[Amanaduial the archer]

Coromswyth turned the where the one eyed orc seemed to be at a stand off with Ambarturion, furious that she had been used as blackmail. Ambarturion's words seethed with vicious, quiet fury, words in the Common Tongue that Coromswyth could not hear, but they caused the orc to turn away, and she noted that his sneer was less comfortable now. He came closer to her now, his ugly, malformed face pressing closer to hers, sniffing, his face twisting in disgust. Coromswyth's face was completely impassive, blank of any emotion - she would not give this one an inch. He backed off slightly, then gave an ugly, guttural laugh, staring at the elf with such satisfaction. Coromswyth noted on his blade blood - fresh, red blood, the blade was slick with it. She glanced around and saw only Megilaes and Ambarturion, and the former's face contorted with grief.

Caranbaith...

Drawing her head back slightly, she spat with such force into the orc's face that he reeled back slightly wiping fiercely at his one good eye where her missile had hit it's target full on.

"Spit me? Spit me like you did my companion? I am no wounded elf, weakened already and young in experience, creature of darkness - no vile orc shall spit me, nay - I spit on you!" Coromswyth began in the Common Tongue but in her grief an anger it came out as a mix of Elvish and the Common Tongue, a desperate scream as she writhed against the Southron who held her. Gathering himself, the orc gave a guttural roar and swung his arm at the elf, striking her across the face with the flat of the sword. She fell sideward to the floor, the force knocking her from the Southron's grip. The orc gave another mighty yell and launched himself at her where she lay, and she saw him draw back a metal-shod foot to kick her...

~*~*~

The Southron suddenly stood in front of her, his sword levelled at the orc. "Kill the elf and we will get no information from it. That goes for the other two," he said commandingly, his voice as level and dangerous as his sword. The orc sneered, coming closer to the Southron, so that Koran could smell his foul stench so strongly that he almost gagged.

"She does not have to be so very alive to withdraw information," Thrakmazh hissed. "I would be doing you a favour, boy."

"Harm them and you will answer to myself and the Herding."

"Two Men? I have just killed one of the race who have kept you enthralled for millenia, boy - I killed him and he barely put up a fight! What makes you think-" the orc raised his sword threateningly, the blood glinting in the sun.

"The Eye will not look kindly upon those who defy his captains."

Koran's quiet statement was followed by a moment of silence, and for a second Thrakmazh did not move, regarding the Man suspiciously through his one eye. After a moment, he sneered and spat on the ground in front of the female elf, turning away to his troops and yelling orders and abuse at them to get them moving.

Koran realised he was almost trembling with rage, rigid with anger, holding himself still so that none could accuse him of fear in the face of the orc. He glared after the disgusting creature's back for a few seconds, then turned back to the elf where she had scrambled to her feet, held now by the fast thinking Ehan who had caught her before she could run. One cheek was now smeared with blood where Thrakmazh had struck her with the flat of his blade - the blood of the other elf, the fair haired, injured one who the orc captain had killed - and an ugly bruise would soon rise there. She wordlessly regarded Koran with quiet hatred, her teeth gritted together, dishevelled and furious, but even looking at her like that, the young captain was struck by how beautiful she was - he didn't think he had ever seen a mortal woman so beautiful, at least not in such a way. She gave new meaning to beauty, and Koran suddenly felt that Ehan must have been wrong the night before when he had said that they could be no more beautiful than others: there could surely be no creature as quietly beautiful as the fine featured, grey eyed, eternal creature before him.

But in her eyes...Koran looked away, not wanting to hold them as he snapped orders to the other Southrons to get moving, taking with them the younger elf - the older warrior had been taken by the orcs, but Koran had retained this one, figuring that at least they could keep two alive for questioning. He started moving towards the other elf, trying not to think of the female's eyes, the ancient, almost pitying wisdom that swirled in the grey mist behind the hate and fury. The age of those eyes, and all that they knew, all the knowledge that shone there in the beauty...it scared Koran.

A few hissed words made him turn to look at her again, his dark eyes narrowed. She repeated whatever it was she had said, hissing the words in a strange, odd, flowing tongue but laced with hatred. He turned away without a word - he did not want to hear what this immortal had to say. Not now.