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| 6 Fourth Age: The Geometry of Shadows; [Hand of Sauron] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 28 Aug 2008, 11:16 PM (822 Views) | |
| Deleted User | 28 Aug 2008, 11:16 PM Post #1 |
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The Elf's footfalls fell softly upon the dew-laden grass of the forest floor as he carried himself swiftly to the outer edges of Eryn Silivren. The pale, first rays of the sun were beginning to creep into the shady groves of the forest, illuminating the way as well as the trail that he was following. He moved nimbly, weaving his way through the trees, while his keen eyes scanned his surroundings for more signs of the quarry that he was pursuing. Something drew his attention and he brought his sprint to sudden halt and the already faint echo of his steps was quickly muffled by the forest around him. A deep silence pervaded the wood as Legolas bent low to the ground, his agile fingers examining a series of broken fern leaves, and then moving to a patch of muddied earth that bore the imprint of a foot. Tracing its outer edges, he determined with reluctance that not only did the depth of the print hint that its maker was laden with heavy armour, but that it seemed disturbingly familiar to him. And well it should, for he knew those prints well. He had tracked them over the Plains of Rohan only a few scarce years ago. The muscles in his jaw clenched as his brow furrowed into a series of vexed creases. He stood and looked with new eyes at the woods that surrounded him. Uruk-hai had penetrated into Eryn Silvren, the facts had been brutally stamped into the ground in front of him, and looking again he could see that it was no lone Uruk, but a series of them marching with purpose at the skirts of his new colony. He pressed ahead, no longer setting a running pace, but one filled with trepidation and care as he examined the ground around him for further information about what kind of evil he might be dealing with very soon. For that was why Legolas himself had chosen to undertake this task himself as opposed to sending his own scouts and trackers to do the same. It was not an uncommon experience to find rogue orcs, goblins, and all manner of wicked creatures prowling the woods when one made his home so close to the land that had been possessed by the Enemy. But the signs and portents that had been found had struck him to be much more sinister than what had come to them before. He would find out with his own eyes what kind of evil it was that was haunting his woods. The footprints now seemed fresher, and for the first time Legolas spied another set that was remarkably different from those of the Uruks, this pair was smaller and lighter and more akin to those of a Man. He was close now. The forest that had seemed to swallow him up at the beginning of his journey now grew sparse and offered him less in the way of concealment. But this place was known to him, as not long ago they had staked out this place for re-forestation, but all around him he could see that many of the saplings had been trampled or destroyed. He was very close now. |
| Deleted User | 31 Aug 2008, 03:02 AM Post #2 |
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The Hand of Sauron waited on the edge of South Ithilien. He looked as a statue in the early morning light. Though he did not twitch a muscle, the fury on his face was unmistakable. His Uruk-hai bodyguards slithered away into the underbrush, either sensing their peril or recalling from their time in Mordor what happened when the Hand of Sauron was angry. He would not give the foul creatures the satisfaction of seeing him sweat. The morning brought light, and after centuries of living in shadow, the Hand of Sauron could scarcely bear the penetrating rays of Anor. It did not hurt physical, but mentally, it was torture, a constant reminder that Lord Sauron the Great was no more. Two hours late, the Uruk-hai known as Olog trampled out of the forest with four others behind him. The Hand of Sauron did not know their names nor did he want to. As long as Olog kept them in line, then only the name Olog was worth remembering. “You are late,” the Hand of Sauron said in a murmur. “We should be within the Morgul Vale even now, yet here we are, lingering on the edge of the Elven lands.” The disfigured face of the Uruk-hai broke into a snarl. The mossy and stained teeth did not frighten the Hand of Sauron, nor did the creature’s brandished weapon. The Uruk-hai did not know his power was gone. The mere memory of his former glory would keep them in their places. “I said we should be within the Morgul Vale. Go!” Most of the Uruk-hai retreated into the eastern foothills at once. Their footsteps went only so far, however. They were waiting not far away. Olog did not move, nor would he. He had a report to give on the Elves of Eryn Silivren. Whatever he had discovered, whether their numbers, settlement, or magic, could easily be described to him by another among the scouting party. The Hand of Sauron unsheathed his sword. The blade burned red in the morning sunlight. Olog stiffened and tightened his grip on the hunk of metal the Uruk-hai called a sword. He had sensed his master’s displeasure, and that could not end well for him. “If you knew how much I hated this time of day, you would not have lingered,” the Hand of Sauron growled. He lunged for the Uruk-hai. Their blades met with a sharp ringing that echoed across the clearing and into the forest. |
| Deleted User | 1 Sep 2008, 06:36 AM Post #3 |
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The Elf clad in green and brown carefully picked his way through the sparse forest, the trees of which were thin and scraggly, and he took great care to not step on the brittle twigs that were strewn about the ground. His sharp eye was trained to the forest floor as he read the Uruks' movements in the disturbed earth and in the broken leaves and low-hanging branches. Their pace had quickened for some unknown reason, he could tell that much by the growing distance between their steps and the messy splay of the prints before him. In emulation of his quarry, Legolas himself moved faster as the fear of losing the Uruks drove him on and ahead. A sudden clash of metal rang throughout the still land forcing him to once again halt his progress. He remained motionless for a time, trying to gauge where the sound had come from, and hoped that it was from the Uruk-hai that he was chasing and not from some new threat in the wood - a possibility that was not at all unlikely. But no, it was most definitely coming from the same direction that his trail was leading. He resumed his chase once more, hoping that the noise would camouflage his approach. Voices soon reached his pointed ears, and he crept cunningly behind a conveniently placed boulder that, when he peered beyond allowed him a startling view. He was closer than he'd thought himself to be as he caught sight of the enemy, and was thankful that he bore his cloak of Lorien on his back. The Uruks that he had been pursuing were there, but also were a host of more of their kin and a dark man amongst them, obviously awaiting the ones coming from deeper within Eryn Silivren. He looked at the man again, who was obviously their commander, and knew that this was the evil that he had felt. It was as though when looking closer he could see a veil of shadow that seemed to surround him, though at least for Legolas, it was not visible when one stared straight at him, but only on the edge of his vision did he even perceive it. The man and the leader of the scouting party were exchanging blows, and thus were reasonably distracted. Legolas drew an arrow from his quiver and notched it into his bow. Whatever the scouts had been sent to find within his blossoming colony, he didn't want this wicked man to hear it. Finding his mark, he loosed the arrow and it sailed true, striking one of the other scouts in the centre of his forehead, effectively sealing his lips forever more. He drew another arrow and took aim for a second time. |
| Deleted User | 2 Sep 2008, 02:08 PM Post #4 |
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The Hand of Sauron stared at the arrow protruding from one of the unknown scout’s skull. His mind was alive with recalculations. That was an Elven arrow. Olog had tarried too long by Eryn Silivren and had been discovered. This day would not go as planned after all. “Run,” he ordered, in the guttural hiss of the Black Speech. Olog did not need to be told twice. He had, for the moment, been saved from execution. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he ordered five Uruk-hai to retreat into the foothills, but remain in place. The rest were to head into Mordor where none in the West ventured anymore. Surely the damned Elves with their superior sight would notice, but there was nothing the Hand of Sauron could do about it. He mustered up what civility he could. It was always difficult after letting the anger and bloodlust take over, but he would need to put on the best show possible for the Elves. They sensed too much. “Hold, mellon nin!” He held his hands up in the air and let the blade point towards the ground to demonstrate he meant no harm to the Elves. The Hand of Sauron wondered how many waited in the trees and how many years they had seen. Would they know this weapon he held in hand? They would have to be old, indeed, but many Elves had seen it during their so-called Last Alliance. “You’ve driven them away, and I am no enemy to you!” Yet. The Hand of Sauron still wanted to know more about them and to discern if, perhaps, one among them had the magic he sought. The Elves were, naturally, the first people to look to for such information. He could not easily return to Eryn Lasgalen now that Celeborn and Thranduil dwelt there. Maybe there was one here who possessed what he sought. “Can you not see that I am of the blood of Numenor?” He stood tall as he said this, as if to impress upon them his height, dark features, and gray eyes. Always it had been to his advantage that he appeared so similar to his enemy. He had been able to fool the Elves, once, long ago. Perhaps he could do it again now. Perhaps. mellon nin = my friend |
| Deleted User | 7 Sep 2008, 07:20 PM Post #5 |
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His second arrow flew as straight and as true as his first and felled a second Uruk; the yellow feathers at the end of the arrow stuck out from the back of its head like a flag of conquest. And then the dark man, who was by all accounts their leader, gave them orders to flee and retreat, while he himself remained behind. Startled by this unexpected turn of events, Legolas instinctively ceased his attack, though he did not lower his bow. “Hold, mellon nin!” The man spoke to him in the tongue of the Elves, and he did it well too, though Legolas still did not lower his weapon, and had it trained on the man's heart. His hundreds of years worth of experience told him that servants of Mordor possessed many tricks and often clothed themselves in the trappings of that which was fair. Had not Sauron himself been called the Deceiver? "Any creature that associates with Orcs, is no friend of Eryn Silivren!" He shouted, his voice ringing out as strong and clear as a bell. “You’ve driven them away, and I am no enemy to you!” His keen eyes perceived the lowering of his weapons, and the position of his hands made a gesture of good-will. Legolas kept his arrow fixed upon his heart. “Can you not see that I am of the blood of Numenor?” He perceived that as well too. Finally, he lowered his bow, and returned the arrow that would have ended this man's life in the space of a heart beat to the quiver slung on his back. But not because of his supposed Numenorean descent, but because of the hope that he might glean some information from this man who ran with Orcs. He appeared out of the shadow of the great rock that had been sheltering him from view and proceeded with careful, cautious steps toward the man. "I see what my eyes tell me: you were consorting with those foul creatues, and even gave them an order to fly from the arrows of me and my companions." Of course that was a bold-faced lie, Legolas was quite alone in these woods, and there was every chance that things might take an ill turn for him. |
| Deleted User | 8 Sep 2008, 06:57 PM Post #6 |
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When the second Uruk-hai fell even as he was running away, the Hand of Sauron gave no reaction at all. Olog was safe and presumably had some type of information. There was no reason to mourn any of the other creatures. Plenty more Uruk-hai were waiting within Mordor. There was a moment when he was not sure if the Elves were going to show themselves. Then one, solitary figure emerged. Had the Hand of Sauron not already exerted the effort to put on an amiable face, he would have flown into a violent rage. This was no mere wood-elf wandering the forest and singing to the trees. He could see it in the gait and the awareness of surroundings. That Uruk-hai was as good as dead. The elf spoke with a Silvan tilt to his words. That was interesting to the Hand of Sauron, who had been at Dol Guldur many times. He kept his wits even and refrained from taunting the elf about the giant spiders, the darkness, and the burning of Lothlorien. “Consorting with Uruk-hai? Your clever eyes might have been mistaken, and your keen ears musn’t have heard our swords clash.” There was a lingering sneer in his voice. “It was not I who frightened them into running. It was your arrows. Why would Uruk-hai obey my command?” His eyes scanned the trees. The elf had said companions were with him, but how many? They could disappear into the trees and move unseen and unheard. Only their scent gave away their location, and then only to beasts with finely tuned senses. Such as the Uruk-hai now in the rocks behind him. But he had no way to ask for a count now. “Why do we converse in hostile tones? I am a man of Numenor, a Dunedain from the North. I am called Fairion, son of Gurothos.” A dark fire sparked in his black eyes as he said the names. OOC: The Sindarin names given are aliases. Fairion = son of the right hand, Gurothos = shadow of death |
| Deleted User | 12 Sep 2008, 12:07 AM Post #7 |
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He kept a good distance from the man before him lest he should draw his weapons against him. The long knives that hung at Legolas’s sides would be the most effective way to end his life if he should suddenly become violent. Drawing an arrow to kill this man would take far too much time and leave him vulnerable to a well-aimed strike. The man, who called himself “Fairion” seemed though to be in a mood to talk rather than to fight, though Legolas could certainly not take him at his word. “Since we are exchanging pleasantries,” he said casually, “I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and you are on the outskirts of my colony, Eryn Silivren.” While he spoke his eyes searched for any sign of the Uruks that accompanied Fairion. There was little doubt in his mind that they had fled to somewhere that he could not follow without aid. He could only hope that they did not find what they were looking for. “It is well known amongst my people that those of Orc-kind and those who allied themselves with darkness are apt to tear each other apart for even the most common of trinkets. It is not unusual to see such things,” Legolas recalled at this moment, quite vividly, Samwise’s own tale of valour in which he had bravely rushed the tower to save Frodo after he had been captured, only to discover minimal resistance as the entire garrison had destroyed each other in the fight for Frodo’s mithril shirt. In his experience, that was why Sauron had always had such vast numbers of Orcs in order to compensate for such a glaring flaw in his army’s makeup. The winds picked up, catching his cloak like a shadow behind him, “There are many men of Numenor who chose to ally themselves with evil during the war, and it becomes difficult to discern who is friend and who is foe. This colony must always err on the side of caution, you understand.” Legolas did not fully know what was the right course of action for him to take; he did not doubt what his eyes and ears had heard before, yet he was not fully convinced of this man’s explicit guilt. |
| Deleted User | 12 Sep 2008, 07:44 PM Post #8 |
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Anger flashed through his eyes and his lip curled ever so slightly. The wrath and brutality cultivated and used by Lord Sauron was, in the end, a disservice to the Hand of Sauron. One uttered name had undone his façade as swiftly as a lick of flame consumed the moth. Legolas Thranduilion and his Woodland Realm, as he called it, should rightfully have belonged to the Nazgul and been ruled from Dol Guldur but for the stubborn resolve of this unimportant family of elves. How many times might the servants of Sauron have demolished the Fellowship of the Ring after Mirthrandir’s demise if not for this elf? But even more than all this, the Hand of Sauron now knew there was nothing for him here in South Ithilien. Magicians or not, these elves were of no value to him. They would not follow him nor give him what he sought. All he had now was hope of a speedy retreat, and for that, he would have to speak civilly again. “It is not only evil men who will do this. It is human nature, mellon nin, and it is a nature you do not share with us. Even among good men, we may sometimes tear one another apart for glory, for power, or simply because we can.” The Hand of Sauron had seen it among his enemies as surely as amongst his friends. For some, it was a sad reality of human nature. For him, it was a reassuring affirmation of the path he had chosen. He was only following his own nature, as surely Eru had planned it. “It is also human nature to survive. Forgive me, but would an outnumbered Elf have not attempted to talk them down? That is only what I did, but it seems to have condemned me.” A gamble was required. The Hand of Sauron trusted the Uruk-hai to react if this was the wrong course of action. It would be no easy thing to kill Legolas Thranduilion, but any attempt would cause enough of a distraction for escape. The Hand of Sauron sheathed his sword. “I understand fully. The Lord of a land such as yourself has a great duty to his people. I cannot fault you for your suspicion.” Translation: mellon nin = my friend |
| Deleted User | 20 Sep 2008, 04:08 AM Post #9 |
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His keen sight could not help but catch the brief and fleeting look of unbridled hate that distorted the man's handsome features, like a passing shadow that veiled the sun. His blue eyes narrowed with suspicion and the muscles of his body drew taut as a heightened sense of danger loomed over him. That one crack in his façade had decided on which side of the line that this man walked. But still his course of action remained unclear in his mind. He could call his bluff, but to what end? He could do his part to end the charade by openly challenging him, but there was no way to tell how many allies he had hiding behind him and out of Legolas' line of sight. This man was dangerous, there was no doubt left in his mind that could have persuaded him otherwise, but how much of a threat had yet to be decided. This son of Thranduil had no desire to die upon the dark man's blade in this place, and he felt reasonably sure that 'Fairion' did not wish him to leave this place with his heart still beating in his chest. And despite what he had led the man to believe, Legolas was very much alone in this. He clenched his jaw as he resumed the role of amicability and passiveness. "I have spent much time in the company of your kith and kin, more than is regular for my people, and I would have to say that your interpretation of your own, is just that, an interpretation. You condemn yourself by assuming that you have only one facet, when instead as an outsider looking in, I have seen human nature to be a great jewel of many faces and sides." While he spoke of shining gems, his mind twisted and turned with other invading thoughts of a less profound nature. "As an outnumbered Elf, I recognize it as a futile act to reason with them. They are a ruined people, Eldar twisted with malice, cruelty, and great evil. It is a great act of mercy to release them from such an existence. Any Elf would have either fled or destroyed them." His looks had hardened like stone as a passionate voice spilled from his lips, and then softened again in another moment, "But perhaps I only speak as one who has partaken of a long life." He cleared his throat and assumed a stance that indicated that the time for philosophical debate had now passed. "As Lord of Eryn Silivren, it is now my duty to question you about your appearance here, and unfortunately you have not answered to my satisfaction those already put to you. Even those who call themselves 'friend' are obliged to do so." He stepped back a single pace and said, as his eyes flicked towards imaginary archers, "Know that me and mine do not take kindly to liars." |
| Deleted User | 22 Sep 2008, 01:56 PM Post #10 |
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The irony was overflowing from the elf’s lips and he did not even know it. Human nature could indeed change, as a prism through a diamond. The Hand of Sauron had altered many times in his life. The elf had a long life, yes, but so did the Hand of Sauron. In fact, the man might be far older than this son of Thranduil. It was difficult to keep the cruel smile off his lips. “As you say, my Lord.” When it came to being questioned, the Hand of Sauron knew he could give no answer Legolas would accept. The elf’s mind was already made up, and it would be a waste of breath to spin more webs of lies. He was only tempted because of the irritation of being addressed this way. The elf’s words had triggered a long buried memory of a time when he had been a Lord of Numenor. The rolling field of wildflowers on his uncle’s estate in Hyarrostar and the distant voice of a little girl calling, “Marillion! Wait for me, Marillion!” seared his mind. It bothered him to see the flowers surface in his memory and that he could not recall who the little girl or Marillion were. In annoyance, he signaled to the Uruk-hai, who rushed from the foothills with battle cries on their lips and crude swords raised in the air. Olog was not among them. Good. That idiot Uruk-hai had learned a thing or two then. “Namarie, Legolas Thranduilion,” the Hand of Sauron stated. He stepped backwards, then turned and ran with great agility towards the Uruk-hai. Once encircled by the beasts, he would be as safe as any man without magic could hope to be. Translation: Namarie = Farewell (Quenya) |
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