Denethor, elf of Mirkwood, led the small party along the Elf Path and back toward his King's own Halls. There were but four of them, out patrolling the roadway in Thranduil's name. This was no easy task as the the wood itself seemed to be growing ever darker and creatures, such as the spiders and Forest Goblins to the south, were growing ever bolder. Thus far they had been able to stay the Enemy's Hand and maintain control of the Elf King's lands. To make them safe for those that called his Halls their home.

They had come across what they thought at first to be a goblin wandering the road and heading west along it's path. The creature had pale skin and big bulbous eyes that could no doubt see in the forest's gloom as well as their own if not better in fact. That he was ragged and ill-clothed was enough to know it had no place among the Free-folk. Yet, Denethor, an experienced scout and wanderer himself, thought him not to be a goblin or orc either. That he held no weapons or armor was enough to give him pause but that he spoke Westron nearly as well as those from Dale and in the west was certain. That he spoke it was also clear... for the small, and at least in the elf's eyes, pathetic creature talked to himself and even answered in kind. It was stealthy enough and cunning for sure but that this creature spoke out loud to himself was enough to bring the elf's patrol upon him.

"Please! Let's me go! I must find him. Yesss I must. It stole it he did! Thief! That isss what he is!"

That and...

"They hunt me... they hunts me! To take me back... knives and whipsss... they will kiss my skin once more and keep me... keep me from the thief that stole my preciousss..."

So Denethor was not altogether surprised when a rain of arrows came from the trees on both sides of the road. That two of his party were killed and another wounded when orcs, nay Forest Goblins, came at them with wicked curved blades and wearing dark armor... the strange red eye upon their shields. Yet, as quickly as they had come they were gone! Back into the gloom and darkness of Mirkwood.

As Denethor looked upon the carnage and aided those he may... binding and cleaning wounds, his keen eyes noticed that their prisoner was gone as well. What would Thranduil say... would he even believe such a tale? What of the small creature heading west in pursuit of a thief? Was he now a prisoner of the foul orcs or had he used their attack as a distraction... as a means to escape? Denethor shook his head sadly for he could not be sure himself...
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:31, Sat 26 Nov 2016.