BLOOD CASTS FREELY DOWN his side , marring the forest coloured fabric of his tunic an ugly maroon where the thickest had bled through to the white undershirt there , then further still to stick to the unblemished skin that lay beneath. a fire , burning bright & fierce , had licked up his flank at the stroke that sliced through his defence & cut through his flesh. now it remained a muted sting , a renewed course of strength giving his limbs life enough to fight the last of his opponents.
FELLING THE FOUL CREATURES that had done him harm , & so to all the cruel beasts encountered , the eyrn edhel had wavered. dropping to his knees with a gush of air , a hand raising up to press heavily against his side. the action eliciting a sharp hiss in remark to the pain revived at his ungentle touch. a moment allowed for show of weakness , when he thought enemies vanquish for a time & he alone , appeared costly in the sounds of movement in the foliage.
DRAWING HIMSELF UP TO face the next to come , his posture altered to accommodate for the still seeping wound. frame held to shield his weakened side , yet not in expression of the pain he felt. twin knives held in firm , practiced grips at his front. determination permeating from his being. he wasn’t taken by the first , nor those to have attacked before them , thus he wouldn’t be by the ones to follow. but if evil were to snatch his long life from him this day , he wouldn’t let such be taken with any sort of ease.
❝ So I have realised , but if you think this has me too weak to return what has been dealt.
It will be one of your last mistakes. ❞
Although Bruce had assumed traveling through the Mirkwood Forest would have caused him to run into an Elf or two, he hadn’t anticipated such an encounter so suddenly! Any Mordor-bred individual would have hissed in a combination of hatred and fear at the individual before him, yet Bruce recalled his old Easterling friend Maliku living peacefully with them for a time as he recorded their culture. Granted, Maliku had been a Man, not an Olog, and those had been the Elves of Lothlórien, not of Mirkwood; but surely that meant other Elves could be peaceful as well? At least, not entirely willing to slice Bruce’s throat before he could explain himself and the reasoning behind his current whereabouts! Hopefully.
“Well, I don’t plan on makin’ such mistakes, I’ll tell ye that,” Bruce answered, dipping his head with a nod and his lips pulled back to something akin to far-too-toothy smile. Still, he made no motion towards the spiked mace hooked upon his back armor plate. The Olog’s gaze flicked down to the forest floor, littered with several dispatched and dead orcs, and Bruce’s expression changed; his grin faltered before slipping from his face completely and contemplating worry took its place.
Beady blue eyes flicked back up to the Elf before him. “Were they after you? Or did ye ‘appen upon ‘em ‘ere?”
It was one thing for a random orc ambush, or the last of the soldiers from Dol Guldur filtering into Mirkwood. But a sickening knot twisted in Bruce’s stomach. Surely, these orcs weren’t sent after him, right? He had escaped, presumably, unnoticed from Mordor. On a quest for a peaceful home, did he only deliver a thread of violence in his wake?
