance to him, Belegos could have loosed three or four arrows. Instead he simply stood there with his great bow in his left hand and the arrow in his right.
The orcs looked at each other for a moment as they began to panic and a smile crept over Belegos’ face. He raised his arms and pointed at the two with the arrow, drew in a long breath and shouted, “Yrch!” He did not know why. Perhaps he had hoped that it would instil yet more fear into them before they broke and ran. As he looked at them, he noticed behind them a dark figure loom out of the shadows, his head covered by a crimson hood.
Too fixated by the elf in green standing before them, they never heard their doom approaching from behind. As quick as lightning, Estarfin clamped his gloved hand over the spear-wielding orc’s mouth, muffling a surprised cry, and pressed his knife against its throat. The second orc realised too late as a heavy, steel boot crashed down into the side of its knee with a crack, the bone breaking instantly. The orc hit the ground in a howl of pain, dropping it's sword.
Belegos began walking forwards, placing the arrow back in his quiver and slinging his bow. When he reached the fallen orc who had begun to crawl away back down the path, the hunter grabbed it by the collar of its mailed shirt and wrenched the orc up and around so that it could see Estarfin. There was a look of wild terror in its eyes, Belegos saw, akin to that of a frightened animal, and it stank, yet he forced it to watch the demise of its companion, only a few paces away. Estarfin turned, orc in tow, to face his friend holding the other on the floor. For a moment, he thought to slit the orc’s throat and be done with it, but as he was about to slide the knife across, he checked himself. Instead, he removed the knife and brought it down, and with a great thrust he plunged the blade into the orcs stomach, piercing mail, leather and flesh. With his hand still around the orc’s mouth there was no loud cry, but the look in its eyes betrayed its pain and fear. Slowly, and with seemingly little effort, Estarfin pulled the knife horizontally, tearing a large wound into the orc. Stinking, black blood began to pour from the gouge and the orc thrashed his limbs trying to pull free, but to no avail. Estarfin held the orc firmly as first blood, and then the filthy innards of the Orc leaked from the terrible wound. Gradually the orc’s efforts began to weaken, and then it stopped all together. Estarfin pulled out the knife, slick with blood, and with a look of disgust threw the lifeless body to the ground.
The rain was still lashing, and the blood ran in rivulets on the path back down towards the other orc, and its eyes followed the flow as it lapped around its boots. When it saw Estarfin approaching, knife in hand, it began to wail and struggle free, but Belegos held him tight. The warrior stopped just in front of them and the two elves exchanged glances. With a nod of his head, Belegos gestured towards the orc and said, “Let us take this one elsewhere, where we shall not encounter any more of them.” Estarfin gave a shrug and wiped his blade on his sleeve, sheathing it once it was cleaner. He took another couple of steps forward and kneeled down, pulling back his hood and grabbing the orc’s collar as Belegos released him. They studied each other for a moment, the orc and the elf, then, without a word, Estarfin threw his head back and brought it down with a dull thud into the orc’s nose. Unconscious, it slumped onto the floor with blood streaming from its nostrils.
“I thought that may have put a smile on your face,” said Belegos as he watched Estarfin drag the senseless orc from the path back into the shadows amongst the trees. Estarfin looked up, a slight frown upon his face. “You believe that I revel in such pain and anguish Belegos?"
"If not, then why not end this now? Kill that thing and let us return to the camp."
"You know that we cannot." Estarfin sighed gently. "We are here for a reason, for who else could, or would, do this if not us?"
Belegos shook his head, drops of water falling from his hood. "Who indeed?” he muttered to nobody in particular. “Then we had best get started,” he said. He pulled his knife from its sheath and strode after his friend.
