TA 2941
From her temporary perch high on the steep cliff face just outside the borders of the Trollshaws, Rafiki muttered a string of orders, voice lilting and growling in places and hissing in others as she spoke the familiar vowels and tones of the Dark Tongue of Mordor, more commonly dubbed Black Speech.
Dropping from her perch silent as the shadows surrounding her Rafiki's slender ink stained hands shot out at unimaginable speed, calloused fingers burrowing into holes and cracks as she slowed her descent from her previous altitude, easing her lithe frame into a crowded position on a small ledge some four-hundred feet lower than just seconds before.
A particularly strong gust of wind howled through the night, wrenching the hood of Rafiki's ebony cloak from her head, the matching ebony armor clinging to her body in a sensual and completely practical manner warding off the chill of early May.
The soft innocent features of the child nearing Seventeen summers had gone, all traces of baby fat had erased itself from her bones, leaving in its wake sharp cheekbones angled high and a sharp jawline. Perfectly arched brows sat perched evenly in a scowl above bambi like orbs. The once copper and honey tone that created a vibrant hue leaving a haunting topaz glow that had eaten the entirety of her eyes, iris, sclera and all. A slender nose tweaked to one side by the slightest degree from a previous fight sat above plush lips that currently curled to show her distaste at the situation, canines glinting dangerously from behind the ruby flesh.
Almost nagging in its endeavors the frigid wind howled past the woman once again, weaving its way through the mass of dark chocolate locks bound from crown to nape in nearly a hundred braids, the beads, bones and feather interwoven into them clinking gently, the only sound breaking the silence of the night other than the utterings far below. The sides of her hair were shorn short, revealing once tapered ears now mismatched that picked up the mumblings a few thousand feet beneath her. The top of her left ear was missing completely, bitten off by an orc many years ago, whom was now dead. Her right ear split from tip to shell twitched, the small black rune etched into her skin beneath it since birth warming slightly the longer she sat listening to the mutterings.
Her caramel skin had lost the radiant hue it had once held, having grown pale from her time hidden away from the sun in the depths of Moria. Her flesh was a canvas of ink, scars and metal, each piece telling a story. Telling her Rank. Her adopted culture. All of it molding her into the perfect weapon of war. A perfect commander for the armies of Hell.
Settling her hood back over her head as her small platoon of orcs finally reached her location Rafiki scoped out the small company spread out on the rock nearly a klick downwind of them. Some crowded round the small fire that spit sparks into the night at intermediate frequencies, the rest sleeping peacefully in their bedrolls, oblivious to the watchful eyes of Rafiki.
"Commander?" Questioned Ghorbandsh, her first lieutenents, his hazy sunken eyes flashing like a lantern in the dim light of the moon. "Your orders?"
Pursing her lips Rafiki contemplated her answer, pebbles shifting off the rock face, tumbling from above bouncing off her heavy cloak before pinging echoingly their whole descent down the cliff.
Brows pulling into an even deeper scowl Rafiki's hand show out, grasping the ankle of the orc above her, muscles twitching and coiling as she wrenched him from his perch, watching with annoyance as he plummeted to his death, shrieking the entire descent, finally falling silent as his body met the ground below with a snap, the sound echoing in the silent air, reaching Rafiki's ears with ease. The Dwarves had fallen silent, one of the members rushing from his place by the ponies towards the fire.
"We should kill them now." Commented an Orc to Rafiki's left, tongue darting out to wet his lips in hunger. "Strike while they sleep."
"Silence Argall." Rafiki snapped, losing whatever patience she'd had left. "They do not slumber any longer. We wait."
Pushing off the cliff with unwavering ease Rafiki plummeted from the sky, a brutal cry of her own echoing into the night, boot clad feet finding the soil, knees bending to absorb the impact, easing her landing. Thunderous in Rafiki's ears her platoon landed not long after, muttering to themselves at the thought of the hunt awaiting them.
"Trail them. Do not be seen or I will kill you all myself." Rafiki Ordered, rolling her shoulders as she prepared to remove herself from their company.
"Aye Commander." Ghorbandsh uttered, bowing his head as she made for the trees.
"I will be watching." Rafiki warned, eyes flashing dangerously from under her hood as she glanced back over her shoulder. "Do not harm a single hair on their heads as of yet. Fimbul, return to Azog, inform him of their location."
Without so much as a rustle of fabric Rafiki vanished into the trees. A single howl rent the air, alerting the orcs to the arrival of their wargs, the beasts slinking from the shadows with heads hung low. Ready for the hunt.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Perched high in the branches of a tree surrounding a decimated farmhouse Rafiki waited, watching the sun crawl lower on the horizon, mind lingering on the argument she witnessed between a dwarf she'd come to identify as Thorin Oakenshield and the familiar form of Gandalf the Grey, separate from the rest of the company but not for long.
Rafiki had been trailing the company for nearly two days, observing them in a far more intimate way than before, more so than she ought to be. She'd learned their names, their habits and mannerisms, the way they interacted, whom was related and what they had to offer.
She was given basic information about her task. The three she was to kill were the descendants of Durin, the royalty destine for Erebor. Their King, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was responsible for the loss of Azog's left arm, and thus had doomed himself, his kin Fili and Kili, and those traveling with them in hopes of seeing their homeland once more.
Gandalf had left the company after his heated argument with Thorin, shouting something about seeking company with himself, the only one with any sense, and confounding the stubbornness of dwarves the entirety of his trek out of their camp. After the exciting events had come to a close half of the company sat scattered about the clearing, a small group clustered tighter with their heads bowed, and the nephews to the king watching the ponies. The smallest member of the company Bilbo, a hobbit, had meandered into the forest with two bowls of stew for the royals some time ago.
Rafiki had underestimated the royal family, expecting them to be like any other dwarf she'd encountered; short, large nosed, and beady eyed with a high possibility of being rounder in shape. How very wrong she'd been. Rafiki may not have been exposed to races besides orcs often but she knew when one was attractive, granted her constant company with the masses of orcs made just about everything more attractive.
The King Under the Mountain, the holder of her current interest was particularly tall for a dwarf, Rafiki was sure he would be taller than her five foot frame by any means. His lengthy raven locks were laced with silver and his beard equally as dark was shorn close to what she imagined to be a strong jawline. Sharp cobalt orbs scanned the landscape at a near constant rate, searching for a danger that he would not currently find.
Rafiki's heart skipped a beat as for what must have been the tenth time that hour his stunning orbs paused on the tree in which she crouched. Her mind informed her that she was invisible to him, but with the way his eyes bore into her she could have sworn he could see her.
As he looked away Rafiki's heart resumed its normal pace, mind wandering into dangerous territory. Was the Dwarf Married? He did not have any heirs besides his sister-sons so it was doubtful. Did he have a woman back in Ered Luin that he was courting? Was he even interested in women? More importantly, what did it matter if he did?
"Thorin." Rafiki could not help herself, she had wanted to test the way his name sounded, she found she like the way the words tasted and the way they rolled seductively off her pierced tongue, jaw snapping shut as he shifted, eyes on her position once more, eyes critical as he stood, taking a few steps towards her haven.
"Thorin?" Questioned the massive bald dwarf, Dwalin if Rafiki remembered correctly, breaking the stare down temporarily. "What is it?"
"Nothing, I am sure." Thorin replied easily, narrowing his eyes despite his words. "I am weary is all, thought I heard something."
"Trolls!"
The shout effectively drew everyone's attention to the pair of dwarves standing at the edge of the forest, panting wildly as if they'd run a marathon, which in all honesty they likely had.
Unwilling to listen to their ramblings and arguments Rafiki kicked off her branch, nimble feet finding purchase in the next, and the next after that with the ease of a wood elf, her lean frame crouching as she came upon thinning trees, observing the scene beyond.
Three massive trolls, stone trolls if Rafiki guessed correctly sat arguing around a blazing fire, and the hobbit crouched stupidly behind one.
"How come he's the cook? Everything tastes the same, everything tastes like chicken."
"Except the chicken."
"What tastes like fish."
"I'm just saying, a little appreciation would be nice. 'Thank you very much, Bert. Lovely stew, Bert.' How hard is that?"
Sneaking closer to one of the Trolls Bilbo slowed, reaching with baited breath for his knife, barely dodging his hand as he reached around to clutch at a tankard, ready to take a heaping swig of whatever it contained before he was interrupted.
"Mmm. Just needs a sprinkle of squirrel dung. Here that's my grog!" Snapped Bert, earning a quick 'sorry' from the offender before knocking , the first upside the head and taking the drink, observing the way both his companion and the tankard of grog fell over, turning back to the stew boiling away above the fire.
Raising the full spoon to his mouth the troll slurped at it. "Oh that is beautifully balanced that is. Wrap your loganbie around that, mate."
Offering it to the troll he'd previously hit, he muttered praises to himself, laughing at them as he did so.
"Huh? Good ain't it? That's why I'm the cook."
Having had enough of their pointless bickering Rafiki focused once more on the hobbit attempting to unsheathe the fileting knife round one of the trolls waists, struggling at the height difference, barely dodging the hand that reaching round to scratch it's ass.
"Me guts are grumbling, I've got to snaffle something. Flesh. I need flesh!"
Making a face Bilbo returned to his task, becoming so focused on his task that he failed to see the incoming hand that scooped him up, lifting him to the trolls face, receiving a massive shower of snot.
"Aah! Blimey! Bert! Bert, look what's come out of me hooter! It's got arms and legs an everything!"
"Rank." Rafiki muttered to herself, drawing the dual crossbows from their holsters, the deadly weapons already loaded and ready to be wielded with haunting accuracy.
"What is it?" Bert questioned, shambling closer to peer down at the shell-shocked hobbit.
"I don't know, but I don't like the way it wriggles around!"
"What are you then? An oversized squirrel?" Bert questioned, pointing his knife at Bilbo haughtily.
"I'm a burglar…uh, hobbit!"
"A 'burglar-hobbit'?"
"Can we cook him?"
"We can try!"
"He wouldn't make more than a mouthful. Not when he's skinned and boned!" Bert interrupted, waving away their suggestions.
"Perhaps there's more burglar-hobbits 'round these parts, might be enough for a pie!"
Ducking from the hold he currently sat in Bilbo rolled over the edge of the hand held where the three trolls could gaze at it.
"Grab him!"
"He's too quick!"
"Oah, come here! You little…"
Despite his desperate attempts Bilbo's legs were swept off the ground by one of the three, dangling helplessly above the ground.
"Gotcha! Are there any more of little fellas hiding where you shouldn't?" Questioned one of the trolls, pointing a knife at the hobbit now held by his feet.
"No." Bilbo replied quickly, attempting to free himself from his position, becoming more and more disoriented as the seconds ticked by.
"He's lying!"
"No I'm not!"
"Hold his toes over the fire, make him squeal."
Rushing from the bushes the younger heir slashed at the closest trolls leg, catching their attention before he made his demand.
"Drop him!"
Rafiki paused in her aiming, focusing her gaze on the dark haired nephew brandishing now his sword at the trolls.
"You what?" Questioned one, squinting at the dwarf, obviously confused by both the order and the sudden appearance.
"I said drop him!" Kili repeated, louder than before, dropping his sword in shock as the hobbit was thrown haphazardly at him, the remaining dwarves bursting from the bushes at the development, obviously a signal of some type.
Rafiki had to admit she was impressed with the dexterity of the dwarves, the way that they worked with one another was unseen in her line of work. Not only was Rafiki a lone wolf in particular by choice, but also due to the fact that the last time she'd been with a large group it had ended with the loss of nearly fifty orcs. Her small platoon was all she needed and she would prefer not to even have them, but Azog insisted.
Observing the progress that had been made Rafiki's heart gave a jolt at the sight of a trolls large foot descending towards Thorin whom was too busy slashing at another Troll to notice it.
"Fuck me." Rafiki cursed body already in action before she could wonder exactly what had overcome her.
Her body connected with the dwarf with a clear smack, sending him stumbling out of the trajectory of the trolls foot, Rafiki rolling clear without a second to spare, firing her crossbows into whatever orifice she could find, annoyed that she'd involved herself, yet the nagging at the back of her mind told her it was a subconscious choice, not something she could do anything about the development.
"Move!" The order bellowed by Rafiki at the massive bald dwarf known as Dwalin sent him barreling into the leg of a troll. Firing a bolas at the spot the dwarf had previously been Rafiki wasted no time to see the damage dealt by the exploding weapon, the scream of pain enough to assure her it had done at least some damage as she made for the next troll.
With perfect aim Rafiki lobbed a grenade into the sack hanging over a trolls shoulder, grinning in delight as the resounding bang that came with its detonation sounded, showering the company fighting beneath it in raven blood.
Crossbows firing rapidly Rafiki maneuvered deftly through the mass of fighting dwarves, occasionally yanking one of them from harm's way, the amount of arrows peppering the skin of the trolls slowing them by the smallest amount.
"Master Hobbit, I would advise you free those ponies soon." Rafiki stated, having come close enough to the hobbit that she could see the way his very frame shook at the events currently happening. "In the straps of my right boot, there is a dagger, use it to cut the rope."
Staring at the woman in wonder Bilbo stood frozen, mind still stuck on the fact that he was currently covered in snot, somewhere in the forests of the Trollshaws, and that a woman had appeared from the eaves of said forest to save their leader.
"Today Master Baggins!" The rumbled order came from deep in her chest, shaking the hobbit from his trance. "If you will not make use of yourself then be gone from the immediate area."
Springing into action Bilbo dove for Rafiki's right leg, plunging a hand into the multitude of straps entwining the thick leather of her boot, hand coming into contact with the well-worn grip of a long dagger the size of his forearm that would surely be a decent size for the woman whose sternum he barely reached.
Adjusting her frame so that she completely blocked the small hobbit now sawing at the thick ropes holding the door of the pen closed.
"Faster Bilbo." Rafiki urged, lobbing another grenade into the fray, arrow imploding it before it reached a height to harm to company hacking at the troll's legs. "We haven't much time."
"I'm trying." Bilbo muttered, attempting to figure out how the sheath came of the blade, giving a small peep of surprise as a calloused, half gloved hand descended upon it, quickly working the blade from the leather, revealing the obsidian metal, the thick partially serrated blade working at the rope easily.
"Go, go!" Bilbo urged the ponies as the rope broke free at last, the fence falling open without hesitation as he stuffed the blade back into the sheath, pausing to wonder why the shink of arrows releasing from the crossbows had gone silent.
Twisting round Bilbo came face to face with the reason why. The woman whom so valiantly defended Thorin now lay incapacitated at the base of a small ledge not far from him, her lean body lay unmoving, twisted in unnatural way, the only sign that she still held life being the barest of movements from her chest. The large gash from her right temple to the crown of her head bled heavily, the rich crimson oozing from it in a heavy stream obscuring her features, the massive bruise swelling upon the side of her face distorting both shape and color.
A pair of hands descended upon Bilbo, two of the trolls grabbing an arm and leg each, grinning in their victory.
"Lay down your arms or we'll rip his off!" Shouted one of them, giving Bilbo a particularly hard shake, earning a small squeak of pain from the hobbit now held much higher than he'd ever been before.
Thorin seemed to hesitate before stabbing the point of his sword into the ground, admitting that they had been defeated much to his chagrin.
Casting another glance at the woman Bilbo wished he could do something for her, his thoughts screeching to a halt as he was pulled mercilessly from his clothing, and stuffed into an over-sized sack stinking of the trolls and itching at his now exposed flesh.
"Where are you Gandalf?" Bilbo muttered, searching the trees around them in hopes of spotting the Wizard as he swooped to their rescue, dimly aware of the fact that the trolls were discussing the best way to eat them. Struggling to his feet Bilbo prayed that this would work, casting a look at the pile of dwarves writhing in their own sacks beside him, each yelling their own version of what they would do to the trolls were they free.
"Don't bother cooking 'em! Let's just sit on 'em and squash 'em into jelly!"
"They should be sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage."
"Oh, that does sound quite nice."
"Never mind the seasoning, we ain't got all night! Dawn ain't far away, let's get a move on! I don't fancy been turned to stone."
"Wait, wait!"
The trolls froze, turning to face the hobbit, balancing precariously on his feet.
"You're making a terrible mistake."
"You can't reason with them, they're half-wits." Dori called, face red as he spun over the fire.
"Half-wits? What does that make us?" Bofur shot back, a grumble of pain escaping him as he tried to adjust.
"I meant with the…uh, with the…with the seasoning." Bilbo stuttered, face pinching as he attempted to think of something in such a situation.
"What about the seasoning." Bert questioned, leaning closer to Bilbo.
"Well, have you smelt them? You're gonna need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up." Bilbo gave a shaky laugh, eyes falling shut at the shouts of anger sounding from the dwarves.
"What do you know about cooking dwarf?"
"Shut up!" Ordered Bert, waving his companions off. "Let the uh, flurgerburbur-hobbit talk."
"The uh, the-the secret to cooking dwarf is to um..."
"Yes? Come on." Bert urged growing impatient with the small creature.
"It's uh…"
"Tell us the secret!" Bert shouted, seeming to have lost his patience at last.
"Ye-yes, I'm telling you! The secret is…to…skin them first!"
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Rafiki shifted ever so slightly, a small cry of pain escaping her before she clamped her jaw shut, attempting to open her eyes before shutting them at the amount of light burning off the fire not five feet away from her.
Ever so slowly Rafiki's hearing came back, the loud shouts of dwarves greeting her muddled mind. Cracking her eyes once more Rafiki observed the trouble the dwarves had landed themselves in.
"Fools." Rafiki muttered to herself at the sight of the cooking spit above the flaming fire, the other half of the naked dwarves stuffed into sacks on the opposite side from her.
Locating her crossbows in the pile of weapons belonging to the dwarves Rafiki gave a curse, calloused hands finding the pommels of her wickedly curved sickle-swords glinting in the firelight, the runes on them dancing dangerously as she heaved herself to her feet.
"Oh I'm going to regret this." Rafiki muttered to herself, a grimace finding its way onto her lips as she stood, her body attempting to heal itself from the amount of damage done, a slow process, slower than usual.
"Excuse me!" Rafiki called, once again silencing the group before her, stalling for time. "Yes, I'd like to file a complaint. It seems I was attacked from behind, and not in the good way, mind you."
"What are you doing?" Hissed Dwalin from his place facing the fire, the troll having abandoned the spit to stare at the woman.
"What're you." Spat one of the trolls, leaning closer to her, reaching a hand out to poke at her. "A lady! I like ladies, all the squishy bits are delicious!"
Faster than the eye could see Rafiki brought her blade down upon the trolls hand, slicing of the finger that was reaching for her, bringing the second blade up to slice his throat from ear to ear.
Rafiki watched as his massive form fell to the ground with an earth shaking thump, his blood creeping across the grass to her feet, earning a sneer of disgust from her.
"Yes a lady!" Rafiki taunted at the dying troll. "And yes, my squishy bits are delicious. They are not however, for you."
Too stunned to move the inhabitants of the clearing gaped at the woman casually wiping her now soiled blade off on the troll's loincloth, a small scuffling alerting them to the man now standing tall on the small hill of rock.
"The dawn will take you all!"
"Who's that?"
"I dunno, can we eat him?"
Bringing his staff down upon the ledge he currently stood on, Gandalf stepped to the side, sunrise pouring through the crack, spilling into the clearing, the two remaining trolls turning to stone with echoing screams, and the third in silence.
"Must you steal my moment?" Rafiki grumbled, turning to face the familiar form of Gandalf, earning a small smile from the elderly wizard.
"Yes Rafiki Cid, I do believe I must."
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
"Where did you go, if I may ask?" Questioned Thorin, falling into step with Gandalf as he paced the small clearing restlessly.
"To look ahead." Gandalf retorted with a wry smile, glancing down at his companion.
"What brought you back?"
"Looking behind. Nasty business as you know. Still you are all in one piece."
"No thanks to your burglar." Thorin groused, the familiar scowl painting itself on his features one that Gandalf could have done without.
"He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that." Gandalf shot back haughtily, observing the now frozen trolls. "They must have come down from the Ettenmoors."
"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?" Thorin grumbled, attempting to remember the last time he hear of such a thing.
"Not for an age. Not since a dark power ruled these lands." Rafiki cut in, falling into place next to the King and the Wizard, shooting a small grin at Gandalf before turning her gaze to Thorin. "They could not have moved in daylight, there will be a cave nearby. If I am correct, it will be to the North of here."
"Then we go North." Thorin ordered, turning from Rafiki to stride back to the company and discuss with them their recent findings.
"Why are you here Rafiki?" Gandalf muttered, placing a weathered hand on the younger woman's shoulder, leading her to the tree line farthest from the company of chattering dwarves.
"I am sure that you can guess." Rafiki retorted, leaning herself against the tree they had stopped next to, a small wince crossing her features as she jostled her healing injuries. "If I must spell it out for you my friend, then you have lost your touch."
"Azog." Gandalf muttered, shooting a glance at the King discussing important matters with Dwalin and Balin. "I had hoped that you would have been done with that filth by now."
"Watch your tongue, Wizard." Rafiki warned, eyes flashing from beneath the brim of her hood. "He may be filth but he is the reason that I am alive. He has cared for me for many years now, or have you forgotten? You would be lucky that I am the one whom was sent to carry out this task, or your merry band of dwarves would be long dead."
"Then you have grown soft." Gandalf shot back, watching the snarl curl itself onto her lips. "Since when has Rafiki Cid, precious gem of Azog the Defiler, granted mercy upon a simple Dwarf and his kin? Unless I am mistaken you have done many things in your life Rafiki that few would admit to."
"Silence!" Rafiki hissed, body lurching from its lounging, hands curling into fists at the words. "I am not proud of my actions, but I will not deny them. I have done many things that perhaps I should not have, and have not done many that I should have. I will not however, let you assume that It was all for naught. I am the right hand of Azog the Defiler. I am that which he treasures beyond his own life. I am what has survived his wrath. I am that, which he has vowed fealty to. I am the leader of his armies. I am the owner, of his heart. And when the time has come, I will be the harbinger of his doom. "
"Then why are you here?" Questioned Gandalf, taking a small step back from the raging woman, leaning heavily upon his staff. "If you are not here to kill Thorin Oakenshield, you have no reason for being here."
"You are wrong." Rafiki whispered, stepping back as well, hand falling limp at her sides. "I bring a warning. One that should not be ignored, and yet I grasp that you will not allow me to tell him."
"He is not to know that Azog still lives." Gandalf warned, straightening in order to tower of Rafiki. "If he learns such things he will lead this quest on a completely different course, and he will die."
"If I do not kill him." Rafiki muttered, turning her gaze on the King now observing them with interest, a sad smile curling at her lips. "They will all perish."
"What?" Gandalf questioned, a small puff of confusion escaping him. "I do not understand."
"If I do not kill him by the time he reaches that mountain…" Rafiki hesitated, shifting her weight before turning her gaze upon Gandalf. "War will be upon us."