It had been quite some time since Enriel had ventured outside of the grounds which were districted by the Farshooter Clan. Safe havens where the dark denizens of Raku and his Guardians dared not venture. There, he would train to fight these monstrosities and teach younglings the same art. However, something called to him this night, beckoning him away from his quiet chambers and out into the bog within the Misty Forest. A low layer of fog played against his feet as he traveled upon the muddied soil, trying to find solid footing. If he had to draw his bow in such muck, he would surely be killed. His amber eyes darted around him in acute alertness, trying to discover enemies before they discovered him. He found the base of the ground's edge with his foot and slowly climbed out of the sickly green water, looking at his sullied boots. He would clean them later, or perhaps have some servants fetch him new ones. Though he wouldn't trouble them if he could manage them himself, of course.

Movement interrupted his thoughts.

He quickly pulled out his bow and strung an arrow, whirling around as he took careful aim at the treetops, where he heard the noise. The sound of branches rattling. Then he saw the fleeting form of a shadow. He knew not what it was, but he waited until it rested between jumps, then fired. It lunged right into his arrow's path, and was pierced through the leg by the steel-pointed projectile. It screeched as it fell in a heap, squirming and writhing in pain. Enriel lowered his bow and ventured towards the black creature. He could not tell it's origin, but it had glowing yellow eyes that held no pupils and it's fur was short and shaggy. It looked like some sort of dark rabbit, with fanged teeth and dog-like ears. It hissed as he approached, and Enriel assumed it was due to the Lawful Aura that emanated from his body. He smirked and grabbed the handle of the arrow, before yanking it from it's hold.

"Be careful not to startle the wrong foes, young creature. Off with you."

"I move where I please, Quendi!" The creature responded, which caught Enriel by surprise. It was his fault, however. He had talked to the thing as if it were able to speak, so he had no right to be startled by it's response. After all, it'd be rude to leave a question unanswered. The creature scampered into the bushes, favoring it's good leg as it disappeared from view. Enriel shrugged his quiver into place and turned from the scene, noting how he made new discoveries every day. Little woodland creatures that could speak the Common tongue. Who would have thought.

Scholars in Arda had a very arduous job. The Parmamar Library hired dozens of talented researchers to work in the shadows of the giant shelves, poring through long-forgotten manuscripts, re-writing them into long, tedious translations. All one needed to be good at this job was a sufficient grasp of at least one ancient script, a lot of patience, and a semblance of intelligence. But there were also a handful of men and women that were hired for possessing other, less common talents. Like being able to scale a sheer cliff face, the ability to neutralize powerful magical enchantments, or being able to fire a dozen arrows faster than most archers can manage three. These researchers were sent on long journeys, usually accompanied by an acolyte or two, in order to find the hidden scripts of the realm. Magical writings and important histories were often lost to the world, hidden in musty ruins or dank caverns, protected by ancient guardians or powerful arcane traps. That is where scholars like Solomon Grundy came in. They were often requested (never ordered) by the Library to go in search of one ancient tome or grimoire, a dangerous task. Yet most of these scholars thoroughly enjoyed this job. And it was this curious occupation that had brought Grundy to such a dismal setting once again.

"First Taureosa..." The tall Quendi mumbled quietly to himself, scraping out the inside of one shoe with a semi-dry stick he had found on the ground. The elf had lost his footing a few minutes before, plunging his foot into a deep puddle of dark, sludge-like water. He inspected the inside of the shoe carefully before sighing and putting it back on, wincing at the soggy sensation. Green eyes scoured the trees, looking for any sign of the trail he was supposed to follow. According to the map in his left pocket, the research acolyte who had pinpointed this scroll's location had marked the start of a trail here with a bright red piece of ribbon. Yet no flash of crimson greeted his questing gaze. Solomon sighed, leaning against one of the thick tree trunks that protruded from the damp ground, twisted in a strange, alien manner. The plants here looked almost as if they were in pain, so grotesque were their shapes. He felt uneasy here, in this dark, shadowy mockery of a true forest. Solomon had only to close his eyes in order to envision the lush green canopies and thick, berry-laden undergrowth of the Yomenïampa woods he called home. The Swamp of Shadows was the polar opposite of the elven homeland, all mists and shadows instead of sunlight and cool winds.

Solomon was pulled back to reality by a pang of pain from his left foot. The elf winced, bending down to rub the sore joint. It was not completely healed yet from his battle with an enigmatic wraith named Xoco some time back. The elf had almost been killed in that bout, requiring the services of an entire team of medics in order to survive his numerous injuries. But he had lived. Secretly, he still sought the thrill of battle, the joy of facing a worthy opponent. But until his leg was completely healed he dared not risk facing men as powerful as Godfrey and Xoco again. He stood up slowly, making sure his ankle was fine before he continued, deeper into the swamp. A finely-made shortbow rested on one shoulder, another bow slung across his back. The quiver on his hip was fat with arrows, some glittering from the power of the enchantments they contained. He was far from unprotected.

The Quendi plunged deeper into the swamp, careful to avoid any more puddles or holes that would send him toppling into the fetid water. He gre uneasy the farther he progressed, the thick mist dissipating only to be replaced by clinging shadows. The elf shrugged, letting the movement dislodge his shortbow so that it fell into his open hand. He clenched his fist around the smooth wood, taking comfort from its presence as he ducked under a low branch. The whizz! of an arrow caused him to jump back, painfully slamming into the rotting trunk. He grabbed a normal arrow from his quiver, pulling it out and notching it on the bowstring in one smooth motion. He squinted, trusting his keen eyesight to allow him to see where the hidden attacker was shooting from. A shrill screech sounded, informing Solomon that he had not been the sniper's target. The elf crept forward, masking his presence by staying crouched behind a scrawny, leafless bush. In a small clearing another figure was bent over something on the ground, back to Solomon. Aiming the arrow at the center of the stranger's back, the elf craned his neck to see what was going on.

"I go where I please, Quendi!" Solomon almost flinched at the harsh tone, his fingers tightening on the bowstring. Some strange, dark creature shot away from the kneeling man, too fast for the Quendi to see exactly what it was. The other man stood, turning slightly so that Grundy could see his face. He had the fine features of the Quendi, the tell-tale pointed ears and almond eyes identifying him as an elf. He held a well-made bow in one hand and a bloodied arrow in the other, staring after the rapidly disappearing creature. Solomon’s fingers loosened on the bowstring, giving it a tiny bit of slack. Interesting. Few of my people travel to this area of Arda without good reason… I wonder what his is. Solomon drummed his fingers against the handle of the bow, locked in mental conflict. The man could be a corrupted elf, one banished from the light of day, forever cursed to wander in the night, alone and embittered. But then again, he could be a peaceful man, sent here to gather rare herbs or deliver a message. The scholar sighed softly before calling out. “Who goes there?” His smooth, amiable voice sounded strangely warm in the gloom of their surroundings, peaceful and friendly. However, he made no attempt to leave his temporary hiding spot, preferring to keep his weapon out and aimed at this stranger.

As Enriel pondered the origin of such a beast, he heard a voice sound from behind him.

"Who goes there?"

He turned, his amber brown eyes scanning the dark forest behind him. The voice had a flow like running water; silk against the rough of flesh. It was out of place against such dark surroundings, and it was almost welcoming to Enriel. He wanted to lower his guard and embrace such open arms, but he quickly dismissed the idea. That creature was not the only dark being in this bog. Other monsters could be more dangerous, even able to use magic. This could be an art used to lure him into false security. He had to use his training properly. If the House of Kinsmen could see him struggling from such a simple situation, he would be surely stripped of his title as General Combat Instructor. He raised his bow in a swift motion, taking an arrow from the open quiver on his back and easily slipping it's form into the small holster in the middle of his short bow, aiming at the direction of the voice.

"It is I, Enriel of the Farshooter Clan near the Sanctuary of Angels. I follow Lothlómendil. Show your face, or pin yourself as an enemy of mine." Enriel said without fear. It was true that he could be rather reckless when it came to examining his surroundings, but he would never falter when fighting the darkness. He had faith in his Goddess, and would present it in his strong resolve in the midst of battle. He took several slow, small steps towards the direction where the voice came from. It felt odd that he was being so cautious towards such a kind voice, but he pushed these thoughts back down. He would let his warrior's instinct take over from here, and follow it thoroughly. It was this same aspect that made him such an excellent bowman and
Priest. He followed his heart and not his mind.

"I asked you once and will not ask again, stranger!"