Elandris gently raised his balance until he was crouching lightly on his toes, body swaying gently in tandem with the tree's inclinations. Two long knives whipped out of hidden sheaths and twirled in artful pirouettes as he loosened his fingers in preparation to perform an act of irreparable wickedness, one he had performed many times as nothing but a mindless actor in the endless stage show of intrigue and deception that was his existence. He didn't fool himself; death was a necessary factor in the great web that he and others of hiss kind sought to unravel, and at times even assist in weaving. But something inevitable is not automatically something righteous, and every time he felt the jarring scrape of steel against bone, the Warden remembered again the terrible sacrifices that were made in the name of Good. He remembered their names, if he had ever known them. It was the least he could do for one who had died for a cause often not even their own.<br/>Elandris bowed his head in sorrow and in the memory of those that had fallen by his hand, moving his lips in a silent prayer for salvation. Then he launched himself from his perch and plunged downwards at a sickening speed, weapons outstretched.<br/>The force of a man suddenly striking it feet-first from forty feet above was enough to slam the Orc to its knees as it charged the Knight. Jaw smashing into the ground with enough force to ship its yellowed teeth, the Orc let out a grunt of enraged surprise, attempting to rise again. This soon proved impossible. As Elandris knelt firmly on its back, one knife punched through its axe shoulder, paralyzing it and thus rendering it incapable of defending itself from its sudden attacker, and the other forcefully pierced the tough skin at the base of its neck. Elandris was uncertain of Orcish physiology and so settled for an action as unrefined as to twist the weapon until he felt something pop and saw a swift gush of green blood spurt from the wound, accompanied by a similar spray jetting from the monster's mouth. Whipping both blades from his victim, the Warden rolled off the twitching Orc and to his feet, cutting off the remaining foe's escape route.<br/>Ordinarily he would have been inclined to show mercy to foes such as this, but he feared that the Orc would deliver the message to its superiors of their presence, and something such as that could not be afforded.