The Halls of Erebor

War

Below her, under the twisted branches and sparse leaves a small band of three orcs passed by. The larger of the three led, head hunched forward eyes focused on the ground. It's grey skin shone with sweat and grease in the moonlight.

Carefully, she balanced on the thin branches, unmoving. Her sword held firmly in her right hand. Her hair hung like a black veil around her face. If anyone were to see her, she would appear like a dark wraith in the night, like those of legend.

She waited until the last one passed beneath her, slightly scrawnier than the rest, before she dropped from the tree. Effortlessly, she passed through the branches not touching a single leaf. Her hair followed behind her as she landed silent behind her prey. With a single swift, silent movement she ended the smallest orc. The muted thud of its body hitting the ground caused the orc in front of her to mutter.

"Ugbi, be quiet."

Frin smirked to herself at the creature's comment while she closed the gap in between her and the orc. Leaning in toward its ear she whispered. "Ugbi will be very quiet from now on." The startled orc spun around only to find her blade in its belly. She held it as it choked, watching as the group's leader turned at the noise.

Its look of confusion almost made her laugh as it watched the body of its compatriot slump onto the ground after sliding from the tip of her blade.

"What are you?" It spat, readying the rusted blade in its hand.

"To you," she leaned forward like a predator ready to pounce, "death."

Lunging forward, she saw the creature lift it's sword. With a quick parry and a turn to the right she dodged the lumbering attack. Her sword lashed out in the creature's direction, immediately catching skin. With only the slightest friction she felt the metal penetrate. A splash of warm liquid hit her in the face. When she turned to face her quarry all she saw was a fallen body, motionless in the mud.

She didn't know why but she felt a strange hatred for these creatures. She had never met one, spoken with one, yet they were the enemy. It was reasonable to view them as evil, after all they usually attacked first.

Looking down with blood on her face, she wondered if that was how Thorin would feel when he would look upon her lifeless body. Would there be hatred? The thought wasn't terrifying but curious. Over her journey she had found a sense of contentment in her impending death. Even as she waited for the dwarves to arrive, her execution accompanying them, she was content.

Gingerly she stepped over the bodies and headed back up the trail from which they came. Not a few steps away was the barren open landscape, filled with rock, small drops and hidden crevices, the East Gate of Moria.

It had been the better part of a week since she set eyes on the looming entrance to the ancient dwarven keep. She kept a watchful eye on the entrance waiting for an orc to leave. After the first few days she discovered a pattern. Almost daily, a group would leave, of three or four. They seemed to be hunting parties or scouts. Everytime one of those small groups of orcs wandered into the forest she took it upon herself to lessen their numbers for the coming battle.

She wasn't sure when the dwarves would arrive but she knew the fight would start the moment they did. If she was lucky she would spot a scout or two first but she suspected the dwarves wouldn't bother with scouts. They were always a little too brash and a little too direct.

At the edge of the forest Frin approached an old tree and climbed. High in the branches was a small platform, above it hung a few skinned rabbits. With a small satisfied sigh she slumped against the thick truck of the tree. Reaching forward she grabbed a small scrap of torn cloth, then used it to clean her face and sword. Once she was happy with the cleanliness of her weapon she placed it beside her, then pulled a light blanket over her legs.