Shadowsigh tried to keep his face stoic when he felt the blade cut cleanly through his arm, but he was unable to do so when the pain hit for that first second or so, his features became etched with pain. His fingers dug into the ground, his eyes jerked shut, and he ground his teeth, hardly able to focus enough to hear the Orc speaking to him. When he kicked the Elf, Shadowsigh grunted in pain, his hand flying to his side. As the Orc turned his back to him, he was going to jump back up, but it proved too difficult with one hand. Instead sitting up, then pushing himself to his feet proved more easy. Staggering away a few feet, the nearest of his shoulders came to him, attempting to help stem the bleeding, but he shrugged them off, raising his voice as loud as he could, "Get the wounded and the dead out of here first. Make sure they're home by the time the moon is in the middle of the sky tonight. Get our shaman to bless the dead, and tomorrow morning we'll have the proper burial rites. Hopefully we thinned them out enough that my brother can find a way to kill them all..." he looked up at Erethor, whose face was creased with worry. "Damn bastard," Shadowsigh muttered, "if he wasn't family..."
Shadowsigh had been born nobility, and would have been the lord of the city had he not became El'set. It had been harder than anything he'd ever done, trying to prove to them that he wasn't some spy, but after several years, his predecessor, who hadn't any children, had given the role of leader to him when he died. If one looked past the paint, piercings, scars, and dye that colored his hair, one would see the striking resemblance he and his brother shared, even if their personalities were as different as night and day. Turning back to the warrior nearest him, he said, "If the damn Orcs try and keep the bodies from us, damn surrender. El'set are El'set even after death, and must be returned to the gods as soon as possible."