Equinoxium: Chapter 12
by Lisette
Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.
Shaking his head in mute wonder, Legolas attempted to ignore Elladan and Elrohir's incessant bickering as the twins continued to argue over the best method to release the chains that had held him captive for so many hours.
"No, Elrohir, I tell you that even a dwarf's axe would find this metal far too strong for its blade. We must devise another method to free our dear prince."
"And what would you suggest, my brother? That we cut his wrists from his arms and his feet from his ankles in order to set him free? A fine sight that would make indeed!"
"I would suggest that you both use the brains that Lord Elrond and Lady Celebran were so kind to gift you with," Thoron cut in as he pushed his way through the circle of rangers that protected the three from the battle that was being waged without. However, the moment his dark eyes fell upon his lord, bloody, beaten, and pale chest bare to the dawning sky with ugly red burns pressed into his fair skin, the remainder of his reprimand was forgotten. "My lord," he whispered, his face paling as he stumbled forward, his gaze darkening as his eyes swept over the damage that had been wrought in his absence.
"Thoron," Legolas acknowledged, torn between feeling strangely comforted by the older elf's presence and wanting to cringe at being seen in such a compromised position. With a resigned sigh, his head fell back to the blood-stained earth beneath him, his eyes seeking out the comforting light of Erendil above. There was little he could do about it now, even if the current situation did little to support his case that he really didn't need a bodyguard. If anything, he was quite sure that Thoron was now going to be sticking even closer to his side than usual - an idea that didn't exactly cause his heart to swell with joy.
"Well what are you waiting for? Get him out of those chains!" Thoron hissed, his features becoming pinched as he rudely shoved one of the twins to the side, all thoughts of proper decorum fleeing beneath the sudden rush of blood to his purpling face.
Eyes turning to his twin in amusement, Elladan gracefully rose to his full height as he watched the advisor inspect the large locks. "That, Master Thoron, was exactly what we had been discussing. It is simply a matter of devising the proper method to... how did you do that?" he demanded, his eyes growing wide as one of the manacles fell away from Legolas' slender wrist.
"By picking the lock, of course," Thoron returned, his voice grim as he hurried to work on the other one.
"You... picked the lock?" Elrohir asked, his voice faint as he looked from his twin to the stern elf. "But how did you-"
"He's a wood-elf. Need you any more of an explanation?" Elladan smoothly cut in as the other manacle fell to the ground, freeing Thoron to work on Legolas' bound ankles.
"Well do not look at me," Legolas returned with a small, pained smile as Elrohir helped him to sit forward for the first time in hours, his hands gingerly massaging his red, aching wrists. "He has never taught me to do such a thing," the fair-haired wood elf added as Elladan immediately knelt by his other side, long, pale fingers probing the broken skin as Elrohir's serious gaze turned to the many other wounds that had been dealt to the prince's hurting body.
"And for good reason," Thoron returned as one of the ankle chains fell away, his eyes briefly lifting to Legolas' innocent face. "You and your brothers managed to get in enough trouble on your own. I need not have added to your mayhem."
Rolling his eyes good naturedly, Legolas waited for the other manacle to fall away before he attempted to climb to his feet - and immediately regretted doing so as the world began to spin and as his many wounds protested such foolishness. Eyes slipping shut, he felt two pairs of strong arms wrap around his waist, gently easing him back to the ground as he waited for his equilibrium to once more be reestablished.
"Are you well?" Elrohir asked, his features creasing in concern as he took in the weak glow of his friend's skin, only to frown as he realized that no, Legolas was obviously anything but fine. He had been a prisoner of orcs for a full day - their entertainment for far too many hours - and already he could see the evidence of their gruesome play from where it painted the prince's battered body.
"I will live," Legolas returned, his words soft as he opened his eyes and, ignoring the elves' quiet protests, pushed himself to stand. Biting back a soft moan of pain, he forced his trembling legs to straighten as gentle hands lent their support. He swayed slightly before he found his balance, forcing a small, pinched smile for his friends. "And while your timely arrival does come as a welcome surprise, I must add that it certainly took you both long enough to get here."
"I apologize for the delay," the younger twin began, his gray eyes twinkling as he his grip on Legolas' arm loosened. "It has been centuries since we have had to rescue the young Prince of Mirkwood and I feel that we may be a bit rusty."
Smiling gently at his friends, Legolas allowed Thoron to drape his cloak over his shoulders, helping to cover the remains of his tattered tunic as he inclined his head slightly towards the men that stood guard around them. "Since you continue to hold company with the Rangers of the North, I can hardly fault your delay," he stated, his smile beginning to falter as his blue eyes swept over the battle that he was able to glimpse through the gathered men. Orc screams still echoed in the graying morning as the Rangers moved through the clearing like a wave of death. Death that was almost his. "I fear that things would not have ended well had you not," he murmured as he gazed down upon the burns that branded his chest, his body radiating a strange heat from his many wounds. So much pain and suffering this night, for both him and...
"Buffy," Legolas stated, his face paling as he instinctively turned in the direction that she had been kept during her own personal torment. "Where is Buffy?" he demanded as he started forward, pushing past the Rangers and nearly stepping into the mayhem before Elladan pulled him back.
"Who?" Elrohir demanded as he stepped beside his friend and brother, his eyes piercing the dark shadows that yet remained as he searched for the stranger of whom Legolas spoke.
"Buffy, she-"
"I saw her," Thoron admitted as his lord's gaze turned towards him, "just a moment past. I.. I believe that she was with Halbarad," he continued, a small flush infusing his cheeks. It wasn't entirely an untruth, for he was almost positive that the Man had been following him when he had run across the girl. What went unspoken was the fact that he had abandoned her only moments after stumbling upon her. After all, his loyalty, and ultimately his concern, did not rest with the strange girl. Rather, his sole concern lay with the young elf that was currently looking at him in a way that reminded him greatly of the prince's king and father.
Eyes narrowing upon the brown-haired advisor that looked almost guilty, Legolas was about to question him further when a severed orc head rolled through the melee to rock against his booted feet. Even as the others backed away in disgust, Legolas smiled as he lifted his head to see Buffy push through the crowd of fighters to stand before him.
She looked horrible, her clothing splattered with black blood, a large jagged cut marring her cheek, and her body coated in a wet sheen of red. She clutched a short, gore-encrusted sword in one bloody hand with her other arm gently encircling her small waist. Slowly, she lifted her green, dazed eyes and smiled softly at Legolas - before the sword fell from her quivering fingers and her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. Forgetting his own injuries, Legolas was at her side in seconds as the twins clustered around him, the scattered rangers following suit.
"Buffy-"
"Just... just give me a minute," Buffy stated, her words coming between panted breaths as she tried to keep the world from spinning. "A bit dizzy," she admitted as she closed her eyes and willed the noxious bile to go back to her hurting stomach where it belonged; that and the blood that still coated her tongue and filled her mouth with the sharp tang of copper. Grimacing, she turned her head to the side and spit out a mouthful of the cloying fluid before lifting her eyes once more - and frowned as she took in not two elves, but four. Although...
"I think I may have hit my head harder than I thought," Buffy mumbled as Legolas and one of the men gently helped her to her feet. "I'm seeing double," she admitted as she looked back and forth between the two elves that looked identical from the tips of their lustrous, long brown hair that trailed over shoulders that were just a bit broader than Legolas and Thoron's, to the bottoms of their matching gray boots.
"I am afraid that you are not - seeing double, that is," Legolas corrected as he nodded to his friends. "They are twins," he stated as each elf bowed in turn, their curious eyes dancing back and forth from the bloody sword that lay at her feet, to the orc head that continued to roll down a slow incline and into the forest beyond, and the obvious trail of destruction that stretched past her small frame.
"Twins?" Buffy returned, green eyes growing wide as she took in the flawless clear skin, the perfectly sculpted noses and lips, the pointed ears, the long, lean bodies... Smiling slightly, a bit dazed, Buffy nodded to each in turn - and then groaned as Halbarad joined their small group, his grizzled face flushed as he glared at her.
"My Lady, I bade you to wait-"
"And I told you to quit following me!" Buffy cut in as she scowled at the tall, dour-looking man. "I'm perfectly capable of... oh boy," she trailed off, her tirade forgotten as her broken ribs and other injuries once more reminded her of their presence. Grimacing, Buffy quickly wrapped her arms around her waist as she struggled to breathe the liquid that seemed to be filling her lungs. "Ooh, ow," she groaned as she felt Legolas' arm slide around her shoulders, helping to lower her to the ground as her legs began to falter.
In seconds, the twins were upon her as the long, pale hands of two of the most experienced healers in all of Middle-earth began inspecting her injuries. Smiling wryly, Legolas stepped to the side as they fussed over various cuts and abrasions, ignoring her protests as their features became schooled into solemn masks. Expertly they fingered the lash marks and searched for the hidden welts, their eyes probing her own as they demanded descriptions of what hurt worse and where. It was the discovery of the broken ribs, however, that truly set them off as they immediately began pulling at the hem of her leather halter, easing the tight material to her bust to reveal patches of tanned skin that were barely visible beneath the many layers of ugly bruises that marred her abdomen and colored her form.
Hiding an amused smile behind one dirty, blood-stained hand, Legolas turned away from Buffy and the twins - and frowned as he noticed the rest of the Rangers that were gathered about them. Apparently the fighting had ended and now the large group of men encircled their small group, their eyes fixed upon Buffy and the Twins. Well, it was more accurate to say that their eyes seemed to be solely fixed on Buffy, some who had witnessed the slayer in action staring at her in utter amazement while others seemed torn between discretely looking away and gaping as the twins gently rubbed their hands over miles of smooth skin, carefully probing her abdomen for the broken ribs that caused her so much pain.
Feeling an odd flush burn his bruised cheeks, Legolas quickly pushed Elladan aside as he reached down and pulled Buffy to her feet, ignoring the twins' protests and the slayer's pained groan. Turning a fierce elven glare on the gathered men, he slipped out of his borrowed cloak and slid it over Buffy's shoulders before pulling it tight around her small frame.
"What's wrong?" Buffy asked in confusion, her eyes attempting to follow his own - and failing miserably when she caught sight of Thoron. Gaze narrowing, she barely restrained herself from flipping off the tall, stern-looking elf and settled instead on sticking her tongue out at him. Juvenile, perhaps, but she figured that being tortured by orcs excused her from any social gaffs for at least the next few days.
"Legolas, we must-"
"Our injuries will hold until we find a place more suited to see to them," Legolas cut in as he glared at Elladan, his tone clearly saying that it was the end of the discussion. For a moment, it looked as though the eldest twin was going to protest when Halbarad broke the tense silence by nodding his agreement.
"The lad is right," he stated, his dark eyes locking with the twins' before turning back towards the blond-haired elf. "Although surely we have time enough for a proper greeting amongst old friends. Well met, Legolas of Ithilien," he stated as he gripped the archer's arm in the customary greeting amongst warriors.
Smiling softly at the ranger, Legolas tipped his head in reply. "Mae govannen," he returned, his words a soft sigh as Halbarad beckoned one of the rangers forth, nodding as the younger man dropped a loose bundle before them.
"I believe that some of these may belong to you," he stated as he used his foot to reveal what the bundle contained.
"Oh, thank God," Buffy whispered as she immediately rescued her long, brown duster from amongst the pile. Smiling wanly, she abandoned the cloak for the more familiar leathers as she gingerly slid into the material that now seemed so much like a reminder of her home. Instinctively one hand fingered the inner lining, a relieved sigh escaping her lips as she heard the comforting crinkle of the precious picture that was still hidden within.
Turning, she then watched as Legolas found his own cloak amongst the pile before digging for his twin white-handled daggers. Carefully settling on her knees beside him, Buffy continued her own search amongst the small pile as she recalled his greeting to the elf beside her. "He does realize that you're most likely older than his great-grandfather's great-grandfather, right?" she murmured softly, her words intended solely for the elf that knelt beside her.
"Intellectually, of course," Legolas agreed as he found one knife, only to begin searching for the other. "Though most Men find such ideas difficult to understand. Also, you must remember that Halbarad and his Men are no ordinary Men."
"How so - aside from the distinct need of a bath, of course?" Buffy absently returned as she tossed aside random smelly and stained articles of clothing and weaponry, deciding that she didn't want to know who had once owned what and where those people were now most likely buried or abandoned.
"The Rangers of the North are long descended from the race of Elves and Men," Legolas stated, pausing long enough to watch as the Dnedain talked quietly with the twins, his eyes glancing over their proud features. "Actually," he continued, smiling coyly as he nodded to his elven friends, "they are the direct descendents of Elladan and Elrohir's uncle - a line that split long, long ago in the First Age. The Dnedain have been blessed with a longer lifespan than most Men. Halbarad, for example, has surely passed his first century."
Eyes growing wide at this statement, Buffy turned towards her rescuer with renewed interest. "He's looking pretty spry for an old guy," she noted before dismissing the matter out of hand. It wasn't as though she had never associated with people that looked far younger than they actually were. She supposed that dating a vampire that was over two hundred years old, or another that was certainly over one hundred, or befriending a vengeance demon who had been alive for more than seven hundred years tended to disillusion oneself to the wonder of it all.
Shrugging lightly, Buffy returned to her perusal, her smile brightening as she came across her final missing item. "My sword!" she crowed as she rescued the long, beautiful blade from the mess, still hanging in its finely crafted sheath. Humming happily to herself, for the moment pretending that she wasn't grievously wounded, Buffy slowly clambered to her feet and began trying to strap the sword to her tender, welt-covered back.
Alerted by the young woman's triumphant cry and noting the many different arched eyebrows at this display, as well as more than a few snickers from the gathered Men, Elladan turned to his friend with a large smile. "Legolas, you have yet to introduce us to your... companion," he stated as he nodded towards the lady as she continued to fuss with the sword that he easily recognized as Rohirrim in design - the same sword, he would be willing to wager, which was responsible for much of the destruction back in the clearing.
Legolas handed his quiver to Thoron as he slid one of his bone-handled knives into the instep of his boot, understanding that in his condition, he was hardly capable of standing, let alone drawing arrow upon an enemy. Frowning at this silent acceptance of his weakness, he turned to acknowledge the other's request. "My apologies," he stated with a mock bow as he waved his arm graciously in Buffy's direction, the slayer never once lifting her eyes from the stubborn straps with which she wrestled. "May I present Lady-"
"It's just Buffy," she broke in, pausing long enough to shoot an annoyed glare in Legolas' direction.
"Of course," Legolas sighed, shaking his head slightly as he then turned to wave at the others. "Buffy, these are Lords Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell, the twin sons of Lord Elrond."
"Elladan and Elrohir will suffice," Elrohir cut in with a charming smile as he bowed gracefully to Buffy, a small, playful smirk causing the corners of his mouth to twitch.
"And I believe that you have already met Halbarad," Legolas continued as he turned towards Buffy's rescuer. "Halbarad brings with him the assistance of his kin, the Dnedain, otherwise known as the Rangers of the North."
"Yeah, we've met," Buffy confirmed as she rolled her eyes in the man's direction. "He was the one who was all lady-this and go-hide-in-the-trees-till-the-fun-is-over-that," she added as she continued to struggle with the strap to her sword's sheath. Nearly growling as her bloodied hands slipped along the smooth leather and as her weakened wrists began to betray her by trembling slightly, the slayer nearly threw down the sheath in frustration when Halbarad stepped forward, his eyes kind as he took the sheath from her.
"Please, allow me to-"
"Thanks, but I've got it," Buffy snapped as she pulled her weapon from the man's large hands - and then sighed wearily as the ranger recoiled from her sharp response. "Listen, it's not that I'm not grateful for the help, 'cause as I told Legolas a few hours ago, all about the grateful right now," she murmured, her voice growing soft as she nodded towards the older man. "But I gotta tell you that this damsel in distress crap has got to stop before I really lose my temper," she added as she turned to allow all of the gathered Men and Elves to fall under her stern gaze. "Despite appearances, I am not some little girl that needs to be rescued... well, not usually," she amended as she frowned down at her battered appearance. "I've been taking care of myself for seven years now, and I'm not about to stop when a group of well-meaning but overbearing Men and Elves decide to go all medieval on me. So just... just stop," she whispered as she once more began to quietly work with the slickened straps, her frustration only mounting at the fruitlessness of her efforts.
For a moment following her outburst, silence reigned as the Men turned to Halbarad for direction while the twins looked to Legolas and Thoron. Feeling the uncomfortable tension grow, the blond elf silently moved to Buffy's side and gently took the weapon from her hands, noting the frustrated tears that she was valiantly trying to suppress. Her watery green eyes swirled with so much pent-up emotion, from anger to grief, frustration, and most of all, a fervent longing that he could relate to all too well. Her heart begged to be delivered back into the familiar and comforting arms of her friends and family - to return her to her home - while his would forevermore beg to take his final voyage across the seas to where he ultimately belonged. Neither was a wish that would be granted in the immediate future - if at all.
Frowning, he stood before her for a full minute before he tentatively rested his hand upon her small shoulder. "Come. It is time we leave this place," he stated as he passed the sword to Elladan for safekeeping. "Those that were not killed will return, and I fear they will not come alone nor unprepared."
Nodding her weary acceptance, Buffy turned to follow Legolas when a large hand on the only non-bloody part of her arm stopped her before she even had a chance to move away. Sighing, Buffy tiredly lifted her eyes to find Halbarad staring down at her, his grizzled features creased in deep thought as he speculatively eyed her petite frame.
"How is that you... how did you..."
Understanding the man's hesitant question, Buffy turned to look at the dead orcs that littered the ground around them, her eyes easily picking out those who had taken a major role in her own personal torment. He was asking her to somehow explain something that his mind could not comprehend. He was asking her to explain herself - and that was one of the first things that her first watcher, Merrick, had warned her to never do. Even Giles, while being lenient with the Scoobies, had always adhered to the Secret Identity clause of being the Slayer. Her world wasn't equipped to deal with the kind of uglies that she fought night after night. But Merrick was dead... and now so was Giles. The Scoobies were gone. Her world was gone.
She was alone.
She was alone in a world where the uglies were as much a part of this life as the sun and the moon, and after being tortured for the sheer enjoyment of another creature, Buffy found that at the moment, she couldn't really care less about being Secret Identity Girl. Not anymore.
"I'm not from around here," she stated as her gaze locked with Halbarad's eyes - eyes that were a strange, soft gray color that she had never really seen on a person before - man or otherwise. "I'm also the Slayer," she added as the man's hand fell away, his forehead creasing in confusion.
"And what is a Slayer?" he persisted as his rangers and the elves drew closer, their eyes filled with questions. Even Legolas, the elf who had heard the scattered bits and dropped hints of her past, looked curious as he silently stepped beside the tall ranger.
"The one girl in all the world to stand before the darkness and to save the light, blah blah blippity blah," she stated, lightly waving her hand to dismiss the rest of the usual speech that Giles had driven into her for years. Yet when the blank looks of confusion only continued, she once more sighed wearily as she pressed her hands against her aching head, trying to find new words to explain such an old tale.
"I'm a.... a warrior on my world," she offered, her smile fracturing and then turning into a deep scowl as these words earned her a few disbelieving stares from the Men. Practically growling now, Buffy angrily threw her arms in the air, ignoring the pain that flared in her injured body, as she glared at the large group of Men. "It would figure that I'd land in a world that hasn't even heard of women's lib," she grumbled before angrily wrapping her bloodied arms around her hurting waist. "The long and short of it is the Powers That Be sent me here to set the balance right."
"The balance?" one of the elf twins asked as Buffy shifted impatiently.
"Yes, the balance," she confirmed as she nodded towards the dark-haired elf, her impatience growing as he waited for further elaboration. "You know, the balance between good and evil?" she continued, her words becoming strained. Didn't these people understand anything?
"And these powers that-"
"The Powers That Be," Buffy confirmed, cutting off the other twin with a scowl. "They're the all-knowing beings that like to play God."
"The Valar?" the other twin questioned, a finely sculpted brow arching slightly as he turned to his brother and friends for confirmation.
"Sure, the Valar," Buffy agreed, willing to say anything by this point just to end the conversation. While she was used to skepticism from people when she revealed her destiny to them for the first time, the 'I-think-you're-crazy' looks usually stemmed from the idea that demons and all abiding evil really did exist - not because it was she, a girl, that was chosen to fight it.
"And you're here because... our world is out of balance," the other twin continued, his lips twitching with concealed mirth as he turned dancing eyes towards the Rangers with whom they traveled.
Smiling openly, Halbarad shook his head as the rest of his men began to laugh, Buffy's face turning an interesting shade of red. "While I hate to be the bearer of ill news - my Lady," he stated, his eyes twinkling as her shoulders straightened at the intentional use of the title that she obviously hated, "I am afraid that your Powers have sent you nine years too late. The War of the Rings is over and Sauron has been defeated. Our world is at peace now - a peace that this world hasn't seen in thousands of years."
"Yeah, or maybe I just arrived at the party a bit early and the Big Bad has yet to make its appearance!" Buffy argued back as she glared at the laughing men, even as she understood that most of her anger stemmed from the fact that Halbarad had just spoken her silent fears aloud.
"Or perhaps our world has become too peaceful," one of the other rangers remarked as he nudged the man beside him, "and the Valar have sent you to offset the scales in the other direction. Maybe you bring the great evil."
"And maybe you can kiss my-"
"Come now, we are all friends here," Elladan broke in as he rested a gentle hand upon the young woman's shoulder and turned his narrowed eyes upon the gathered Men. While he and his twin had admittedly begun the teasing, there was such a thing as taking a joke too far, and it didn't take an elf to feel the anger that radiated from the young woman's tensed body. "Let us say we take leave of this place of death and find a lighter path to lead us back to our friends in Rhosgobel - and a safer place in which my brother and I may finally see to your wounds," he added as he looked pointedly from Legolas to Buffy, expecting the usual arguments and assurances that all was well - and frowned when he received neither.
Gaze following that of his twin, Elrohir noted the way that Thoron subtly eased his arm around Legolas' waist, the blond elf's skin glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light as his eyes closed tiredly in a face that was far too pale. "Master Thoron, as we seem to be two horses short, would Rodwen be willing to bear both you and Legolas?" he asked, carefully schooling his features into an impassive mask that betrayed none of his worry for the blond archer that perked up at his words. He knew that a scene would be impending if Legolas thought that he had implied that the prince was unfit to ride alone - even if he was unfit to do so in his current condition.
Yet Elrohir needn't have feared, for instead of insisting that he was well, Legolas instead turned to his father's advisor, his blue eyes shadowed with pain and worry. "You have not found Sador? And what of Mirdan? Is he alright? And where is Andrann?" he questioned, his heart torn between anger that he had not asked of his friend sooner, and worry over the fate of his beloved horse.
"Mirdan is safe and Andrann was injured in the attack. I would not have her bear even the weight of an elf until her wound has been seen to," Thoron replied, smoothly avoiding mention of Sador as he began leading his prince into the relative safety that the trees afforded, his dark eyes piercing the gloomy shadows in search of the two elven steeds that would be waiting.
"And you, my... Buffy," Elladan continued for his brother as he turned to the young woman, quickly altering his words as her eyes began to narrow. "You may ride with..." he began, his words faltering as he turned towards the gathered Rangers. Seeing as she was one of the Edain, it seemed only proper that she ride with one of the Rangers, but after the anger that simmered from the fiery young woman towards the gathered Dnedain, he quickly saw the folly in such a request. "You may ride with me," he finished, smiling brightly as he gently slid one arm around her back and began guiding her towards the trees, supporting her slight weight beneath the guise of directing her through the darkness.
As a testament to her pain, weariness, and overall crappy feeling, Buffy offered no protest as she allowed the elf to guide her into the woods, his brother stepping to her other side as his eyes carefully watched her every stumble. "As long as you add water to the mix, and maybe some of that bread you guys like so much, you got yourself a deal," she muttered as she allowed more of her weight to rest against the tall elf.
For the first time in nearly thirty-six hours, Buffy finally felt the tension begin to ease from her weary limbs. The orcs were dead, she was unencumbered by chain or restraint, and she was finally in safe, if not tediously male, chauvinistic company. Things were finally starting to look up....
....So why did that feeling of impending doom continue to whisper its soft warnings to her beleaguered mind?
Breath wheezing between cracked, parted lips, the creature writhed against the cold stone floor as the liquid fire consumed his black body and soul. It was agony beyond anything the Former Master could have inflicted as muscles grew taut and tendons ripped and snapped, skin becoming like liquid putty as it stretched around limbs that grew long and lean - perfect. And yet that agony of pain and regrowth paled when compared to the incomprehensible feeling of when the tainted blood reached his mind and brain tissue began to fold over one another, synopses firing that had never before seen use. A voice, guttural and like long nails over a metal frame, cried out to its former dark master, begging for release... until even that voice began to change - to lighten - as vocal cords grew long and narrow.
Drawn by the orc's cries, those that had not been slain by the Men followed the sounds to their brethren's side, not out of pity nor compassion, for they had none. Rather, they followed the cries as though creatures compelled to do so and lay witness to that which they were not equipped to understand.
Over the span of hours unnumbered, the changes swept through and over the orc known as Vashnak - and then the orc known as Vashnak was no more as a new creature - a new breed of evil - was born.