[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre bit back a cry as the foul creature in his grasp twisted violently and sunk its teeth into his wrist, then shreiked a warning and ran into the corridor, only to fall with a black feathered arrow protruding from its throat. The three Orcs skidded forward, their triumphant battle cries dying in their throats as they spied the rather larger and more heavily armed group of Elves. Angóre smiled mirthlessly as the small group of yrch tried to reverse direction in midstride, but then bowstrings sang and the two larger Orcs dropped in their tracks, looks of surprise still plastered comically to their faces. The smaller tracker let out a yelp, fired its bow blindly over the party's head, and backpedaled furiously, trying to escape. It had almost made it to the first bend when Angóre's javelin pierced its back, dropping it instantly.

Angóre spat in disgust as he cleaned his wound, then turned to face Elladan and Elrohir. "Have we a plan for finding lady Celebrían in this darkness? Our guide has been taken from us, and even I can feel that this is not the place Vanimorén knew, and age and more ago. Surely now is the time to risk communication, if indeed such a thing is possible, for one of these patrols is likely to be missed soon, and I had rather be smelling the fresh air of Lothlórien than the foul stench of Orcs and worse when that occurs."