Pale moonlight dipped upon the lively battlefield below. Steel exchanged glances upon wooden surfaces. Fiery tempest blew in clever tone from the burdened lips of traders. Invigorated buyers tested their luck against the stone will of the opposition, belittling themselves whilst tolling a heavy price. Essence of mercantile at its best, a perfection of chaos. Dreary emotion and light hearted favor was heavy on both sides of the spectrum. Never was there an instant that did not please the eye, not during the night life where all things bizarre conglomerated.

Sparks sizzled and cracked against metal. The wafting allure of bread spread throughout the streets, a semi-sweet scent mixed with the repulsive blanket of cow manure which tread heavily upon the dusty roads. Candies sucked against the cheeks of merry children whilst men endeavored to court young women new to this style of work. Citizens of all size and descent rushed through the crowd in a blur, their colors spinning a fine rainbow fabric that hardly seized to appeal. What wasn't there to love, everything was perfect.

For the beast that was Erokor, the drunken stupor that were the townsfolk of Lomedor weighed heavily in the pit of his stomach. Smoke drifted from a bone pipe that hung loosely in his mouth. His eyes sagged with great fervor, watching the night pass by in distaste, eying the pretty pennies that fell upon the ground only to be snatched by wretches and beggars. Why tempt the unfavorable and scrap over worthless change was beyond the Uruk. Greed never seized to amaze. It drove most heavily into the heart's of the dwarves whose stature was regulated for penny-pinching. Nasty little critters they were, but were more tolerable to look upon as their distinct shape and form cut a jagged angle into the normality.

Erokor rested his great biceps over his chest, leaning back in his wooden throne, puffing once more as the contorted wisps failed to make any desirable shape. The pipe wasn't his, honest, but he'd managed to snatch it from some unfortunate peasant. A fine heirloom it was, but cheap filth had been the tobacco used. Cursing the lowly prestige of his subjugates the beasts thoughts fell silent for a short while and his vision glazed upon the crowd.

A nearby rustling and then a sharp clang did little to startle. Heavy tread upon the barren surface neared and Erokor was at ease. Who else would walk near such a hideous beast other than jolly Ol' John. A master of his tailoring craft and apprentice to the trade of Blacksmith, the man prided himself as a respected denizen of the Merchant's guild. Also was he, a tolerable human for the Uruk to speak to. He'd no prolific bias to speak of and respected each race as if they were his own creation. Also was his soul like mithril, simply unbreakable. Should unspeakable occurances have befallen the coot Erokor may have found himself dying a bit inside.

"Dum suckas. Gotsem ma clothes dey do dose beggas. Aye, dis shift be killin ma mind. Imsa gonna go rest"

"Nah, sleep eezy ma friend, joo be assured I git those thiefs and bring der heads, nah!"

The lumbering hulk waddled away on creaking legs upon which rested an in tune frame. Shaved features cut the man's years away by minute amounts but his wrinkles were evident and closer neared his coming. Unfortunate was the mortality that was man. Uruk's suffered the same fate, but to a much lesser degree. Years upon them touched soul easily and died upon unspeakable ages. Their futile numbers were cut down by the modern hunter or two rather than old age which effaced their existence.

Black clouds settled about Erokor as the light around the shop dimmed down. Thieves scurried from the terrace as John's bellowing voice scared them from his premises. Free security from the beast was lax, and more often than not he found himself shortly napping than watching in earnest for those that would intrude upon his territory. As much as worthy John was to be called acquaintance, his fate would not be intercepted by an Uruk. Erokor cared little of what happened to his material possessions or his prestigious status. John was a medium to vent out the insanity of Lomedor and that was quite simply it.

Long was this parade, and time did little to deter its effects. Ale amplified the drunken mess that was the crowd and it sloshed at a much slower pace. Those women who sold themselves for profit walked upon the streets in tight fitting lingerie, but were not at all attractive in it. Faces hung as low as their stomachs and they'd been covered in assortments of all gaudy ornaments. It was a wonder how desperate men were, truly.

An apprentice of John neared the Uruk, moving about his work at an uneasy pace. His fingers quivered as they clumsily threaded golden fabrics together into offset sparkling dresses. Erokor was not displeased with John for spreading his opinions onto others, which in the end would make Lomedor a much better place to live. No, he taught only the necessities, not the soft gunk that spilled from a mentor's lips which the Blacksmith so artistically named. The youngster cursed himself as a needle struck blood. Erokor gave a deep throated chuckle and the other sighed.

Too bold was the other and Erokor gave him a look of surprise. Would he indeed stand up to the mighty beast? Answer was too evident. Scampering steps dragged along a ruined dress as he continued his business elsewhere. Much to the beast's content as well! Smoke flowed from his pipe once more and all was silent.

Sargtlin found himself once again in Lómëdor's Drital Qu'ellar. He sat in a creaky wooden chair, glaring at each patron that entered through the old doors into the place that was feared by some. The whole place was the most disreputable place in Lómëdor, it's walls were stained from a disgusting mixture of blood, liquor, and the effects of time upon the establishment. The air in the place was filled with the scent of smoke, sweat, and an assortment of things that Sargtlin couldn't make out, and decided he didn't want to. He found it odd that this place was the place that he spent much of his time at night in, usually waiting for a job to place itself before him, but this time he wasn't. This time he wasn't looking for a job, but for some relaxation, for he was still feeling the pain from his fight with the Uruk-hai Wurzag. His mind wandered back to the fight as he sat in the wooden chair, his hand absently wandering to his left shoulder where the Uruk-hai had made his most hindering mark. His arm was still wounded and hindered from the stab wound that had been placed there, though he had healed it most of the way, it would leave a scar for life.
"This place is the home of bandits and thieves and mercenaries and men who think they can drink all their sorrows away. How foolish they are, thinking that they can just wash their pain away." he thought, a disgusted look on his face.

His thoughts kept wandering as he sat in there, a mug of his own sitting in front of him untouched. His eyes slowly wandered to find the glass mug, and he found himself wondering why he had asked for it. He picked it up, dumping it's contents onto the floor before throwing it at a man who was slumped on his table, nearly asleep from drinking so much. He was slightly disappointed to see it miss it's intended target, instead only smashing on the floor beside the man. He was growing board of the place and decided that he needed some of the cool night air.
"This filthy place may not be much dirtier than outside though, but at least it will break the monotony of the raucous laughter of the drunken men here." he thought as he rose from the chair that he was on, the chair barely supporting his weight. He stretched his body before turning his gaze towards the door and walking towards it.

After walking through the door, he felt the cool air rush over his body as he walked towards main center of nighttime activity in the city. As he walked heard could easily hear the herd of people walking throughout the city. He found it slightly hilarious as he kept walking and saw the crowd of activity that some of the people were trying to get others to stop thieves who had stolen from them, but nobody paid them any heed, only caring about their own possessions. His elven boots walked through pools of liquid and mud as he joined the herd in their monotonous movements, all walking in one direction as they moved from merchant stall to merchant stall, handling the objects of the merchants and bargaining with them for a "fair" price. He enjoyed moving through the monotonous crowd, one reason was in the form of man who though that he had gotten a certain bow for a good price, when he had paid far more for it than it was actually worth.
"Fools in the pub, and perhaps even more out here." he thought as he stopped at a weapons dealer who was selling a wide variety of weapons. He picked up a single handed sword, feeling it's weight and running a hand along the intricately decorated blade. He liked the sword, but after his recently purchased shield, he didn't have enough gold to purchase the fine sword. He put it back down on it's companions, sighing as he did.
"Oh well, either way I use two-handed swords usually." he thought in an attempt to distract himself from his lack of money.

As he kept moving through the crowd, his eyes kept wandering and fell onto the sight of an Uruk-hai.
"An Uruk-hai?" he thought to himself, slightly startled by the sight, and very intrigued, for he had found half-orcs to be entertaining and quite a challenge to fight but they were not a common sight in Lómëdor, then again neither were seven foot tall Drow. He was intrigued enough as to shove through the crowd, breaking up the unidirectional movement of the crowd to move towards the Uruk-hai. As he moved nearer he spoke loudly to the half-orc as to get his attention.
"You there, who are you?" he said as he broke free of the clinging arms of the crowd.

Tink, went the melodious thrum of delicate metal-craft. Shhrr, swept the brooms about the dirtied terrace of their shop. Nuzzled did the affectionate couples stride upon the road whilst the frequency attuned itself to the Uruk's eardrums. Embers within his pipe gave their last flare of life before dying into a final puff of ashen grey, a volcanic eruption which spilled from the circumfrence of the light bone surface. Peace came in swells over the Uruk as a roaming tide, waters swallowing consciousness and havening him from the oppression that was the external world of Lomedor. No crime had tampered upon the Uruk's doorstep for good reason.

Light perched directly above his head, ambered with age but illuminating aghast features in somber tone. Heavy lids emphasised irritation and fatigue, stilling the lively hearts of enthusiastic denizens. Their light footfalls immediately became heavy and reckless, as if the notion of fear tripwired their feet and caused them to stumble as baffoons. Meek smile plastered upon features, it was the only comfort he'd had sitting upon this wretched stool. Feet kicked up 'pon nearby stall and slowly the Uruk reviewed his intentions to touch ground with these lands as it was.

Night life had promised many odd intentions. Lomedor famed and prided itself as a coordinate that emphasised the start of many adventures. It was, of course, the capital of Arda and the greatest candidate for a base of operations. Its imperial security provided the utmost lack of hazardous activities whilst underground operations proved enticing to the more devious folk. Erokor was not at whim to even consider what organization begat himself. Too many suspicious folk had looked upon him oddly. No doubt magic folk leapt into the recesses of his outer-most thoughts.

In essence, the beast was there for no particular reason other than to kill useless time. Activites such as martial arts training as well as mastering some smithing craft had been spent occupying such a gap. Another peeve of the beast, wasting time as if it were a luxury. Immortal folk such as himself had all the reason to rest easy upon age and yet it was spent wisely. The venom of fate was deadly, and untreated, it proved lethal beyond measure. Pride was there, no doubt, that he'd lived as long as he did with the interesting events that had occured in his life. Short lived were his intentions, providing means to treasure what little time he had. It evened the ground in his debates against humans who thought immortals had all the fortune. An amusing notion, truly.

Daunting eyes weighed heavily about the crowd as folks constantly and ever changed their stature. Night was a harsh mistress and magnetized the deadliest of criminals. Initially it could not be seen. Simple commonfolk with smiles upon their faces and lax stature deceived heavily. What was not scene was the intention in their walk, the cold steel that shone greedily in their pockets. Unnatural tone could be felt, and it rung within this crowd. For whatever reason they guised themselves under the natural cover of night and crowd was beyond the Uruk. He'd questioned the methods of assassins before, given there were so many of the damned things in Arda. It was a tricky concept to one that was so direct and brutish all the time.

As if by subtle clockwork, the tides suddenly shifted. An unnatural interceptor broke upon the ranks, prompting rude gestures uttered towards a rather tall specimen. It was difficult to judge the features of the other as they complemented the ebon velvet of night. He stood out as a sore thumb and was even more painful to scent. Liquor poured from his skin mixed with the smoke. Taverns, damned sociable places made those even less desirable that stepped out. Queried did Erokor at the apparent contradiction.

Further did the elf near the Uruk who felt uncomfortable with each tread upon the barren ground. No self-respecting person of any race dared to place their presence within the Uruk. He was much too undesirable a person. Silent prayers hushed upon the rising chatter. Hood was drawn over face and pipe puffed smoke once more. Nearer, though, did the other approach and the beast contracted, backing against a wall and hunching. Who was there? Noone, just shadows on shadows, was the Drow looking at shadows? Apparently. Slowly but surely that tone came and it directed itself, haunted the Uruk. Social interaction, a plague upon Elves!

"You there, who are you?"

A rather general question, no doubt which provoked the turning of many heads. But the true fact could not be hidden, its manneurism was towards an alienated figure. Men in crowds were not alienated, nor were the smiths and their apprentices. It was those who watched the others that were isolated and haphazardly spoken to. Unfortunate for Sartglin that words toiled in the Uruk's mind and usually costed limbs for a direct answer. Guards were present, though, so unappeasing audience had to suffice.

"Nah, 'oo wants tuh know, nah?"

A simple question not within the realm as if the other could answer it or not. Words were the bared fangs of a beast who tempted another to answer. The pearly white daggers which shook the very core of others simply by means of exposure. Would the other take the hint or attempt to befriend a shady stranger. This was not LOTR, Strider was not some king in disguise, but an Uruk who wanted to mash the idiocy of men into mithril spikes until their brains meshed with his bare hands. Frodo wouldn't have found Aragorn as appeasing then, needless to say.

As Sargtlin was about to speak he realized that his intrusion upon the monotony of the crowd had caused quite a disturbance to say the least. He was not pleased with the curses he had received from the owners of angry stares, nor was he pleased at the fact that it felt like the whole herd of sheep as he thought of them had all stopped to look in anger and curiosity at him and his actions. He felt each of the prying eyes glaring at him and trying to bury into him to find his deepest secrets, and this never pleased him, for he knew that such a task if done properly was possible. He tried to shrug off the feelings as he spoke to the half-orc, whose actions had surprised him. Perhaps it was his imagination, or perhaps it was the feeling that the whole crowd was covering the pair as if to snuff out all the life. As his heavy leather boots trod forward in a steady rhythm, he saw the Uruk-hai's pipe give off one final wisp of smoke before it's owner backed his form up against the wall behind him. He was interested to see how this encounter would go, for he hadn't expected a reaction like that, for most half-orcs he had met were not ones to back away or to cower before anything. As he stood there pondering these actions, he heard the Uruk-hai's voice responding to him.

"Nah, 'oo wants tuh know, nah?"

Sargtlin wasn't sure whether to smile or to grimace, for he was slightly amused, but still uncomfortable at the results of his curiosity.
"If you inquire as to my name then let me first say that I would prefer a straight up answer over another question, but so be it. My name is Sargtlin Olath. Now, your name?" he said to the half-orc, then turned around quickly to glare in hate at the crowd behind them. He despised crowds like the ones in Lómëdor, eyes always prying and never smart enough to stay out of others business.
"Leave, or perhaps other measures should be taken." he said to the crowd, snarling at the end of his words, expecting that his motives would be easy enough for even that crowd to understand. He watched as most of the crowd took a step back, whispering words to each other as if they though that no one else could hear them, then quickly moved back into the same monotonous pattern throughout the city as they always followed, waiting to grasp those who wandered close enough, clinging and bringing them in. A few stayed a moment, but then decided it wiser not to provoke the intimidating form.

After watching the crowd move away he turned back to the Uruk-hai, gazing intently at the half-orc. He was thinking about how this particular half-orc might react to him, he knew that most Uruk-hai had a tendency to be quite volatile and violent, and that he would have to stay at the ready if he planned to survive this encounter. His recent encounters with half-orcs were not usual though, for the one he had met recently had not been a normal Uruk-hai.
"This could prove interesting to be sure. It could also prove deadly for one of us if we aren't careful, and that wouldn't be good." he though as he waited for the half-orc's response. As he stood there, his mind kept wandering through his knowledge of half-orcs and through what his choices of actions were.
"So, will he act like a cornered beast, or will he be more diplomatic? I'm not to sure what to expect, for the species of Arda seem to be changing. More and more Drow are coming out of the caves to come above ground, and other changes, why?" he thought, waiting and watching. He kept himself light on his feet, so that if he needed to he could move quite quickly to dodge an attack from the Uruk-hai. This encounter was becoming more dangerous than he had first intended it to be, for both of them.