Midnight Hunt

Mirkwood

The view is blocked in all directions by towering dark trunks, holding heavy and crooked boughs hight above the ground. The strange ancient forest seems to draw more and more strenght from you as you travel deeper. Beneath you feets the forestbottom is cool and damp and around you the midnight autumn air is brisk.
To the west is a small gap between the bushes and a well used trail lies towards the towering trees, southwest of you.

Few bright stars merrily twinkle and sparkle high above you, indicating that the sky overhead is clear.

Contents:
Witch-king
Sudanir
Obvious exits:
West, East, NorthWest, and SouthWest

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Midnight on Trewsday, Day 18 of October.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 23:02:48 MDT on Sat Aug 28 2010.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
The starry night illuminates the black wood with fair winkings and twinklings, cheerily shining their light upon the world as if there were nothing wrong at all no giant spiders, no trees turned to evil, no fell creatures lurking under the rotting canopy, and no need for the firstborn to patrol the forest in search of dangerous, fell things. Or, perhaps, the stars illuminate the night /for/ that purpose, for up in the trees very near the Old Forest Road, a small scouting party scampers from tree to tree along the thick old branches, with nary a misstep or wrong path, as if they were moving in the full light of day. "Like trimming weeds. Have you seen weeds trimmed?" one asks, and three of the others chuckle, hopping from branch to branch easily.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
But the fleet-footed Eldar are not the only ones abroad this night, and while the scouting party make their stealthy way among the treetops, down on the ground another skulking foray is being made.

Shadows flit and slip from trunk to trunk, relishing the darkness it would seem, and only at whiles could the pad of sly feet be discerned. Lupine shapes, at least a dozen of them, slink over the gnarled earth in search of prey here and there a sniff of the air serving it seems as their guide.

Slowly but surely they draw nearer to the sentries of Amon Thranduil.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
A thud. One of the elves pause almost midstep, the one behind him forced to stop. Those ahead continue on. "Weeds to not grow on the hill so...no."

"Hush, brothers!" The alerted elf hisses, and cocks his head, trying to decide. Was it imagination? Or a padded foot? The others still their bodies and their tongues, all listening now.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
An assortion of unpleasant eyes peer forth through the darkness: some crimson and others yellow, veiled by the shadowed forest, and yet burning with malicious intent. One of the stalking forms, a large mottled shape of gray, pads onward with intelligent stealth, its clawed feet carefully manuevering around the more noisome areas of fallen foliage that adorns the grass. A snouted nose is bend to the earth, and the wolfish ears are flattened against its head.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
As the gray mottled shape takees the lead, a more sinewy one lopes along just behind it, and with feral eyes kindled to malice it looses a low, quiet growl. Curious intelligence is in those eyes -- no mere wolf is this, it would seem -- and with its growl there comes the hint of language unexpected among the animal kingdom.

Sleek and brown this second shape follows the first, flanked by their fellows, and raises a bristled snout to sniff the air once more.

A second growl, and then a grunt, as the beast's ears prick up in wariness.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
There is no noise. Somehow, this is no more encouraging than if the expected noise had continued. One elf removes his bow from where it is slung on his back, and takes an arrow from his quiver, nocking it to the string, but not pulling. Just waiting, and listening. Then the sound of a growl, and he cocks his bow, adjusting his aim to the direction of the sound. Still seeing nothing, he chooses the deepest shadow that is close to where the sound came from, and lets loose. "Speaking of weeds..."

[Bagurat(#24847)]
And a sudden hideous snarling replies to that feathered gift. There is a tearing sound as great claws rend the dirt, and the undergwrowth quivers ere parting to reveal that broad gray animalistic figure. The yellow eyes that glare upward into the trees from whench the dart came are cold and wroth. But then the lupine thing darts sideways, unwilling it seems to stay a stationary target now that it has come into view.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
And at once the rest of thee beasts explode into action, snarling and seething their anger at the attack as their bodies slip through the night. Noses point skyward, and eyes scan the trees for a sign of their quarry, and all the while the sleek brown shape ravens hungrily. Wargs then, are these strange creatures, barking in their foul tongue known only to their orc masters, and circling the base of each tree in turn they are gathered for the hunt.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
And that sidestep saved its life, for the next elf had taken out his bow, and an arrow soon followed, loosed before the dodge was made, it sails right past, burying into the soft, loamy forest floor. Above, there is a curse of disappointment. The next arrow flies from the canopy above, aimed in front of the path of the lupine beast. But now they are all making noise. "It's a whole pack!" the elf says in Sindarin, flitting to the next tree, which is larger and sprawls out with longer, thicker branches. "How many do you think?" asks one. "Did we hit it?" asks another.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
A howling laugh is given in mockery at the arrow that sails past harmlessly -- but quite abruptly that howl is contorted into an awful spitting and fresh snarling as the second shaft succeeds where the first had failed, biting into the gray hide. Enranged further, the beast whips around, sprinting toward the nearest tree and giving a leap to scrape its claws along its trunk.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
The sign given, the other wargs follow suit, and ere the blink of an eye the tree is ringed by a dozen snarling, savage beasts rending the bark with their claws and snapping jaws in vain at the Elves above.

But the brown warg, alone of the pack, hangs back and the intelligent gaze rifles up to the treetops thoughtfully. There it narrows, flitting from bough to bow, ever leading downward, and a snarl of satisfaction might almost seem a sneer. It takes off then, loping toward the tree, ere with a grunt of effort it leaps into the air.

Paws and claws scrabble for purchase at its sleek shape lands upon a low-hanging branch, and with a low baying to its comrades it seeks another nearby branch, just higher than the first. Eyes focusing on such a bough, the beast leaps again.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
"Feh. They can climb." says one of the fairborn.
"But not very well," says another, and he nocks his bow and looses it. The others also are nocking and loosing. "Wait. How many arrows do you have? Everyone keep track..." More arrows rain from above, the brown warg for the moment unnoticed.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
Wolfish heads turn at the brown warg's baying, and string of howls and other dreadful sounds would seem to praise their fellow's cunningly devised plan. The bole of the tree is given a brief respite from the sharp forepaws of the gray warg, and it backs away slowly, yellow eyes narrowing as it focuses its sight on another one of the low-hanging branches. Hindlegs tense and grow taut, and the creature dares its own jump toward the bough, claws once more scraping and digging into wood to cling to the bark.

With a great heave it rights itself on the limb, glancing once behind to espy its fellows who remain upon the ground. A few of them snap and bite at the air as more arrows find lupine flesh.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
And with a secret growl of dark glee the brown warg watches its companions, sharp eyes finding a third branch to attain. Up it goes, once more scrabbling to steady itself, though this time its hindquarters nearly lose their balance. Perching tentatively in place, panting a little, the brown warg steals a glance upward to the waiting elves, ravening once more as its sees how much closer they now are.

Meanwhile, as the unusual ascent continues, the darts of the Firstborn are not without reward, and as the latest feathered shaft whistles down into the pack a fierce howl of anguish rends the night air. Whining and yelping, hopping around in pain one of the wargs sports an elven arrow from its throat, though its din doees not last long.

The howl dying and strangling woefully, the beast keels over smitten by the wrath of Eldarin archery.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
"That one. There!" says one of the eldar.
"Which, Sudanir?" says his brother on the next tree.
"The grey one."
"They are all grey!"
The one climbing!"

This last is said without the usual cool and calm sported by an elf, even in battle. Together, three of the scouts begin shooting at that beast in particular, aiming for the obvious places eye, neck, paw...

[Bagurat(#24847)]
As the rain of darts flit down toward it, the grey warg in question hunches its back, fur bristling and teeth barred as a couple of the projectiles find purchase in is side and back leg. Almost it slips and falls from its branch, and yet the nailed feet hold on. A wicked baying erupts from its mouth, and with eyes of hate and bloodlust it makes a leap for the next branch. Its bushy tail flickers behind it, as if taunting and daring the Elves to follow after it.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
And all the while the brown warg slinks on, leaping to a fresh branch and climbing ever higher into the treeline. By now the boughs are weaker, less sturdy, yet the criss-cross and knit in greater numbers, offering almost a lattice for the warg's benefit. Those sharp eyes keep watch upon the waiting elves in the tree nearby, and with soft, careful steps it climbs the lattice of branches as one might a ladder. Nary a creak of bark or rustle of leaves betrays its approach, given the din below to mask them.

Below elves the feathered shafts find yet another target a second of the pack goes down amid angered howls of outrage. The wargs now seemed moved to frenzy, and savage hunger fills their eyes as they circle the tree's base and glare up at their quarry.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
"Ha! Look at that. Just like a cheeky squirrel." comments one of the elves, and he does indeed follow, moving along the branch above it. "Be careful," says his companion, and that same elf moves his aim to follow the gray warg, shooting it from behind. "It's easy. Watch." The edhel drops down directly behind, and with a single deft movement, hooks his long bow under the wolf's hind legs yet over the branch, then leverages the wooden bow to the side, in an attempt to completely knock its hind end off the branch, assuming the front end will follow, or at least hang off the branch helplessly.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
The nearness of melodious words brings the gray wolf's ears pricking and swerving to caught the sounds and perhaps locations of its elusive prey. But, alas, it seems that prey finds it first there is a halt in the beasts progress as something interferes with its rear legs, and it turns its mottled head this way and then that, attemping to see what has proven so hindersome.

Slowly but surely, despite the deep scratches that are bitten into the bark as the front paws begins backsliding, the gray wolf does indeed begin to slip from its perch this time. Desperately, and angrily, the hindlegs kick and flail at the unseen problem.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
As the frantic struggle ensues upon the elves' tree, the brown warg makes good his ascent, and the feral gaze of the beast loiters on the Firstborn. Waiting, ears flattening and muscles tensing, the beast seems to be picking his moment a clear path along the lofty boughs now afforded him to his prey.

And then, just as the grey warg begins to slip, his brown comrade springs into action -- a fierce, sudden charge along the leafy branches toward the Eldar. Claws rake and eyes blaze as the beast lunges for the closest of the Elves jaws spreading wide in a bid to tear out the fair sentry's throat.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
"Sticks to the tree like a squirrel too." the edhel comments with gritted teeth. His companion holds his fire, waiting for the first one to complete his task. The elf slips his bow further in, shortening the lever and giving it a hard yank to the side, to force the back half of the warg off the branch.

Slightly above, the there is a din as the tree limbs shudder and begin to snap with the brown warg's sudden charge...and leap...the intended victim turning his head only in the second before, and trying to leap backward. Its not enough to get clear, but the beast's teeth find only thin air and elf hair. The impact is considerable, and together they land hard on the branch where he was standinging. It cracks and breaks readily, both elf and warg hurling to the canopy below.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
The longbow and branch aid each other in the Elf's efforts, and at last the gray beast's claws fail. But the creature twists as it begins to fall, lesser twigs snapping against its body and leaves breaking loose to flutter downward. Shocked and frenzied, the warg snaps wildly with its jaws and raking with its feet, seeking to snatch at the enemy's bow and drag it down with him if he may.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
The foliage snaps and shudders all the more as the weight of the brown warg crashes through it, ever the beast snatching with his claws both at bark and Elf-skin in a bid for balance.

But to no avail. The boughs yield under the strength of the fall, snapping asunder and spilling the brown warg down to the ground, along with the Elf unless the grace of the Eldar can prevent it. An almight crack sounds throughout the nearby woods as the brown warg lands upon a rough rock rearing out of the earth his back bent and snapped instantly. The sly light in his eyes fades, tongue lolling lifelessly out of his jaws, and the forest has one less snarling brute to worry about.

[Sudanir(#31361)]
The elf finally levers the gray wolf off, yet it snaps at his bow in the process and finds purchase, the teeth gripping the smooth wood, and held in tight with the aid of the drawstring. But, having a tight grip already, the elf finds himself in a tug-o-war over his own bow, from which the gray wolf hangs by the jaws oh so briefly. The Eldar shakes it, and that's too much for the drawstring. which breaks in the warg's sharp teeth with a loud and unmistakeable *prang*, and then the beast is falling.

Sudanir is falling with the beast mere inches away, and they pass together through a first, and then a second level of thin, spindly branches, before he can grab the next set of branches he passes. He grabs several thin ones all together, and though some break, some hold, and the elf hangs there for just a moment. "Come on, I'm getting low on arrows!" calls one of the fair voices from above. "Time to go," says another. Recovering his wits just a bit more, Sudanir swings back and forth in a widening arc, then lands on a sturdy enough branch on the lowest level above the wolves. "Coming," he says, not even bothering to shoot another arrow at what remains of the pack. Instead he scampers easily up the rough-textured trunk, finding his companions above. "Is that a scratch on you? You were always so clumsy..." the firstborn says in a somewhat joking tone. To this, Sudanir has no reply, and follows the group as they hurry along the treetops, heading east.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
Mocking glee appears to light the eyes of the gray beast as his teeth catch upon the longbow, but swiftly that look twists into one of panick as the lifeline snaps asunder. Down, down, the warg plummets, its mottled and arrow-ridden form hitting against boughs and breaking them off beneath its weight. A dreadul howl marks its descent, ere it is ended suddenly, cut off as living animal meets the unyielding ground. With a sickly snapping of bones, there the felled wolf lays, crumbled and battered in a heap.

And all about, the others of its kin hiss and snarl in anger, earns flattening against heads. A few of them, slowly, with tails between their legs at the sight of their dead fellows, begin to skulk off into the shadows of the trees.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
Those that remain glare upward at the treetops, little pity for their fallen brethren, but a sullen hatred of the Firstborn smouldering in their eyes. One by one, as it becomes clear that the Elves have departed, they too slink off into the night.