"Would you please undress those armor for me?.." The warg Death imagined the stupefaction of those metal can warriors at such a request and chuckled silently. "....I promise you a quick death if you do…” he would continue. “You see, I do not like my food canned and it's such trouble to get you out of those after... a minor disadvantage of fangs..." he would show his strong paws with a menacing grin, but no, they most surely would not comply to his request and he would get quite a number of their arrows piercing his precious fur before talking half of those witty lines, so he continued his stealthy scouting with competence and care.
Death sniffed some sort of treason in his unexpected appointment of leading this attack but until now all seemed to work well. His assigned force was all fresh blood -he was most likely the most experienced of them- but that was not such a major impediment, their number and enthousiasm was sufficient to compensate. Nevertheless,he preferred to take himself a final look at the target before signaling the attack -all were in position and ready, he made sure of that. He was pleased with what he saw: the challenge was not too big, the timing of the attack was good.
He prepared to attack and howled long, menacing. He jumped pushing into the dirt one of the armored warriors at the same time with the other two wargs that accompanied him. They were new to him but it seemed they knew their trade. One silky black and small like a Khundolar cat and one looking -due to many old wounds- more like a mad wizard's experiment of sewn together parts, both were already on top of other two of the better geared defenders of the camp. At the gate and beyond it the turmoil of the orcs attacking was properly loud and he could even see a few of them that managed to escalate the wood wall in that place where he signaled them it was low and badly designed.
The faces of the orc were, as usually, hideous. Some of them wore bone masks and most outfits contained several creepy trophies adorned to the dirty leather or cloth. Crude weapons, injected eyes reflecting fire and chilling war cries completed well the image of a bloody, cruel, merciless attack.
His opponent managed to wound him and the pain infuriated him. Death managed to reach for his face and his fangs bloodied the elf face. He probably could not see anymore. The elf shouted in pain but tried to pierce the warg's belly with his sword. The warg jumped back but a huge orc figure rose instantly in his place,against the red moon, and the elf shout stopped abruptly when a knife slit his throat.
It only took minutes for the defenders to regain some of the efficient fight routine and for the one taking command to evaluate the situation and call retreat. The remaining fighters tried to shield as many of the workers and wounded as they could, mustering a retreat by the back gate, towards Glan Vraig.
Turuviel woke up from the nightmare feeling an almost real smell of death and war. The moon was still red above her. There were fires lit, more than usual. At the Lumber Camp, on the road from it to Glan Vraig and also towards Tol Ascaren and -it was very far, but still she was almost sure that she saw fire, albeit faintly- even beyond it towards the north west. She packed fast and hurried to Glan Vraig.
