Metal and Wood (Shiva X DeRe)

[Shiva the Cat]

Sundown, and not a tree in sight. Raniel shivered slightly, wishing she hadn't left her cloak behind her. During the day she hardly felt the cold, moving as quickly as she did while following the Great River southward from Lothlórien under the summer sun. But two days earlier, the orc filth had changed their course, departing the shores of the Anduin to venture southwest into Rohan. Once the elf had crossed the Limlight into the Wold, she had lost all cover, and needed to rely on speed and the trampled grass alone to hunt her prey.

The dark-haired elf was an unlikely choice to track the thieves that had so viciously attacked her people only a week or so earlier. A small host of Galadhrim had been traveling from the Golden Wood to their kinsmen in the north, carrying a small horde of artifacts in the process. Whether the orcs had known about the transport in advance or had stumbled across it in a cruel twist of fate no one could be sure, but it had left five elves dead and the treasures lost.

Including Anguirel, the legendary black blade and mate of the cursed sword Gurthang. It was unclear whether the weapon was as malicious and dangerous as its legendary twin, but the Lady had kept it hidden in her realm for more than an age, and had only agreed to send it north after the darkness began to spread in the Greenwood. It was supposed to be a saving grace for the silvan elves, but in the hands of the orcs and their masters, who knew what destruction it could unleash?

But Raniel was almost as old as the weapon itself, and indeed had seen it once before: lifetimes ago before Beleriand was lost beneath the waves. She was also a swift and skilled tracker, though she preferred hunting at a distance with her longbow to closer combat. In shady woods she had the uncanny ability to almost vanish among the trees, but that advantage was lost on the sweeping plains of the Wold. Off in the distance, she could see the dark line of Fangorn in the west, but she doubted her quarry would seek shelter beneath its eaves. She wasn't that lucky.

Still, she had the sharp eyes of the elves, and as she crouched among a stand of rocks on a hill she could see a dark mass moving several miles ahead. Raniel's stomach dropped. So many...had they combined with another force? For a moment, she considered turning back and returning to Lórien to ask for reinforcements. Fighting her way through such a crowd was out of the question, and even under the cover of night she doubted she would be able to sneak into their midst, locate the sword, and steal it back.

But that was the task the Lady had assigned her, and the elf couldn't bare the thought of Galadriel's face when she told her of her failure. The Golden Wood was the only home she knew anymore, and besides that who knew if it would stand if their enemies got their hands on the weapon or its secrets?

And so Raniel continued to follow the horde, maintaining a safe distance until the sun had vanished behind the mountains, and campfires began to spring up around the edge of the pack. Taking a deep breath and nocking an arrow to her bow, the elf began to close the gap between herself and her enemies, praying the night would be enough to protect her.

 

[DeRe]

Something in the air was curdling in Uzot's bulbous nose. The horde chieftain had a sharp sense of smell, honed through decades of savage necessity. It was the 'unnatural-naturalness' of this wretched bit of land, he thought. Never in his life had he been so close to the lands of the Karanzol-dru, the tree-elves, his ancient bane. Normally he and his tribe of Moria Orcs hid in the fetid hallways of that gutted place, safe from the glare of the sun and the swords of the Karanzol that watched the green wall below. But Uzot was daring, and knew that the greater the risk, the greater the prize. His shaman had called him a fool, insisting it would destroy the tribe. Uzot's response was to remove the shaman's head and give it to the orclings for use as a football. He thereupon appointed a new shaman, who demonstrated their divine wisdom by immediately blessing the expedition.

Uzot didn't need some skinny skull-shaker to assure him of his providence. He had been born bone-white and blue-eyed, which was considered miraculous among his kin. Everything he had done since he hacked his way out of the cradle had been guided by his glorious ancestors, and as his power in the tunnels grew, so did the number of orcs convinced of his divine destiny. He rode out with a dozen elite warg-riders, his personal guard. They were accompanied by another dozen Uruk, distant kin of Uzot who were young and desperate to take a head in battle. Lastly a train of some three dozen Snaga frantically raced along behind, serving as the baggage, servants, and arrow fodder for their Orc masters. Heading down from the mountain fold, they followed the valley between their rocky enclave and the Elves' pungent forest. Uzot led his horde through the rocky green lane, feeling his way along by pure instinct.

The overwhelming cleanliness of the area was overwhelming to Orc senses, so Uzot led a small band of his warg-riders out on a foray. Something drew him along the rocky stream that coursed the valley, and he sensed the Elven column even before he saw it. About ten were warriors, and another ten their companions. Suprise was total and the speed and ruthlessness of Uzot's pack gave their foe little chance. Even the overconfident Orc chieftain was surprised at how easy and fortunate it had been - then one of his riders produced an elegantly-curved sword from the gear of a butchered Elf. It was none other than Zau-Dhamab - "Black Tooth" - one of the most legendary weapons of his tribe. Long ago the cowardly Karanzol had stolen it from them, and by divine guidance it had been returned - and was now clenched in the callused claw of Uzot. With this blade, he knew he had a symbol to unite Orcs across the entire known lands.

A tribute to the ancestors was in order, even though Uzot knew they needed to get back to the caves without hesitation. Night was falling and a full moon rising, and the reckless chieftain knew he needed to burn his victory in the minds of his people like a brand into the skin of a slave. The horde regrouped on a rocky hillock, building a camp and trying to fortify it was much as they could. A ring of fires was set around the edge, while the horde concentrated in the center, formed in a circle around Uzot. One of his riders produced an Elf who was still alive, albeit severely wounded. He had been found trying to crawl away, and was dragged before Uzot while the horde whooped and roared. The chieftain deftly disemboweled the screaming Karanzol, dedicating the sacrifice to the dark powers.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Raniel wasn't sure what was worse, the smell of the beasts or the sound of their hideous, jabbering laughter. Even with the growing darkness she could still see their monstrous shapes clearly against the cloudless (but not, sadly, smokeless) night, but she was still hesitant to come any closer than the circle of fires, and she was careful to remain upwind. Her eyes might have been stronger than theirs, but she did not doubt that they would be able to sniff her if she got too near. Praying the winds wouldn't shift in this uncertain country, the elf began to creep up between the rocks surrounding their camp, relying on the shadows to hide her and her sharp vision to spy out their spoils.

As she peered over the edge of the little hillock, she wished she hadn't looked. Instead of seeing the baggage cart as she had hoped, in the center of the camp several orcs had widened into a ring, at the center of which was a hideous white Moria brute, and a wounded Galadhrim guard. "Andir..." she gasped, recognizing one of the scouts that had been missing when the aftermath of the attack had been discovered. Everyone had hoped the elf had escaped on to warn Thranduil of the threat to the woods, but clearly he had not been so lucky. He was hurt badly, and for a moment Raniel was tempted to make her move, shooting into the back of the white orc before her in the hopes Andir might be able to escape in the chaos.

Time seemed to have stopped though. The dark-haired elf thought she saw Andir's eyes meet hers, thought she saw his lips beginning to mouth words. Run away. Then the white orc's vicious knife swept through the elf's stomach, and the woman's cry of alarm was drowned in a thundering storm of cheers around her. Tears pricking at her eyes, Raniel crept back down the hill, slinging her bow over one shoulder but keeping the arrow close in one hand. Filth. Monsters she thought , feeling a white-hot rage burning inside her. Andir had a wife and children in Lórien, the former of which had been begging him to take the ship west for years now. But there were no ships for those sacrificed to the Dark One, and Andir's wife was just as likely to die of a broken heart when she learned what had become of her husband.

But perhaps Raniel could give poor Arnien some comfort by sending the entire band of beasts along with her dead husband. Moving as quick and silent as the shadow of a bird across the plain, the elf moved to the nearest of the watch fires. There were a few orcs nearby, but they were more concerned with eating some foul-smelling charred cuts of meat than trying to see beyond the borders of their camp. Willing them not to look in her direction, the elf turned her arrow so that the fletched end caught in the flames like a thin, graceful torch in her hand. Stepping back into the grassy shadows, she held the burning feathers to the ground until it caught fire and began to spread quickly. She took care to keep the fire between herself and the orcs, but when her first arrow had been entirely consumed she took a second from a quiver and began to move along the borders of the camp in an attempt to shepherd the flames into a circle that would trap the monsters inside.

It wasn't long before the wicked laughter and satisfied boasts of the orcs had given way to more panicked shouts and yells as they realized the extent of the blazes, and for the first time that night Raniel smiled. She took a third arrow and lit it, then fired it directly into the crow. After all, orcs might burn, but Anguirel would not. Might as well cleanse all the filth from it, and search the ashes later.