Tolta, 17th of Suns Smile, 1336 ::*:: The Orcs start a war and the Elves offer their aid. Wounded Krugmar soldiers enter Laurelin with battle reports; there are not many. ::*:: Shouts to reclaim land are made, curses for Humans and Dwarves resound in the air, and many arm themselves for an impeding onslaught.::*:: ::The young Krug is of the utmost importance it seems, as despite the few Orcs whom managed to venture to Laurelin, they still safely brought the child within the borders of Malinor to protect. :: Not long before the Highborn Theyador marches the Wardens out. ::*:: As the crowd files out of the gates I retreat to summon my wolves, by which time I realise I will be the last to exit the gates, and hurry to avoid losing the assembly. ::*:: Any hope of recording the following events diminish as my path becomes restricted by the abrupt lowering of the portcullis. ::*:: I am trapped, seperated from my canine companions; peering through the glass reveals the man inside the gatehouse making mocking gestures at my helpless circumstance. ::*:: Several others look on, idly observing my dilemma, when the false gatekeeper starts to threate n the lives of the chirr kin. A druid approaches and inquires into the situation, and before long he realises the gravity of what is occuring, requesting vehemently to let no harm befall the wolves. ::*:: Peering through the wooden gate at an angle that affords me no good vision, I start to hear th e desperate and painful whines, and the subtle sound of a blade making its way through air firstly, and then flesh. Shouts amidst the crowd; violence continuing; staring blankly as my mind struggles behind what emoti on has already realised; yet denies. The gate is being raised. ::*:: Bow in hand, my solemn reverie draws to a close. A lady lies wounded upon the floor and several others are giving chase to the culprit. ::*:: A few lengthy strides; a drawn bow. But no mark. He is gone. I curse whatever powers rule over fortunes, and turn to see the body of the woman gone already.