Beleriand - Sunday, April 29, 2001, 3:18 PM West banks of Teiglin: Junction of River Malduin
The already strong and deep waters of the Teiglin grow even mightier as the Malduin flows into it from the northwest. The banks on either side are lined with trees and mossy stones, some of which, lean out, over the noisey water. Scattered trees and undergrowth begin to grow more common, blocking clear view of the plains in either direction. Farther into the southeast, the trees and bushes seem to gather together, perhaps forming the eaves of a forest.

Finnabair skirts through the shadows and comes to a stop behind a short clump of brush, quickly dropping below its height as she searches along the river's edge again, finding no sign or sound of the orch. To the east, the thin line of dawn graces the horizon, spreading its light upward into the receding night's sky where stars wink out of sight. At a crouch she dashes forward to the next outcropping, unknowningly moving past the snuffler who lies low upon the ground, beneath a tangled bush.

The beastly scout lies almost prone upon the soft ground of the river's dipping bank, the scimitar held firmly across him and resting on the soil before him. With baited breath, Shaazgut waits frozen in his place until Finnabair dashes uknowingly past his hiding place. His beady grey eyes widen eagerly at the sight of the adan ranger, and without sound or call, the snuffler springs suddenly to his booted feet and lunges towards her. The orch's curved blade rises overhead even as he gains his footing, before being swept downwards in a wide, vicious arch aimed for her lower back.

Grey eyes upon the trees ahead of her, Finnabair slips through the shadows with pack and bow held together in her left hand while the axe is gripped by the right. Hunched down, moving steadily for the covering the sound of scrambling off to the side is late in coming to alert her to the orch's close presence. The glint of the scimitar flashes in her vision as she turns toward it and without time to think she swings out her pack to try and block the strike but to no avail and she feels the burning slice of the turned blade coursing down the length of her back. Stumbling away from it, she drops the pack and bow, her freed hand reaching out to steady herself as she manages to stay on her feet, axe still held in her hand as she turns to meet the thing in the night, the searing pain of her wound troubling her movement and paling her complexion.

The scimitar's blade shudders as it finds purchase against the ranger's armoured back, and Shaazgut's clawed right hand tightens instinctively around the leather-bound hilt of the heavy weapon. His beady eyes widen eagerly at this first taste of blood, and he moves unhesitantly against the human ranger once more. With a quick bound of his booted feet, the scrawny, leather-clad creature hops over Finnabair's discarded pack and bow and lashes out with the scimitar. The black weapon's curved blade sweeps across in a somewhat awkward backhanded arch, aimed levelly for the adan's right side, just below her ribs.

Holding firm upon the ground and eyeing the squat figure of the orch for the brief second after its first attack, Finnabair reaches back with one hand and lays it to her back, feeling it come away warm and sticky with blood. With a wince and a ragged breath, her eyes narrow and harden upon the creature, loosening her stance and readying herself as it bears down quickly upon her again, sending out low the edge of its weapon. And as it sweeps toward her, she lifts up her axe, taking it with both hands to try and bat down the scimitar.

The orchish snuffler's beady eyes flash irritably as the edge of his scimitar strikes only the wooden handle of the ranger's upraised axe. The collision of the two weapons sends a shudder up his right arm, though he is quick to regain lost balance and drops down to a low crouch, his left hand reaching down to brush the soft, muddy soil. His twisted grimace betrays certain nervousness now, though Shaazgut does not yet back down, and instead attempts to spring a step towards his left. Even as the leather-clad beast leaps to the side, his scimitar is raised overhead and swung forward once again in a powerful, though somewhat clumsy blow aimed for Finnabair's head and shoulders.

A numbing force shudders up her arm as Finnabair's axe meets with the orch's scimitar, driving it down and away from herself. Withdrawing her weapon and pulling it back a step she follows it with her gaze in the dim light that has begun to pale with the dawn, watching as it springs to her right. Turning with it, she sees its blade again come up and down for her, a well aimed strike that seeks a higher mark and she brings up her axe to block it again. The haft of the axe receives most of the forceful blow, pushing it back toward her chest as she fights to keep the scimitar's sharp edge from slipping past. One step back to balance and fortify her defense, she heaves forward with the weight of her body behind, trying to force the orch away from her.

The dark creature's grimacing face twists further with rage and frustration as his downstroke is met once again by the ranger's well placed axe haft. Though he rests in a low crouch with his booted feet braced firmly upon the ground, Finnabair's strong heave throws him a full pace backwards, and he stumbles dangerously over the slippery, muddy soil. A low hiss escapes his curled black lips as he falls down to one knee a mere yard away from the human woman, and there scrambles quickly to regain his lost footing. It is all that Shaazgut can do then to raise the scimitar's heavy, curved blade defensively before him, and to await the other's next attack even while sidestepping to his left once again to put the glittery waters' edge and the tall reeds that grow along it a scant five yards or so behind him.

Finnabair's breath hisses in sharply as she strains against the orch, the effort needed to push it away from her causing the long wound etched upon her back to be pulled. Feeling the warm spread of blood working its way through the clothing beneath her armour, she falters in following after the orch who stumbles away from her. Her pause allows it the time to come to its feet and seeing that she rushes forward over the soft ground that gives slightly beneath her, diverting her step along with its sideway movement, ignoring the pangs of the wound as she sends her axe out in a wide, sweeping arc aimed for the orch's middle.

The orchish scout's leather-clad figure is stooped low to the ground, his bow legs bent at the knees and his clawed left hand hanging down to brush at the muddy soil beside him. The creature's glittery eyes widen fearfully as Finnabair sweeps the axe skilfully towards him, and though he instinctively springs back a short step to avoid the weapon, his scimitar still dips low to parry the incoming blow. The two weapons collide with the harsh, clanging ring of steel, and Shaazgut's scimitar is swept easily aside by the heavy axe head and almost right out of his hand. A low, nervous hiss is emitted by the dark creature, and he quickly backpedals away from his opponent as he regains his grip on the curving black sword. His booted feet soon find the river's edge, and he stumbles at the sudden and unperceived change in footing, falling backwards into the shallow waters and landing awkwardly on his rear upon the round stones that line the river's shores.

Finnabair's blade hums through the air, stopped short when the orch offers up its weapon and places it in the path of her own, keeping it from slashing its body. Again the force of the two blades clashing deadens sensation in her arm, even reaching to jar the wound on her back and she consciously tightens her hand around the haft to maintain her grip upon it, meanwhile stepping forward into the failed swing, chasing after the black creature as it reels back toward the waters away from her. As it lands with a splash into the shallow rivershore, Finnabair is fast upon it, her own feet sloshing through the muddy waters to bear down on its fallen form, nearly straddling where it lays on the stones. Lifting her axe up high in one hand, she sends its sharp, straight edge hard down toward its thick, armoured chest.

The creature sputters and flails where he lies half submerged in the cold river's shallow waters, and quickly scrambles to a half-seated position even as the ranger advances swiftly upon him. His black eyes--wide and fearful--lift to gaze up at the human's own, and his twisted grimace fades away, revealing little emotion. As a last, desperate measure, the leather-clad creature lashes forcefully out with the scimitar that rests in the firm grip of his clawed right hand. Even as Finnabair's expert axe blow falls against his chest, the curved orchish scimitar sweeps up and over in a firm blow aimed directly for the outside of her left knee. The Beorian' axe finds clear purchase against Shaazgut's armoured chest, and the keen, heavy blade tears deeply through leather, flesh, and bone. The snuffler captain lets out a rattling howl even as his chest numbs from the impact, and falls back into the black, shallow waters.

Dawn crests the eastern horizon throwing out bright, slashing rays of sunlight as Finnabair struggles forward a step as her downward stroke sinks through the armour and flesh of the orch. But even as she does, the creature's own sharp edged weapon gains and wins another blow, the scimitar biting through the thing covering of her breeks and gashing a deep cut just above the knee. Her cry of pain joins the snuffler's own howl as she collapses into the waters, red blood swirling away down the swift course of the river as she lays blinded with the pain off to the right of the orch, her hand grasping over the deep cut and forgetting the threat of the orch beside her for the moment.

The fallen creature gives little heed to his succesfully placed scimitar blow as it catches the side of the ranger's legs. His right hand loosens around the hilt, and the heavy weapon slips limply from his fingers and into the waters near his side. Shaazgut's coal black eyes flutter wide open as he struggles to keep his head up and above the water's surface. With dark, twisted lips agape, he lets out a low, pained moan and turns slowly over the round rocks beneath him, at once lifting his clawed left hand to his injured chest in a futile attempt to staunch of the massive bloodflow. Thick, black blood swirls freely from his torn chest cavity, and the Teiglin's cold, pristine waters darken around him. No longer aware of where Finnabair has fallen so nearby, the snuffler crawls painfully off towards the river's shore, his right hand scrabbling over rock and mud. Mere feet from the water's edge, however, what little strength remained in him gives way, and Shaazgut falls face first into the mud. His limp body quivers momentarily, and a low, hissing rattle escapes his damaged lungs before sinking at last into total silence and stillness.

Between the two wounds, Finnabair lies in agony, still half in the water moaning and breathing in short gasps as the river divides around her turning pink as her blood is swept away down river, mixed with black. With a glossy look she turns her gaze around, finding the orch crawling away toward the shore but falling face down in the mud with a shudder and then silence and she simply observes it for a time with little reaction. Her axe lies in the water an arm's reach from her and after a moment she reaches out for it, grunting as she still grasps the wound on her leg. Using the weapon to help herself to her feet, she rises awkwardly and fights for balance, hopping on one foot as she begins to slowly make her way over the stoney river to the shore. Cautious and keeping space between herself and the fallen orch, she glances warily at its prone form.