The harsh winter sun of Angmar beat down as Xandilif smiled at the white robed priest, reflecting on the past few days. Until now it had been a wonderful trip as far as the elven warrior was concerned and had just kept getting better in her eyes.
She had taken a fast horse to Gath Forthnir, high in the Himbar wastes to catch up with some old friends. Indeed, she was barely through the secret door before she was ensconced with Hroar in one of the side passages, a keg already broached and half drained as they spoke of old times and distant battles.
Hroar had been in Gath Forthnir bartering for trinkets for years now, ever since a rabid cave claw had swallowed the back of one of his knees. He said the thin air and harsh temperatures soothed the ache, and who was to tell him otherwise.
The old dwarf looked at Xandilif over his tankard through narrowed eyes, considering her ageless, pale features and close cut raven locks. In some ways she looked the very picture of her people, in others, nothing that one would expect. "Never thought to see the Banshee in these parts agin', what with all the action out with the men-folk. Take a fancy to the Morroval Queen again? Lord how you two went on back i' the day..."
Xandilif drained her tankard and slammed it down to be filled again and shook her head, wiping her soft lips on the enameled steel of her vambrace, laughing. "Nay, she and I were quits long ago, Elbereth be praised. No, I am here for a bit of relaxation and on a hunt." The dark haired warrior turned to nod and wink at the serving girl and sucked the head off the newly poured tankard.
The dwarf was incredulous. "A hunt? You be on a hunt? Ain't that more tha' Monk's style, if ya don't mind me askin. You strike me to be more of a mind to stay in one place and take what comes to ya rather than needin' ta chase after it, if ya follow my meanin'?"
"The blasted Monk is why I am here at all..." Xandilif cursed in Orcish and slapped her armored thigh. "She has her silken whispers in a damn twist over the Child...says he been too long away with no word to her. Says she had a flamin' DREAM of all things of him being ganged up by Goblins and needs me to go find the puppy and drag him home."
Hroar considered for a moment, his manner turning a bit more serious. "Well, Xanderian always did have more of a head for such things...signs and portents and the like...but Goblins? Ain't no blasted goblin's in these parts that I know of, so why look for him here?"
The elf drank again and shrugged. "I was in a mood to see fair Angmar again, tired of fetching and carrying for the King's men for a time...plus 'Rian is coming up through the North Downs so I figured to go down through Ram Duath, catch Xanir in between, if he be here at all. I admit it is strange he won't answer our calls all this time...I feel him out there somewhere, but as I see it the puppy is just being a little pisspot and refusing to answer."
He nodded his bearded head at that vigorously. "Ay, no coping with the young that is to be sure. I have some nephews that are the very devil to keep track of, even if I did know their blasted names. Still, good to see ya again, ya haradin, and it provides a fine reason for drinking..."
And they drink they did, for hours, until Xandilif drew a battered cloak around herself, armor and all, and slept off the long travel on the stone floor of Gath Forthnir. It wasn't the first time she had done so.
Once she had said her good byes the next morning she figured that the best place to start as she traveled South was to see if the Angmarim themselves had any news of her brother, or perhaps their hillmen allies. She decided to avoid the Morroval altogether...too complicated and no need to dredge up the past. Instead she plagued the hill men encampments, slaughtering their caravans for a few days until she had found herself here, on the highlands over looking Ram Duath, the distant spire of Carn Dum barely visible even to her eyes. She stood, armored boots firmly planted under the broad awning of a worship tent, a white-robed priest of Angmar bent backwards over his own foul altar, 'Lif's curved dagger at his throat.
Blood pumped from the remnants of the Priest's left arm, the smoothly cut stub of bone glowing unnaturally white amongst the gore of the severed limb. The splattered red stain was quickly swallowed up by the sand and the Champion snorted, reflecting to herself "Now that is what I love about Angmar, even the fecking ground is a predator..." and turned her attention back to the Angmarian and smiled. "I will only ask you once more...an elf boy, about my size, dressed in silly, puffy things, likely in yellow or purple...strumming a harp, carrying a short blade a twin for this one and probably walking off cliffs...you or your minions see something like that?"
The priest spat, face flecked with blood..."Even if I had seen such a cur I would not tell you, filth! My august lord has returned and will see the likes of you and your spent race burn before his terrible glory..."
The Banshee sighed, pushing the dagger harder against his pale throat..a thin line of crimson forming, then running in thick rivulets down into his robe. "I can not abide such discourtesy, and rapidly lose what little patience I formerly possessed....in other words, that was stupid, shaman..." As she spoke she noticed that the Priest's gaze had strayed over her armored soldier and a cruel smile grew over his lips.
Turning her head slightly she spied all five of them easily enough, four raiders and a minor priestess, advancing on her swiftly though they were aiming for stealth. These were obviously the Priests minions she had asked about before, weapons ready. Too bad their Master had given them away, though to be honest 'Lif knew they were there ages before. It was more fun to let them choose their own attack.
Xandilif spat and sheathed the curved dagger. "Never mind, I can ask 'em myself." With her now empty hand she took up SilverWand from where it leaned against the altar, and hefted the massive greatsword. The fine Numenoran steel gleamed in the thin glare of noon, flashes of what seemed to be bluish lighting racing down it's length from the translucent Gem of Athiel which filled it's hilt. The blade was nearly as tall as she was, and looked like it could weigh several times more but she lifted it over her shoulder easily, gripping it's long, smooth hilt with both hands.
The priestess had paused, hands flashing as she began a summoning while the first two raiders leaping towards the elf, swords ready, their two compatriots close behind
The elven warrior stepped into their attack, sword flashing in a swift, short arc before her. The heavy blade bit into their breastplates as with a practiced flick of her wrist she rent the plate armor with a crack, like a tinker breaking a ruined pot, leaving them exposed.
She turned on the ball of one foot, footwork being essential with a blade this large, using the raider on her left to block the motion of the one to the right and drawing the blade up over her left shoulder then down again across her own body. The beautiful blade sank wetly into the now unarmored collarbone of the first raider before shearing through its resistance and continuing into his chest, the sorceries of the blade speeding it's passage through flesh and bone until the raider was all but cut in twain, never having had a chance to scream. Xandilif torn the blade free, already in motion again.
The elf pivoted again, automatically twisting somewhat to avoid a dagger thrown by the distant priestess, her summoning over and a massive spider standing at her feet. She would worry about her later. Another half turn, a back step and a fresh pivot to neatly arrange the field so that the remaining raider and his two recently arrived compatriots were spread before her neatly in a semi circle, foolishly jockeying with one another to strike at the moving elf, so as to gain their High Priest's favor.
Xandilif smiled like a wolf and tightened her grip on the greatsword. They were already dead, though hadn't realized it yet.
SIlverWand rose high over its mistresses right shoulder as they ran forward blindly howling their war cries, then down in a long, powerful arc across all three attackers, her lithe body turning with it to lengthen the slash. At the apex of it's curve its course was halted and then brought back up again, with even more force, along the same path it has initially traced. A high, metallic SHING SHING sound echoed against the barren black cliffs as the ancient blade made it's presence known.
The three raiders fell as one, eyes wide and staring, weapons dropped silently to the sand beside them. Their bodies had been cleaved near in half by the powerful blade. With a nod of satisfaction the Banshee turned, smiling to the female priest and her spider and striding toward them. With a hiss she sent the magical insect against the elf, who kicked it soundly to stun it then stabbed SilverWand straight down, neatly spiking the spider like a piece of litter, and flicking it away.
Ten quick steps brought her a within a length of the Priestess ,who opened her mouth to chant again, but looked confused as only blood poured from between her lips. Glancing down she saw the greatsword driven like a spear just below her sternum and forced out the back again. She had never even seen the warrior move. Her eyes clouded with fear, knowing what her soul would face due to bargains she had made, then locked with the cool eyes of the elf before her, a silent entreaty for mercy clear.
Xandilif nodded sympathetically to the Priestess who smiled gently in return with blood smeared lips. Then Xandilif twisted the blade, slicing it deep into the Angmarian's fluttering heart. "Give Mordirith my regards, bitch" the elf whispered into her fading eyes, and with one booted foot forced the twitching carcass of the woman back off her blade.
"DAMN!" she cursed as she used the sand to wipe the woman's blood off her boot..."I forgot to ask them about Xanir!"
She walked back to the tent to find the maimed priest attempting to crawl away, blood loss already making his breathing labored and his vision weak. A boot firmly on his back ramming him down into the sand, and a vicious arc of Silverwand took his head cleanly off before he even thought to beg. Lifting the remains by its long hair Xandilif looked into the priest's dead eyes and mimicked Xanderian's softer, lighter voice...."PLLEEASSSEEE tell me where Xanir is?" The warrior laughed happily, dropping the head on the alter, now just a bit more desecrated than it was before.
Sheathing SilverWand across her back, the Banshee began to look for her next prey when she felt a rush of wind all around her, as if she suddenly stood on a hilltop in cooler climes, a voice in the back of her mind whispering in a familiar voice, a soft, rich tenor.
"Xandilif....beloved sister....please...tell dear Xanderian to leave...me...alone? I can barely think for her calling me endlessly..."
The eldest of the three siblings shook her head and smiled..."About damn time..."
