Dûrvagor instantly regretted any harsh words he had shot or thought to shoot at Islist. If what he said was true, than Dûrvagor decided never again to interfere. The horror of what the young ranger had seen was almost too awful to be true. He didn’t want to believe it. He’d try not to. In his forty plus years alive, he’d never experienced such terror and this man had seen the worst imaginable before his twentieth year.
Although, Dûrvagor reasoned, that doesn’t account for his ill manner towards the rest of his companions. Still feeling a bit apprehensive towards Islist, he turned his gaze towards the sky and took a deep breath. He sensed something: the foul stench of orcs, lots of them. Or maybe just the stench of the orc Isli—er—I killed. Yeah...that's it. But he was wrong.
[ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]
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"They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say, 'Sh*t, it's raining!'" -- Ruby, Cold Mountain
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