©
2003 I. Chishti
Battle of the Foothills
Foothills
Tumbled about the base of the Misty mountains in a careless disarray, the mountains skirts rise quickly up to meet the stone face of the grey giants to the west. The hill upon which you stand is alike in nature to the others about you, rocky and disfigured; lying in a crumpled heap. The fall has begun, and there are a few, stunted bushes which stubbornly continue to grow even in the rapidly worseNing weather. The ground is dry and warm. Towards the Southeast, you can see a dim, winding track which runs towards the north, while numerous other small tracks run off in other directions.
This day of fall,is sunfilled and the sky above is clear with only few slight wisps of clouds. The late morNing autumn air is warm and brisk.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
The waNing moon casts a thin sliver light onto this blasted, rock strewn landscape at the base of the mountains. Silence seems to hold reign, broken only by the creak of braches, the rustle of dry leaves in the autumn wind, like the rasping of dry hands against one another. And another sound, soft as the passing wind itself, intelligible to the most sensitive ears only... a brushing against stone. Trills echo in the night. Cricket chirps... First one, then another. And another answering.
And within the shadows of the boulders and craggy stone outcroppings, other shadows move within, fleet of foot, slender and silent, elven scouts searching in the night. Others of the Firstborn follow them, stern clear eyed, hunting in the dark and treading with silence and caution in this unfriendly land.
[Feral(#23381)]
Yet from the east comes new movement, deft and stealthy if lacking in the grace of the elven party, yet up from the Vales of Anduin does it roam. A handful of men and women pick their way along worn trails, slowly climbing the lazy slopes as they wind their way towards the mountainside.
Keen eyes peer ahead, and noses sniff in the undergrowth before this procession, and should ears be sharp, they might detect the shuffle of Ninble feet working their way in secret through the night. It seems that the Firstborn are not the only hunters abroad in the dark.
[Brongil(#16924)] Working with, but also independant from the elves, a long Ranger scouts the area, moving as silently, or moreso even than the others. His black-masked face searching the ground for signs of the enemy or anything else that seems amiss here on the trail out of the high reaches of the mountains. In his hand, his blackened sword is held at an odd angle so that it doesn't make a sound or catch on underbrush or boulder as he moves low to the ground.
[Thyrdwulf(#32205)] Perhaps heading the group from the east like a surging bastion, silently moving and his face caped by hood as he wades through snow, his axe-wielding arms fighting through anything that may be aiming to halt him with its organic, whimsical nature. He squints to see up ahead...sniffing what may be on the air.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
The sound of snuffling noses, shuffling feet... The Ethiriath scouts stand perfectly still and the Hirdan Gondramind follows suit, narrowing his grey eyes into the dark. He looks to the Hirvaethor Randinen and points to where movement can be discerned in the moonlit dark up ahead.
[Runir]
Amidst the tall elven figures can be seen a smaller one, green clad and wielding a battle axe on his hands. He moves carefully and stealthily, although the jingle of his armor can be heard every now and then. Runir cautiously walks near Randinen and Gondramind, eyes watchful of the terrain ahead, and of any indication of orcish presence. As he watches Gondramind stand still for a second and then signal, he stops, and readies his battle axe.
[Alisoun(#30395)] Alisoun, a wool-cloaked girl, keeps near the middle of the group, moving fairly silently across the ground. She squints out under the shadow of her hood, hand gripping her axe carefully. Her eyes cast baleful glances at the shadows; her ears seem to perk up like an aNinal's at any sound.
[Grimbeorn(#22365)] The slopes are fairly buggy with creatures tonight, this particular one being enormous, but moving with the stealth of an overgrown mountain lion...or so it seems. The faint sound of rock crushing and sliding downhill under massive paw might be heard breaking through the night air, the loose scrabble tumbling in waves as the beast takes each step. Keen ears might hear a massive snort or three, followed....by a chuckle, and a very human one at that. "Elves...and else," comes a low, grumbling voice in the dark, its owner not yet to be seen.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
Among the shadows approaching from the east is a figure bathed in a halo of gold, flaxen locks and beard shiNing dully in the pallid light of moon and star. Silhouetted against the darkling folds of chapparel covered hills extending into the distance, the shaded face turns to Thyrdwuld and utters icily, scarcely above a whisper, "Must you afflict the life of everything in your path?" Thorvald chooses instead to lithely weave his path through the scattered horde of low shurvs.
[Randinen(#10961)]
Another of the Fair Race joins his comrade at the front of their scouting group. Yet Randinen does not crouch, duck low or practice any other sort of tactics to keep his presence hidden. His glance is fixed upon the movement in the East. And as a chuckle from the other side shatters the building tension, a broad smile sparks upon Randinen's lips, he appears to speak to those closest to his side, "Shall we not stride into the open? If we are certain these are BeorNings... bide to your own words, Hirdan."
[Feral(#23381)]
The sniffing beast from the east is joined by a second, though smaller creature, and a tall shadow slips from cover. Eyes twinkle in the dark, and hands squeeze pebbles as they too pick their way along. A head nods, and a guttural throat replies to the mention of elves. "Aye, Laird, but what do they want? Are they seeking the strangers?"
[Lamathinn(#30349)]
The Glindir Lamathinn may not be the fiercest warrior among his kind, but perhaps his ears are the keenest, because of long traiNing in his craft. Some distance behind the main group, he pushes forward to regain his position. He stopped before any had heard a sound and readied his bow with a soft signal. Now the group is at attention, he stands ready, eyes peering in the distance. He watches Gondramind and the other Elves carefully, waiting for some signal, and stands, bow ready, besides the Dwarf.
[Duinlas(#27187)]
Duinlas moves silently behind Runir, watching around them, while his mind is on one who surely is a rearguard scout. Though his face does not betray his thoughts, instead a stony expression locked into it. His spear held over his shoulder.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind nods to Randinen. "Aye. If they are BeorNings, then indeed, we should." He casts his clear eyes toward the dwarf and tooks again to Randinen. "We three should go." And he steps forward with the Hirvaethor, cloak flapping gently in the autumn wind...
[Randinen(#10961)]
Indeed in his wake, Randinen follows, glancing back once to the dwarf. Then he tilts his gaze to calmly survey the darkness before them.
[Runir]
"If ye say so", Runir says, stepping forth too. He lowers his battle axe a bit, and strides confidently beside Gondramind. "Friend Gondramind, i hope yer eyes have not failed ye, and that we're not walking into a trap. If these are BeorNings indeed, we might consider ourselves lucky".
[Brongil(#16924)] After reading the signs on the landscape, Brongil moves down the slope towards the east, flanking both groups from the north. Once he is about half way between both groups, he stops to watch and listen for any sign of conflict or ambush from the enemy in this direction.
[Grimbeorn(#22365)] "Friends?" Grimbeorn scratches his head, looking up slope at the figures scattered about. "Don't know. Laird Elrond doesn't often go about telling me his plans," he grins to Feral. "Looks like we'll find out soon in any case, though," he nods as a few break out of the group up the slope.
Thyrdwulf keeps his eyes scaping upon the land...He creeps to a log and kneels. His eyes creeping over the fallen tree, so boldly cropped by snow. He looks to Feral, and quirks an eyebrow...he does not like the man, but this is a different situation to afore. "Well?" he whispers.
Alisoun grips her axe a bit more tightly, sniffing at the air as her fellows speak. She wonders what they smell on the air...what scents mean elves, what they smell like from a distance. And she hopes desperately that they are wrong, and that elves are all that are here...but her face remains grim and determined as she steps forward slowly.
[Gailluin(#9974)] The elleth Gailluin stands amidst the others of her kind, her golden hair shiNing silver in the starlight. Her appearance is calm, her face expressionless, though the white hue of her knuckles as she tightly grips the pommel of her sheathed word betrays an uneasiness about her as she watches the three departing from their number.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Walking behing the Hirvaethor, comes Cunir Helegrhofel; longbow attached to back. A few moments later he speeds up his pace slightly and reaches Gondramind. A slight smile is cast at him and then Helegrhofel decides to ask, "Do I see well? Are these men over there?", he says as his hair waves free to the cool breeze. "If so, I believe that is good if we shall meet them", he says casting a look at Randinen as he remembers the events a few night ago.
Duinlas stands his fround as he watches the three step forward, frowNing slightly at this, but obeying the Hirdan. He glances back at the others, and then looks forward, his keen ears straiNing to hear any sounds that do not belong.
[Lamathinn(#30349)]
And Lamathinn settles besides Duinlas, watching intently as the three move forward. His bow is now at the ready, arrow aimed at a path over the heads of the two Elves and the Dwarf.
[Firithael(#31021)] Towards the rear of the band of quendi stands an elleth dressed in white and brown, and covered in a cloak of deep green. A small bow is hung casually behind her. Yet, perhaps what is more important to note is the satchel slung by her side, filled with various jars and rolls of linen, some of them peeking over the top. Her gray eyes continuously scan her surroundings, and as the others begin to move, Firithael's stance shifts slightly, betraying her uneasy demeanor.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind strides toward the humans and notes the mountain of a man that approaches, eyes the dogs, the vast company of them... "Ay Runir," he mutters to the dwarf. "I too hope my eyes do not fail me... But I think they do not." With another look to Randinen, the Hirdan takes several open strides forward. "Well met, friends," he calls in Westron toward the gathering of BeorNings. "We of the Elrond's hall seek passage through your lands."
[Feral(#23381)]
"Aye," says Feral a second time, "that we will." The Bear Clan Skald draws himself up to a full height, and folds hefty arms across his chest. His battleaxe remains strapped to his back, but in his right hand sits the smaller handle of Barkbane, his hand-axe. Sniffing anew, the man waits next to Grimbeorn, and sends glances of warNing to the other BeorNings.
Duinlas turns and looks to Lamathinn and touches his arm, "Lower your bow, Lamathinn. You would do well not to be seen pointing any weapon toward any of our allies. Ever." His gaze is keen beneath the dark sky and his voice deadly serious.
Brongil sees Gondramind move forward, and notices some movement in the front of the ranks of the BeorNings. With a final glance over his shoulder to the north, he stands fully and begins to move towards to two groups at a direct line to the middle. With his sword now in his left hand, pointed down, he raises his right hand in greeting. All the while, he scans the BeorNings that he can see for some sign of his brethren who were on their way towards the village of these people.
[Randinen(#10961)]
Calmly, Randinen poises himself next to the elf calling out to the BeorNings. Standing by his side he simply waits.
Alisoun tenses at the movement, but at the voice she lowers her own axe slowly, bringing it from an offensive hold behind her shield to a calmer, more relaxed one. She nods once toward the figure that emerges, though she speaks no words of greeting, leaving those for the laird or the skald.
Brynjolf kneels low, among a clump of twisted bushes, half hidden and overall inconspicuous, holding his longbow in one hand and an arrow in the other. He watches Grimbeorn and Feral, waiting for some cue from them as to how he should act.
Helegrhofel stands beside Randinen, not speaking either but instead he slightly bows to those BeorNings that lead ahead.
Runir walks boldly beside Gondramind, his axe now lowered, his manner relaxed. It seems that, after all, the elf's eyes had indeed not betrayed him, and these was a BeorNing patrol. His eyes, however, scan the area... he knew BeorNings were a strange lot, and their ways were strange to dwarves. He utters no word, as he lets the more diplomatic Gondramind handle the situation.
[Blane(#10740)] His axe hanging loosely in hand, more casual than anything else. Blane walks slowly up the slope before stopping just ahead of Alisoun. "Elves." he says with a slight roll of his eyes, raising a hand and raking it through his hair.
[<#22365>] Grimbeorn raises an eyebrow at the group moving toward them. "" he mutters to himself in the language of the northmen. His eyes then fall on Runir, and he chuckles to Feral. "" he says, flatly. He returns the waved hand with a nod. 'What brings you here of all places?' he calls out.
[<#30395>] Alisoun mutters "" near-silently as a reply. ""
[<#26334>] Placing his arrow back in the quiver, Brynjolf slowly stands, holding his bow nonchalantly. He listens to Grimbeorn with a faint smile, stroking his beard with one hand. "" he says with a laugh. ""
[<#23381>]
Feral nods by the skinchanger's side, and sniffs as he too looks over Runir and his company. The Skald replies to his Laird, "" he adds to both Grimbeorn and Alisoun.
[<#30349>]
Lamathinn's keen ears pick up some of the words spoken in front of him, and he relaxes some more. Still, he holds on to his bow, arrow at the ready, but pointed downwards. He nods at Duinlas in understanding - do not point your weapon at a friend - and again shifts his attention to the proceedings."" he asks softly. ""
[Duinlas(#27187)]
Duinlas' ears perk at the foreign tongue, and he looks toward the Hirdan, turNing back to the others and whispering, "It seems they're surprised at the makeup of our group." He offers them a grin, then speaks again after he hears more, "They are happy to see us. Maybe. But we are in no danger."
[<#10961>]
Randinen follows the exchange with bemused expression. The bow in his hand he has lowered already a while ago, as one end rests lightly upon the ground. "" he mutters in the fair tongue to his elven companion.
[<#9974>] "" Gailluin asks, her voice quiet as she glances from Duinlas to Lamathinn.
[Ailiell(#31678)]
A silent elven figure haunts the edges of the assembly, evenly observing this meeting of strangers. Ailiell draws near to Firithael, reaching over to gently nudge her greeting; a smile beginNing to take root as the Beijabar's familiar voice rings out, words here and there passing her comprehension.
[<#27187>]
Duinlas nods to Gailluin, and smiles to Ailiell, "" He turns his attention back to the conversation amongst the leaders of the two bands.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind gazes up the gathered humans and focuses his eyes upon Grimbeorn. Understanding little to nothing of the Eothrik that flows among them, he is yet able to grasp the tone of the words spoken the glances toward Runir. Gondramind instinctively steps closer to the naug. He inclines his head toward Randinen and nods agreement with his words, the looks again to Grimbeorn and addresses him in Westron. "We travel with our naug companion to Erebor. We were delayed here by winter weather at the pass, but with your leave shall pass swiftly through your lands."
[Lamathinn(#30349)]
"Maybe we should set the good example," Lamathinn speaks, less softly then before, and now in Westron. "I do not believe we are in danger, and thank you, mellon Duinlas. A good skill to have, the mastery of the tongues of others."
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] RefraiNing from making any more comments or whatever, Helegrhofel merely nods to those of Randinen beside him. He wraps his cloak around him tighter at the feeling of a breeze and just listens. Hearing Gondramind's reply he gently nods again.
[Grimbeorn(#22365)] Grimbeorn's eyes narrow, and a smirk of a grin spreads on his face. "Come," he says in Westron, gesturing to the Anduin villagers. "Let's see what they're about," he says, closing the distance between teh two groups with a few strides. He looks at those who have come out ahead as a sort of delegation. "Well, you folks certainly make a strange group of travelers to my lands," he replies to Gondramind's explanation. "Elves, dwarves and men. But what is a naug? Never heard of that. Something new in the lands?"
[<#23381>]
"" muses Feral as he watches Gondramind with no small suspicion. ""
[<#26334>] The beorNing merchant pats his belt pouch, feeling the trinkets within. Being elves, however, the travellers probably don't want to by good luck charms or love potions, but perhaps... Brynjorn slings his bow over his shoulder and follows Grimbeorn at a slower pace, a smile splitting his flaxen beard.
Alisoun laughs softly to herself at the Westron, nodding once. She catches the gist of what they mean; glancing to Feral, she replies: "We'll make up for it, then. Surely they're prepared, if they know aught..."
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] The blanket of stars hangs on the dome of the heavens. Across the midline of the sky, a bright cloud of billions of countless fires stains the arches of midnight - a distant halo, a land far off...farther even, perhaps than Arda. On the slopes of the mighty earth-spine, races, cultures and strangers collide. A midnight mass of the fortunate, for one group has braved the weather and danger of the pass and emerged, and another group stands ready to guard against unseen dangers. But unseen dangers there are, there /ever/ are here in the feet of the hoary-headed giants known abroad as the mighty Misty Mountains.
A black creature with long pointed ears rises at the top of the hill, crouched behind a stone. His eyes gleam ochre in the silver bath of moon and starlight. Drool spills from his cracked maw, and he waves to something behind him. The air, he sniffs, rounding his nose along the wafting trail of meat. Or...humans...dwarves...elves...a banquet!
"Come...my brothers...", the orc hisses in his northern dialect. "Come and see the pretty plate that has been set for us." Behind him, some other shadows glide forward...and over the crest of the hill, more murmuring from a host of unknown size. Mu'Zah -for that is the first orc's name- licks his lips, and wipes the drool on his sleeve. He blinks at the moon, and his stomach curses at him.
[<#31021>] Firithael glances over to her companion, and a smile is brought to her anxious face. Her ears strain to hear the various words floating around, whether they be in Sindarin or in a tongue foreign to her ears. As the Hirdan and the BeorNings begin to talk once more, she turns again to Ailiell and relaxes somewhat. "" she says softly, speaking in her own tongue.
[Brongil(#16924)] "Man, sir," Brongil says in a flat, but friendly tone as he reaches the two groups at about the same time, "Just myself...I believe and hope that you have met others of my band already." he bows ever-so-sligtly and then keeps quiet to let Gondramind speak for the group as a whole.
[Blane(#10740)] Scratching his chin and yawNing indifferantly, Blane follows after Grimbeorn at a rather quick stride to keep up with the much taller mans loping strides. "These the elves from Rivendell?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, looking over the group.
[Runir]
"A naug, good sir, is a dwarf, in the speech of the elves", Runir says, as he eyes the big man. "And indeed we make a strange group, but in numbers lies strenght... specially when you cross the High Pass. We mean no harm, and ask only for leave to travel through yer lands, as we're headed eastward, to the Lonely Mountain", he says. As Feral speaks, Runir makes a wry face, but doesn't make any comment. Instead, he bows low. "Runir, son o' Braldon o' Erebor and envoy o' Thane Bundazanul, at yer service and yer family's", he says.
Duinlas holds his stony gaze as he hears the words spoken by one of the BeorNings. He glances around, but doesn't translate for the others. Hoping it all goes well. But now he glances nervously over his shoulder.
[Lamathinn(#30349)]
"Hail, friends. Well met," Lamathinn says, as a huge man approaches, followed by others. He bows, but his eyes flick hither, thither, alert, worried.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind grins broadly toward Grimbeorn. "Dwarf," he says "This dwarf," indicating Runir. "Forgive my slip into Sindarin. His kind are nothing new to any of us..." Gondramind eyes Brongil and then allows the dwarf to speak for himself...
But... something... Something felt more than heard... Gondramind turn and looks to the mountains behind.....
Thyrdwulf eyes the elves and tries to cover his gleaming elven brooch. Didn't steal it, honest. He rises up behind the log, and drags his cloaks around him...Padding across the snow toppled ground...eying the different creeds.
[<#10961>]
As the BeorNings approach... Randinen turns around and quickly surveys the elven scouts scattered about. Raising his hand he gestures for their attention, wording a gentle, yet clear command. "" The effect is evident, as most elves lower their weapons, save those at the western end of the camp, they still keep an eye on the mountains.
[Alisoun(#30395)] Misliking the gentleness of the encounter, knowing that whatever diplomacy and toll-collection that must take place will, and still living in the fear of the attack just a night or two ago, Alisoun takes a step or two away from the group, looking up and around through the crags. The travelers speak too loudly, she judges; surely some attention will be drawn this eveNing.
[Feral(#23381)]
Feral nods to Alisoun, and strolls forwards, though the wryness of Runir's face does not escape his notice. He glares at the dwarf, and sniffs, before turNing to watch the elves speak with Grimbeorn.
[<#22365>] Grimbeorn nods to all of this. 'Grimbeorn the Old,' he bows. 'And these are my folk, who will be happy to see you through our lands and across teh Ford....for a toll,' he grins. 'It's work keeping the pass open and the ford clear of scum.' TurNing, Grimbeorn then grins at the Feral. "..., when ... ... ... ... elven ..., ... ... ... ... that ... ... ... ...--not ... ... ...," he says, looking back to the travelers with a half frown.
[<#22136>] Helegrhofel +whispers to Randinen, "A ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..., "Hirvaethor, I have a foreboding", ... ... his ... ... ... takes a ... around. "Perhaps our last scouting was too risky", ... ... then, "but then, it might just be irrelevant"."
Brynjolf inclines his head toward the elves, as Grimbeorn introduces the BeorNings in general as 'his folk'. He pulls his cloak about him, feeling the cold of fall, and glances up toward the mountains. He narrows his eyes, and then shrugs.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
"Indeed," says Gondramind, eyes scanNing the dark. "We seek only safe passage. I am Gondramind of Imladris. We met at Hir Elrond's council. You speak of a toll? And what would that be? You would charge a toll of friends?"
[Feral(#23381)]
"That we would" answers Feral to Gondramind with a fierce grunt of displeasure, "for our friends would know our laws, and wish to keep them strong. So yes, you shall pay the toll, or you shall pass no further."
[Brynjolf(#26334)] Imagine not charging a toll! For anyone, even elves, Brynjolf finds the idea distasteful, and his expression shows it somewhat.
[Grikhash(#17562)] Brothers? Sisters too but who could tell that the goblin immediately behind Mu'Zah is a female (unless they are another of this foul breed, of course, and then their nose would tell them). Ragged is Grikhash but her eyes are sickly yellow orbs, that float in their sockets, and they scan the scene with a mix of glee and anticipation both. A harsh laugh as her right hand rises and pulls forth a stained and rusted blade.
The she-orc runs her long tongue over the scimitar's length and shudders at the metallic taste, coupled with the savour of her own blood that is her reward for lack of care. Like her 'brother' she gratingly utters: "Fine sight."
Brongil looks towards the mountain as Gondramind looks that way, carefully trying to pick out anything that might be out of place. If this were 'his' side of the mountain, he might be able to see or at least know that something were amiss...but here in this foreign land, he is out of his element and unable to see that danger that comes their way. He turns back and says, figuring he should announce himself as well, "I am Brongil." That's it...no honorific or title to speak of.
[Blane(#10740)] "Everyone pays." Blane says with a shrug, still scanNing his gaze over the elves as if looking for someone in particular. "If you don't like it then yeh can turn around." he says, smiling pleasantly at Gondramind.
[Lamathinn(#30349)]
Lamathinn listens eagerly as the toll is discussed. This strange concept, of money, and possessions... he snaps back to attention, heading the command and keeping his weapon low, but he scans his surroundings. He cocks his head to one side. Did he hear something? "I...", and then again, he is quiet. Musicians hear the strangest things. "... never mind."
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind raises a brow at this, and turns the full attention of his grey, colorless eyes to the human Feral. "We wish to abide by your laws of course." His flicks his gaze to Blane and returns it, levelly, to Feral. "For such would be expected should your kind travel to the valley. And hospitality of the valley would be returned in kind. For we have aided your folk in the past. As you have aided us." Gondramind looks behind him, and still senses something in the foothill rocks... "Aid and friendship..." he trails offf, gazing hard into the dark
Alisoun sniffs the air now, her eyes trained on the edges of the mountains above and around. Her ears are trained to every sound and she hears...something? Likely just a stone underfoot, or the grumble of the autumn wind. An odor touches her nostrils lightly, and that gives her pause, but there are all sorts of odd cross-breezes in these places.
Runir snorts, his gaze now directed at the one that stands near the huge Man. "A toll? Hmmm, tis indeed work t'keep the High pass open, but... clean o' scum? I doubt that. We were being tracked and followed, if ye should know. And now, Master Grimbeorn... wouldn't it be a sign of friendship if ye let us pass?", the dwarf says. He's about to say more, when he grows silent, noticing the sudden tenseness of Gondramind.
[<#26334>] Brynjolf smiles pleasantly, and examines his bows string, idly runNing his fingers over it. ""
[Randinen(#10961)]
"Yet I trust..." Randinen now adds in support to his friend, for the moment ignoring the whisper directed at him by another, "The BeorNings have not forgotten the shared hardships of several years ago, when your village was assailed by hordes of goblins. We stood by you, let there be no question that we do not stand here as friends. If the toll we paid then was not high enough... then naturally, we must bargain for a proper price."
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind looks to Runir with a sharp glance. "Peace master dwarf. These good men and women work hard to keep their lands safe."
[Duinlas(#27187)]
Duinlas' mind works quickly over the developments he watches, listeNing for the Hirdan's reply, but also his gaze glancing back to make sure none in the elven party are showing anything which could be taken as offense to the BeorNings. But as Gondramind gazes into the dark, he turns his own gaze questioNingly, then looks toward the dwarf and Hirvaethor.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] "There are many...", groans Mu'Zah, tearing at his gut with broken claw. "Many..." He looks behind, over his shoulder to Grikhash. "Many!", he hisses. He peers beyond her, sharp eyes piercing the dimlit moonshade of the western-crest of the hill, counting his brood in his mind. "We are four dozen, I guesses", quips he. "Not enough, not enough. They havess....bowwses. And long-swords, a bad ticklings." He rises up over the crest of the boulder once more. He stands upon a tangle of boulders, in fact...a jumble left in precarious standing by the ravages of ice on the land. The orc thinks...his head would steam, ere it could. "Rockkksss...", he hisses, a brightness in his otherwise crusty voice.
[Feral(#23381)]
"You could aid me more by not changing the subject," Feral says to Gondramind, but there is the hint of a chuckle as he watches the elf's attention divert. "You wont find your fee in those mountains." The Skald then glances, down, to Runir and sniffs again. "We remember more recent times, where a party of dwarves stole from us and ferried away a maiden." He bares his teeth to the khazad.
Brynjolf sighs uncomfortably at the Elve's words, and is about to speak, but . . . He doesn't, instead looking uneasily up at the mountains. His hand creeps up to his quiver uncertainly.
[Blane(#10740)] Scratching his chest idly Blane glances over at Gondramind and smiles, "friendship isn't forgotten. But we watch this pass and protect it with our lives, the toll has to be paid by everyone who passes." he says simply, "it's because of us that the pass is safe for you to travel through it."
Thyrdwulf smells something on the wind...and speaks. "Happened have I upon the odour of death a litle, twixt the air currents...What be this smell?" he asks curiously...his own curiousity leading him to scout with divine inquisitiveness.
[Alisoun(#30395)] :grimaces again, muttering under her breath. "Tracked and followed, aye? Led goblins this way, then..." She pulls the axe back into a position ready for aggression, but she looks not to the dwarf or the men or elves. The distant sound of...something familiar...reaches her ears, and she reaches out to Thyrdwulf. "Go that way," she whispers, tilting her head to one side of the path, "and I'll go this, and we'll see what devilry is planned tonight."
[Randinen(#10961)]
Then in another short reply to the topics at hand, Randinen smirks as he gestures towards the mountains, "There are trolls concealed within the pass, and whatever companions they brought. Forgive us a wary glance, already once they sought to ambush our group."
[<#26334>] Brynjolf slowly draws an arrow and nocks it. "" he says softly, ""
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind raises a brow to Randinen. "Bargain for a toll, perhaps but let us hear them and keep the peace." He looks at the large man that taunts Runir and quirks a smile toward him. "I change no subject, but seek to strike a fair understanding. As Randidnen has said, we have been beset and tracked and seen the spoor of Troll and Uruk both. We look to the mountains with caution.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Again, Helegrhofel stays silent yet now he moves a bit backwards and turns to scan the rocks above, a premonition perhaps, or instict. He shakes his head a few moments later and turns again towards the others, moving now to the dwarf. He sets a hand upon his shoulder and smiles at him. "Elbereth tielmanna na caluva!", he speaks in the noble tongue. He immediately then looks at Randinen at the reference of the trolls and he nods to him once again.
[Grikhash(#17562)] "Many. Yeah.. Many of them. I'm not ticklish." The female orc, Grikhash -who is apparently some kind of second in command- scrabbles up the rocky mound behind Mu'Zah with her chipped talons scraping at it lightly. In her other hand she is carefull to keep her roughly-treated weapon away from the stones (lest they should strike together in protest) whilst thick black ichor drips from the corners of her mouth.
"What we doing then, since don't suppose you want a ticklin' either?" Grikhash says, words in a gutteral tongue that is as far removed from sindarin or any other fair language as feathers are from lead.
Brongil catches the feeling in the air and then glances back towards the Mountains to the west. "Excuse me," he mutters to the leaders of the respective bands and slips off back towards the mountains, moving as fast as he can and still be stealthy in the deep shadows of the sparse trees and rocky outcroppings.
"That's nonsense!", the dwarf explodes after the BeorNing's words. "We kidnapped no BeorNing woman. What would we do that for? And ye say that dwarves ran all the way from 'ere to Erebor holding a BeorNing captive? I refuse to beleive so. Have ye proof to back yer words?", he asks, his eyes dangerously alight. "And in case yer words were true, which I doubt, then ye can go to Erebor and speak with King Dain. he'll have the perpetrators of such heineous act delivered to ye, to do as ye see fit".
[<#23381>]
Feral's nose wrinkles, and his eyes dart once or twice to the air, but he shrugs and looks to Randinen. 'Trolls you say. And you left them alive?' A second time he sniffs, and he scowls to Alisoun. ""
[Blane(#10740)] Lapsing into silence at the elf's words. Blane holds his axe a litle tighter and looks to the mountains, a frown wrinkling his brow.
[Feral(#23381)]
To Runir he merely growls a second time. "If your King's legs have the strength, let him walk here himself."
Alisoun edges off to the other side of the path. "Aye," she mutters to Feral, her own voice shifting to a guttural growl. "And fell voices on the wind."
[<#26334>] Brynjolf says in Eothrik, ""Something's moving up there, Skald,""
[Grimbeorn(#22365)] Grimbeorn's attention wanders from the talk of tolls as he gazes upslope. Nodding to Feral, he watches as others, to pick up on the scent. "Hard to tell; wind moving all sorts of ways tonight. But there may be more than just darkness up in those hills," he says aloud to the group, giving Brynjolf a nod of agreement.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Once more the hand of Helegrhofel falls on Runir's shoulder, "We seek no disputes my friend. Please", he speaks to him in a low tone. "These are not our enemies. Others are", he says and then he tries to calm him down. "Please do not take offense and forget it for now", he adds then.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind places a hand upon Runir's shoulder. "Peace Runir! They have stories and legends of dwarves as you have of humans and elves. Keep calm or I shall regret your company. Do not answer the human with anger. Let it go."
[Thorvald(#23510)]
The Blacksmith easily ignores the heated discourse, confident that law is not to be comprimised. Thorvald's cerruelan gaze tithes to the deluge of scrutiny given to the lengths of shadow descended from the hills above. Stoicism molds the porcelain mask of his face, firm hand throttling the neck of a woodman's axe cinctured to his waist; he waits.
[<#32156>] Gondramind +whispers to Runir, "If you commit any act of aggression here you shall answer to me, my friend. Do not throw oil on this fire."
[Randinen(#10961)]
Randinen chuckles softly, shaking his head in reply to Feral's words, "Truth be told, we sent them off your mountain, by aid of but two elves. However, we do not know whither the orcs went, perhaps they have tracked us this far. But I strongly doubt they have the number to assail a group this size. And please, let us cease the reproaching? This is of no benefit to any of us..." At this he looks up at Grimbeorn.
Brynjolf shrugs, stepping back, and watches the Elves warily. His nerves are stretched taught tonight, especially after seeing that...thing in Mirkwood.
Alisoun begins to step up the rocks on one side of the cliff, moving slowly and sniffing the air as she goes. She keeps to the shadows now, her steps on the loose stone silent -- not so silent as the Ranger's, perhaps, but quiet enough for humans.
Runir's eyes remain alight, hatred to the BeorNing showing in his eyes. "It shall be as ye wish", he mutters to Gondramind, low enough that only the elf can hear him. He then remains silent, eyeing the BeorNing, his gaze icy.
[Ailiell(#31678)]
In her silent watch, the shadow of displeasure begins to slip over Ailiell's brow. As rough words fall between friends she shifts her weight, uneasiness furling about her as surely as her breeze-blown cloak. "Let us pay their toll and be done with it," she says softly, to no one in particular.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] The simian Mu'Zah caresses the surface of the stone. He sticks out his tongue, and licks the rock. "Thisss will roll, sister. We pusshes it, we pulls out little stoness from it's foots. It rolls, it makes us eassy meals of walking meatss." Melting from his perch, he slips between the stone and its neighbor, finding himself confronted with managable-sized boulders, the footing. "Brings them to usss!", he whispers through the crack to the she-orc. "Brings us a dozens, and quietly the goess!" He disappears, surveying the bootm of the great stone.
[Blane(#10740)] Alongside Alisoun now, Blane surveys the area with a frown, his knuckles white on his axes hilt. "I have a bad feeling." he mumbles to the girl without taking his gaze from the mountains.
Long distance to Feral: Runir chuckles. "Heh, I'm always up for bickering with elfers and humans :b"
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gonrdamind takes a slow and deep breath, and gazes a moment longer at the naug, warry of him as one is warry of any angry dog, and returns his grey regard to Feral.
[Grimbeorn(#22365)] "If ya want, I'll not let you through my lands at all and tell my folk not to aid ya when the orcs that I smell lurking above us begin firing their black arrows at you," Grimbeorn growls to Runir. "My folks give their lives so that the only thing that harrasses you is goblins tracking you, instead of armies of goblins serving you and your kin for dinner," he finishes, then snaps his attention back up the hill. "Now let's pay attention to what's needed first--there's goblins up on the hill looking for a way to slice us apart, if my nose isn't wrong."
[Brynjolf(#26334)] Face hard with the growing tension, Brynjolf looks up at the mountains and shivers. After a moment's wary hesitation, the merchant stalks quickly and silently after Alisoun and Blane, fingers holding his bowstring half-drawn.
Alisoun creeps further, her movements quieter and quieter each move she makes. Her grey-brown cloak is fairly good at keeping her concealed, and the felt boots she wears hug the ground nicely. She gives Blane a silent nod, not turNing her head toward him but instead scanNing the rocks above and around. The smell seems to get...slowly stronger, and cold sweat begins to bead on her forehead.
[Feral(#23381)]
"If your pet is quite finished," says Feral to Gondramind with a flick of his head towards the dwarf, "then we should depart. As my folk have noted, something foul is on the air."
[<#16924>] Brongil pauses as he reaches the back of the group of elves guarding the rear of their party. "" he whispers to several of them, moving by them like a gentle wind. Once the warNing is given, he moves to the other side of the trail and then again up towards the ridge above.
[Grikhash(#17562)] Laughter, the sort that only a truly sadistic creature could make, is offered into the darkness (though hushedly) by Grikhash at Mu'Zah's suggestion and she nods her oddly elongated head in his direction before ramming her scimitar back in its place at her hip. "Right." The goblin grunts simplistically ere she lopes back a short way into the thickness of the dark to where, presumably, more of her ilk are waiting for some instruction as to the 'plan' that is to be carried out against so many children of the light. Not long till her long fingered right hand waves and beckons, after which are a series of instructions detailing the 'plan'. She picks her way back across the uneven ground to Mu'Zah and the oh so conveniant rocks. A foul smirk as she drops to a crouch, gulps back a mouthfull of her own blood, and puts her hands to the surface of a rock - now awaiting signal to roll them at overly curious members of the party a little below.
[<#27187>] Duinlas looks toward Gondramind, then approaches Runir quickly, placing his hand on his shoulder, speaking quietly to him, "Friend. They speak to incite your rage, as they wish to make a fool of you when they know you are helpless. Speak not back to them, and keep your silent dignity as Thorin Oakenshield did during his capture on his quest to slay the cursed worm."
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gonrdamind catches the look on Ailiell's face and returns his grey regard to Feral. "What is your toll, then, friend?"
And then Grimbeorn's words... "Grimbeorn, you know the temperment of his kind." her Gondramind squeezes Runir's shoulder, very tightly. He looks to the foothills behind. "And if what we sense is true, then we will all need to be friends tonight." He turns and faces the mountain and sees ... something...
[<#26334>] Brynjolf soon catches up Alisoun and Bane, making slightly more noise than the girl and probably regretting a second helping at dinner. "" he asks in a whisper.
[Randinen(#10961)]
As Grimbeorn speaks of lurking danger, the Hirvaethor Randinen turns around. A sharp whistle gains him the attention of the western most sentries. A signal is returned, they have not lost their vigilance. "Our archers are not blind. The first goblin or orc to approach is the first to fall. We did not wrestle through the pass unarmed. They will not pass into your lands, not before us." And he seizes his own bow, eyeing Runir from the corner of his eye, "Will you join me, master dwarf?"
Alisoun tightens her jaw and glares at Brynjolf in annoyance. She hisses her assent and looks upward. A tiny pebble, hardly noticeable, bounces down from above. The forester lowers her hand, flatteNing it, to try to signal to those behind her that they must crouch and be ready and silent.
Runir grumbles, his icy gaze not leaving the BeorNing. However, as he feels Gondramind's hand, he steadies himself, and remembers that he vowed to take these elves back to Erebor... and that he needed these beorNings to do so. Casting a last, baleful glance to the BeorNing, he turns. "Goblins are here? Well, what are we to do? We flee to the nearest village, or do we stand our ground?". However, the dwarf brings forth his battle axe once more, clearly suggesting he would do the latter, rather than the former. "It'll be my honor, Master Randinen", he replies to the elf's question.
Brynjolf crouches down, remembering childhood lessons. He nods to Alisoun, and looks up at the ridge.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Deciding to speak at last, Helegrhofel says, "I believe we are indeed being watched Master Grimbeorn, and I am not glad that it was not my impression after all", he shakes his head in disappointment, "Yet we will not be caught unready...", he adds to his words and draws forth Lossglir, his longbow. "May Elbereth shine on our path", he murmurs then, audible to those around him.
[Feral(#23381)]
"Half a golden florin for each of you," blinks Feral to Gondramind. "Though I will accept silver should you have the same value in it. Be thankful we don't charge you extra for your...companion."
[Blane(#10740)] Blane smirks at Alisoun and pulls his helmet onto his head, "they already know we're here." he says with a shrug, "no point trying to conceal ourselves now." he winks over at Alisoun, "good thing you are so resilient." he teases.
[Great_Bear(#22365)] Grimbeorn's features seem to blur for a moment as nose elongates into a black snout, hands turn to paws, skin turns to fur--until the man is no more, replaced by a massive silvertip bruin.
[Randinen(#10961)]
Striding from the eastern side to the western end, Randinen lightly remarks, as if in converse with Runir, "Perhaps they will give us a discount to dispose of these foul ones and spare them a night's work." As he nears the western side, more archers group to his side.
Duinlas strides near Runir and Randinen, not willing to be left too far from either of them, knowing first that the Hirvaethor will need room to work his bow, and that the expert marksman would work well to also protect him. He mutters one person's name as he glances around the forest, sighing before clearing his mind and gripping his spear securely with two hands.
[Great_Bear(#22365)] Grimbeorn doesn't answer, shifting into bear form instead and moving forward, steadily up the hill toward the villagers already making an approach--but not before the giant bear that he now is walks past Runir, giving the dwarf a glare with its steely eyes, a growl in its throat. The bear then moves on.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Mu'zah is beneath the great stone...pointing orcs here and there. Several use their spears as levers against the smaller rocks at teh base of the boulder. Above, a gang of eight lean with their shoulders into the stone, ready to push. Smaller stones begin to loose themselves, even as the remainder of the orcish group...some forty gangly night-demons...line themselves shoulder-to-shoulder at the top of the hill, just below the edge.
A melon-sized boulder rolls out, then another. "Puuuuuush!", shouts Mu'Zah from beneath the stone, clamboring flea-like and near instantly through the crack to shove also at the back. "Puuuuuuuush!", he grunts, muscles bulging, feet skidding on the anchored grantite behind. The behemoth comes then undone, and a mighty rumbling earth-groan does thunder in the night. The foe will see stone, and stone will beget more stone on the rocky slope. A muffled scream comes from below as an orc guesses wrong, and is mashed by the tipping boulder. Whomever is in this path, beware!
Alisoun grumbles under her breath to Blane, but no word comes out before the roaring of falling stone begins. She cries out in anger, launching herself forward to escape a boulder falling from straight above.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
With a note of impatience, the first directed toward a BeorNing in the encounter, Gondramind frowns at Feral's words. "I think not. And for the moment, we both have more to consider than tolls." And he turns to look at the mountain and unsheaths his sword with a ring of metal. He stands a moment in awe of the transformation of Grimbeorn... and then stalks slowy behind Randinen and Runir.
Runir decides to ignore the beorNing... for now. However, his words would be remembered in the appropriate time... But now, there were other problems that needed his attention. "What? Discount? They should let us pass fer free, if we dispose o' this goblins they forgot to kill", the dwarf replies to Randinen. "In fact, we should..." His phrase is cut short by a cry that comes from somewhere up. Runir turns his gaze, and sees a huge boulder start to roll in their direction. "Beware! The rock!", he says, pointing at the falling boulder and clearing from its path.
Brynjolf shoots up from his crouch, eyes wide. "Move!" he yelps, tossing himself aside as a boulder crashes towards him. He tucks his shoulder and rolls coming up with an arrow nocked and the bowstring drawn. He looks around warily, and dodges a stone the size of a murderous basketball.
[Blane(#10740)] "By the Bear." Blane scowls, leaping to one side and runNing to escape the boulders path, gripping his axe tightly in one hand and his shield in the other he begins runNing up the hill.
[<#27187>] Duinlas moves quickly with Runir, his legs moving him without problem out of the way, "" he shouts out!
[Brongil(#16924)] Reaching the ridge just as the boulder starts rolling down the mountain-side, Brongil leaps back down out of the line of site of the Orc and calls out through the valley, "Rockslide!" He has to dive out of the way of subsequent boulders, ending up on a slope that carries him nearly 100 feet down the ridge over rocky ground. He loses his dagger, but his sword is still in his hand.
[Brynjolf(#26334)] As another boulder skitters past like an exuberent elephant child, Brynjolf turns and runs down the hill, leaping over bushes, until he is at the bottom. "Spread out!" he yells urgently as he nears the group. "Rockslide!"
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Awed at the transformation Helegrhofel turns aways moving a little behind the dwarf as he inspects the surroundings for movements for lo! a great boulder comes down with force, "Beware! Move away the boulder!", he cries to those under that rock as soon as possible and quickly picks up an arrow, "This is surely not a coincidence mellyn", he speak to Randinen and Runir, "Sir, were should we take positions?", he asks the Hirvaethor then.
[Great_Bear(#22365)] The bear charges up the hill, hoping to avoid the rockslide--but a particularly big rock strikes at his feet, wiping them out from under him, and sending a ton of bear flesh crashing down the hill, straight toward the gathered group.
[Grikhash(#17562)] "Weakling maggots! Skai!" Shouts Mu'Zah's female second in command as her gang of goblins seem slighter of form than the other team. Eventually another great boulder is freed from the body of the mountainside to tumble ... tumble ... tumble ... down the slope towards any who linger at the foot.
Grikhash's blood pounds in her ears at the thrill of watching the rock roll and knowing that it could crush one or more to a bloody, but tasty, paste that can be scooped up after to fill hungry goblin bellies. This excitement leads to another yanking free of her scimitar which she then uses to point below as she yowls: "Do well, maggots and we eat well.. fail and I eat you!" She crows over her 'wit' and then gallops down the slippery slope to whoever might be waiting there - this is the signal for the pack to follow...
[Kiranath(#14878)] One that stood at the ready on the top of the hill now begins to move, spear raised as if to throw. He begins loping down the hill, he being Karanath, and cries madly and gleefully at the carnage of the bear as it is hit and flesh rips from its body.
Alisoun curses as she falls across more stones, bashing her already scratched face and hands still further. Her axe, by some miracle, remains in her hands, and she pulls herself to a crouching stance, looking up as more rocks come tumbling. She leaps for safety again...but too late, it would seem, as one of the boulders from above crashes into her side, knocking her down and rolling down the hill.
[Feral(#23381)]
In a trice, all thoughts of the toll are forgotten for Feral it seems, for he spies the boulders, and the threat they pose. Charging forth in an effort to make sure all are out of harm's way, it is this charity that causes his downfall. He stumbles upon loose shale, and slips to the ground, just as a mighty boulder comes hurtling down towards him. He can little, try as he might, to move in time...
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Rocks and boulders come crashing down into the company and bounce like deadly balls... One of them striking an elven pack horse nearer the elven encampment and bouncing crazily away... The other horses tear loose of their stays and run madly into the hills, toward the plains and the elven artisans, peaceful in the camp, pour out of their tents and scatter
Gondramind sees the panic and mutters "Blast,” and in the confusion runs toward the camp. "Don't scatter! Don't scatter!" he shouts in a commanding voice. "You want to be picked off one by one by yrch?"
Brynjolf turns around, with wide eyes. He is headed straight toward Feral, at an angle, and is unable to stop runNing...He crashes toward Feral, the boulder skittering along behind him. Tripping over a prticularly malignant bush, he falls into a dive toward the Skald. A high keeNing noise is escaping from his mouth.
[Great_Bear(#22365)] This bear, though, is one tough cookie: Orc arrows generally bounce off its sides, doing no harm, and though the bear continues tumblign downhill, the rocks don't pierce its flesh. Still, a ton of bear weight rolling downhill is not something to be ignored, especially since the bear now heads directly toward Gondramind.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
With a measured pace, Thorvald races up the face of the hill among the sundry others of his folk, his path so far unhindered by the thunderous charge of boulders from atop the crest. In short order he mounts the earthen shoulder, Ninbly dodging a motley blizzard of pebbles upon which he might slip, and they larger stone they heralded. Panic flashes across his azure eyes and he plants his rear leg in a cleft between two stones, kneeling upon one knee with arms outspread to break Alisoun's tumble.
[Randinen(#10961)]
All efforts to organize in a neat line of long-range defense are foiled by the rather nasty tactic played by the orcs. And despite the Hirdan's urge not to scatter... not many Tirith or Artisans are looking forward to collide with a boulder, and thus all seek a haven from the assault for the time being...
Suffering the same fate as the disarrayed elven archers, the scouts ahead find themselves even more isolated... Some are open for attack, seperated from their brethren.
[Runir]
"Watch out, lad!", Runir cries, as he rushes to the prone form of the BeorNing. The dwarf makes an effort, and throws himself, trying to take the BeorNing out of harm's way. He partially succeeeds, as he hits the BeorNing with a shoulder and moves, both rolling out of the rock's course. They both roll, a tangle of limbs and beard, and hair, until they stop. The huge rock had grazed Runir's armor, but as they stop he hears a loud thud, coming from the direction where the BeorNing lies...
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Like an ancient parlour-game on a giant scale, the falling stones hit other stones, which begins the process again. Plinko-like, rockrain falls hard on the beings of light, and perhaps the best defense is simply to hide at this moment. But for those who come from above...there is less danger from stone, and a great hunger. Mu'Zah charges down the hill, feet carrying him leap upon leap on the still-sliding pebble carpeting, mace swinging in his arm. "Aieeee!", shouts he, voice howling and cackling like a jackal.
[Karin(#30777)] From afar comes another, a strong woman of Northern brood, longbow in hand, quiver settled upon her back. To the great cause of the noise resounding through the area she charges, and observing the calamity at hand, cringes. Her cold grey eyes swing from boulder to man to elf to goblin, and she dashes toward the small pileup beneath the roll of the oncoming boulder. "Up, you louts! You'll be crushed!" Halting short of her objective as a dwarf, of all creatures, comes rolling towards her, her eyes widen. So does Karin enter.
[Duinlas(#27187)]
Amid the chaos and cacophony of falling and splintering rocks Duinlas Ninbly avoids the troubles, eyes watching the mountain and pointing toward the more fluid form of the Great Bear falling toward the Hirdan. He cries out a warNing, loud and firm above the noise, the singers traiNing being useful after all.
Brynjolf smashes into the dwarf and the Skald, sending them further out of harm's way and mildly crushing them, two hundred pounds of BeorNing merchant. He gets up quickly, wincing at a pain in his ankle. "Climb a hill!" he shouts; "They can't roll rocks /up/ a hill!"
[Feral(#23381)]
Feral still tries to gain his feet, but the loose rock is treacherous, and he stumbles more as Runir barrels him to safety. As it happens, his head still finds sharp rock nevertheless, and he slumps to the ground unconscious. But at least he is still alive.
[Randinen(#10961)]
Ere Randinen has fully realized what transpires, confusement erupts all around. Making certain not to stand in the path of any of the approaching large rocks, the Hirvaethor makes his way to the Hirdan as swift as he may... and then his voice is added to that of Gondramind, bellowing orders, "Cunyr! Fall back and to the northern end, clear the path through the center! Into line!"
Alisoun tumbles into Thorvald, but his stance manages to keep her from knocking him down with her. Still, the BeorNing lass is muscular and dense, and she proves a bit of a trick to handle. She shakes her head in surprise, wincing at the pain now in her back but paying it no mind. Looking up to Thorvald's face, she grits her teeth and gives a nod of thanks as she staggers to her feet and begins to sprint upward and to the right once more, blood flowing freely from her brow.
[Brongil(#16924)] Being perhaps the closest of the men to the charging enemy, Brongil is spied after his fall down the slope to the south of the trail. Two of them break from the main body of Orcs and Ninbly leap and hop down towards him, even as he starts to slowy regain his composure and collect himself after the painful tumble down the hill.
Brynjolf looks down, and grabs Feral by the cloak. "Grab his legs!" he shouts wildly at the dwarf, and waving at a hill, close by to the east. Perhap's he's deranged.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
All his attention turned toward the elven artisans, Gondramind just sees a tumbling mass of fur and weight rolling towards him and hears Duinlas' call and leaps out of the way, but not soon enough and smaller rocks catch him and all he can do is roll aside and hope to avoid a crushing by the Great Bear, and now he tumbles with him and feels his left arm taken in a blow that knocks him full sideways, knocking the wind from him...
Karin takes the command instead, grabbing the unconscious man's legs. "Lead on!" she shouts about the din.
Brynjolf nods, heading towards the hill. It isn't tall, and it isn't very big, but it's steep enough to stop the stones. He is jogging with a slight limp, and wincing every time he steps on his left ankle. He is also cursing in Eothrik, quite colorfully, in fact.
Gailluin too dodges the falling boulders, making her way down the mountain. She follows Duinlas, rushing towards Gondramind and crying out as he begins to tumble down the mountain. Her sword is clutched in her hand, unsheathed, though there is no enemy she can strike, and she whirls about confusedly in the chaos caused by the falling rocks.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] The goblin host falls upon the rock-dashed parties, a skein of misery come to bind and eat their quarry. Mu'Zah charges still, and his reeking crew, divided now in twain over a hogback-feature in the hillside, streams down the north-most gully. Two hundred yards, at most, and they will be upon the assorted would-be-victims. Their blades sing in the air.
[Grikhash(#17562)] The she-orc's unhealthy yellow eyes seem to swell as she scrabbles around the pile up of rocks, pebbles, and the odd boulder that has amassed as a result of the landslide that she, and the rest of the evil brood, had spurred into being. Chaos and panic are a goblin's friend - like jacals thet use it to find the weak and then slaughter them to their own advantage. At the bottom of the slope there is now but a short way between hereself and the havoc - which to choose, which to choose.. perhaps 'dinner' will choose her as the little light from above gleams on a blade slickened with blood still.
"Well Maggots!" Grikash shouts to those who pour down behind and around her like an oil slick on the land.
[Runir]
The dwarf shakes his head once, and then Ninbly stands up, raising his battle. "Take him to safety!", he roars, as he knows that an attack would surely follow this trick made by the orcs. Runir shakes his head once more to clear his vision, a bit dizzy after tumbling with the BeorNing. H then looks upward, and there they come, charging like wild aNinals. The dwarf then rushes to the elven archers, as they would be likely targets if the orcs get near them. However, the dwarf might not be there on time, as he has grown spearated from the elves. Still, he dashes madly, battle axe held ready.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Getting the answer from his Hirvaethor, Helegrhofel decides to try and assemble some of the nearby Cunir to the northern spot as ordered. With difficulty he tries to escape the last of the rocks falling; one does even fall on his leg, thus rendering him much slower when he eventually stands up. With an injured leg he finally moves himself among those that had gathered and puts his longbow forth, nocking an arrow. At least, his injury does not hinder him much and his keen eyes search for a valid target on the mounts. 'Twang', sings Lossglir and the arrow leaves falling among the rushing goblins. Another arrow is notched and waits to leave the string.
[<#22365>] The great ball of bear smashes into Gondramind, but not fully. Instead, the bear continues, its course altered slightly, so that it flies into the encampment of tents--bowling right through them and crushign them like twigs. This, finally, seems to stop the bear's downhill route as it stands, giving a massive shake of its head. "" it roars out, hardly stopping as it lowers its eyes set on teh apparent goblin leader Mu'Zah.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
A flash of star-lit steel and Axtmorder is loosed from Thorvald's side, trusty servant of his father and veteran of many battles with the foul kindred to the elves. Alisoun goes wholly ignored, but he follows in her wake with startling speed, breaking through the tangled patches standing like hedgerows against their advance. Suddenly he enters into the midst of the press of orcs brandishing their sullied blades; surprised, he wheels the mighty weapon about his head in a great whirl to creat a barrier of intimidation about him. "Orcs!" he bellows in the common tong, a rallying cry rather than confirmation of what has long been known.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
The red haired commander of the elven scout squad now shout out his own orders. "Ethiriath! Longswords! Into line! Squad formation, western flank!" And the elven swordsmen stand shoulder to shoulder facing the west and the mountain and the coming threat
[Blane(#10740)] Stopping his advance to look down over his fallen comrades, Blane bites his lip as he looks over Feral. His eyes drifting over Alisoun and Brynjolf he notes that they are all alive with a sigh before turNing and runNing back up the hill, his axe at his side, his eyes apparently set on Grikash he moves towards the she-uruk.
[Brynjolf(#26334)] Reaching the top of the hill, Brynjolf sets the sleeping Skald down, and nocks his miraculously intact bow. He draws it, and looks for a target among the Orcs, far enough removed from his allies that he doesn't risk hitting one.
Duinlas moves to follow Randinen, but diverts as he sees Gondramind is struck, he runs toward him, spear held safely into the air, "Hirdan, you too must go, everyone is moving." He turns to look at the squad as it forms up, catching a breath in it as he sings under his breath, words lost to all but himself.
[Ailiell(#31678)]
In the black chaos of thundering rock and shouts, Ailiell heeds one voice which speaks sense. The elleth narrowly misses the onrushing of a panicked horse, ducking aside him as dusty battering of shale rains down. The nearest hill is her aim, and she rushes towards it, the fall of Gondramind lost to her sight. "Come, artisans!" she calls clearly, in an attempt to corral those still wandering. "Come ... up!"
Alisoun's fight today is not at all unlike her most recent tangle with orcs back in Mirkwood -- with elves and dwarves and at least one outlander Man fighting alongside. But she is stronger and tougher now, sprinting with surprising delicacy up the sliding rocks to one of the charging orcs. She grins with manic violence and swings her axe.
[<#9974>] Hearing Ailiell's call over the confusing din, Gailluin begins to make her way up the hill towards the source of the voice. Her light feet carry her easily to the Arnethril. "" she asks, panic escaping into her voice though her expression is neutral.
[Karin(#30777)] As they reach their destination, Karin drops Feral and runs around to his head, dragging him along the ground to beneath a small cluster of bushes - out of sight of the filthy orcs. "Take cover and pick them off!" she calls to Brynjolf, runNing across the ground some distance away, finding herself a hiding place behind a large boulder. "Make sure they don't see you, and guard the Skald!" With that, her longbow is in hand, arrow strung, eyes darting about, searching for a target.
[Brynjolf(#26334)] The longbow's string sings, as Brynjolf let's loose his arrow into the main body of the orcs, face set in a cold frown. He nocks another arrow, and glances at the Skald worriedly. If they should gain the hill, he has only a dagger, and wouldn't get far dragging a dazed old BeorNing.
[Randinen(#10961)]
Orders issued, discipline dawns upon the startled elven minds. The Tirith seem to recall their talents as more archers assemble upon the highest point of the hill, whereupon their encampment is placed. Still, movement is slow... and the goblins draw close. Also, still several scouts finds themselves caught between the charging goblins, and the remainder of the rock slide... safety is far from reach.
"Heed the Artisans!" bellows Randinen as he copies the dwarf, runNing towards his squad of archers, "Bend your arrows to their defence." he adds grimly, abandoNing his own longbow to scoop up a staff instead.
[Brongil(#16924)] Without thinking, Brongil sidesteps the first swing of the Orc's blade, and tries to scramble over the slippery rocks towards the rest of the scattering party. Before he can, the second Orc cuts him off, and slices the Ranger in the thigh with his black blade. "Foul beast," Brongil hisses, parrying the blade away too late while he wipes the stinging sand and airborne debris out of his eyes. Fortunately, the pain in his leg brings him back around fully and allows him to kick out with his good leg to steady himself and make himself better prepared to receive the next blows from his enemy.
Grikhash's scimitar comes up just in time to stop an axe, that belonging to Alisoun, from taking a large (and rather damaging) chunk out of her right shoulder. Instead of blood and flesh flying it is sparks from the meeting of the two weapons but the goblin offers a foul breathed grin and spits a gobbit of ichor-stained spittle at the woman's face.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind stands, winded, and stares at the path of damage caused by the Great Bear, the crushed tents and supply mound and all he can do is hope no elf was injured for he has little time to do else. He turns his attention again toward the mountain. "Go?" He says to Duinlas, a look in his eye unlike any the singer has ever seen. "You go." And with that, nursing his left arm, then takes his place in the line of Ethiriath, that stand in perfect coordination with the elven Archers. Sword drawn to stand in defence. Randinen's words ring clear. He raises his sword and waits....
Brynjolf drops down, half-hidden by a boulder, and picks out another target; Grikhash. He draws his bowstring and fires, wincing as the bowstring takes off the skin in his arm. He curses, but doesn't stop to get the arm brace out of his pack.
Alisoun laughs despite herself when the gob of spit hits her cheek, swinging once more at the goblin's legs. "Another she-goblin? I beat hell out of the *last* one of you I met, you foul spider-spawn..."
Runir's mad dash ends almost too soon, as he trips on some loose gravel left in the huge boulder's wake. The dwarf goes tumbling, and he can hear now the very earth groaNing under the orc's feet. He gets up again, shakes his head once to clear it, and now moves towards the elven formation of swordmen with a more cautious step.
[Karin(#30777)] Tzang! An arrow flies towards the oncoming rush of goblin filth, targeting the one sparring with Alisoun. Perhaps the longbow of the guide would prove her well today, the woman thought, her keen eyes following the arrow to its destination.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
"Runir!" Gonrdamind calls to the stumbling dwarf. "Get behind the line. Or join my friend."
[Duinlas(#27187)]
Duinlas watches his friend leave and head toward the rows of swordsmen. He looks toward the forest to the scouts still scrambling and snorts to himself, a glance back up the hill where Ailiell leads the retreating Artisans. He grips his spear and moves toward the archers, watching the scouts for any sign of Dairwenraiel, not willing to go while she is still here. But, also, very careful to not position him in the Hirdan's sight, lest he be ordered off again.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Following Randinen's command, the Cunir turn their bows to the aid of the Artisan ruNing to safety, if such exists in this place. Many other shafts fly, not coordinated; and their aim are orcs that have already reached too close. "May Sulimo guide our arrows!", he cries and lets loose his bowstring once again.
Duinlas takes a place at the opposite end of the line of elves, far enough from Gondramind to not be noticed.
[Loke(#28583)]
"OHOHOHOOOOO!"
With a thundering roar that shakes the mountains themselves, or perhaps merely tickles them until they chuckle, a huge troll appears from around the western part of the trail. His approach seems to have been masked by the din of battle, for surely no-one could have failed to spot, hear, or especially smell him. "Who's making all that rumpus?!" he bellows. "Ye'll wake up the stinkin Mountain Giants yer will! Bah!!" Loke, Shaman of the Shaws and a most fungal variety of olog, has made his presence known. Aren't you all lucky...
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Onward presses Mu'Zah, and behind him the followers fan-out as the bottom of the shallow gulley-formation is reached. The orc-leaders path carries him down, through the scattered defense of the assorted party, and into the bear-shattered tents. Two more orcs follow him...there noses twitching, hoping to scent spattered brains. Though towards the maw of the great bear he has come, the orc seems uncommonly brave or stupid. Possibly both, and uncommonly vicious to boot.
Grikhash yowls, like a wounded cur, as something -an arrow- hisses past her with ferocity and takes a groove out of her upper right arm, her weapon's arm, and leaves a seeping cut that coats her rags swiftly enough. Her free hand comes up and wipes away some of the warm blood so that she can smear it across her scarred countenance. "Skai! she-dog.. think your liver'd be good.." The orc's tongue flicks over her lips as she steps back and avoids catching more than a nick across her legs. More arrow fly over head, a deadly rain, but for now she (unlike others goblins) is not pinned.
[Ailiell(#31678)]
A steady glance is given Gailluin as she draws near, and Ailiell greets her evenly. "Stay here, stay low -- defend whoever takes refuge here." The elleth turns in a small circle then, narrowed eyes scanNing the melee. "Come, woun--!" she begins to cry, though the word falters into silence as the mountain which is Loke asserts himself.
[Jommelech(#15932)] An unarmored, evil figure comes charging into battle, spear raised. Naked is his upper torso, and it is covered with scars. Thundering curses in the foul Orcish tongue, Jommelech charges straight into the fray, headed for the first light-lover he can find.
Brynjolf smiles fiercely at Grikhash. He bends his bow again, but this time fires on Loke, who he regards with some alarm and a great deal of anger. His wide knowledge of Eothric curses becomes apparent as he watches his arrow speed wide away from the troll.
[Blane(#10740)] Looking around for an unengaged orc, Blanes eyes rest on Jommelech and he moves towards the uruk. "Hi." he says with a smile, swinging his axe towards the uruks bare chest, his shield ready to parry a blow.
[Randinen(#10961)]
One flank well protected by the lined up Etheriath, the elven archers need not fear the impact of the main charge. Although in the fray, some goblins might have slipped through the slowly forming lines. Upon one of these unprotected flanks Randinen settles himself, surveying quickly the fray. But then he freezes, thunderstruck by the appearance of the troll. Yet then the command is given, bows turned to the thickest wave of goblins. A fell light in his eyes, Randinen shouts the attack.
A lovely chorus of thwangs welcomes the troll to the battlefield, as the first volley descends blessed by the keen eye of the Firstborn. Nonetheless, below more victims fall, scattered Scouts, overcome by raging goblins.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind's eyes widen... as the mountain itself moves and then one word, one word only, escapes from his mouth. "Olog!" He shouts but the announcement is redunant as all can see who and what it is that awakes and approaches.
[Gailluin(#9974)] Nodding at the healer's words, Gailluin turns, her shiNing blade held at the ready. She too spots the monstrous troll and a grim look overtakes her countenance as her grip tightens about the handle of her sword. Her feet do not move, though, and she tears her eyes from the olog to scan the area nearby for would-be attackers.
[Great_Bear(#22365)] This leader of orcs--the one audacious enough to march right through the elven tents--it draws the bear's ire, not a good thing. With a roar of fury, the bear increases its charges, now mowing down orcs straggling along the side of the oncoming group of goblins, tossing orc bodies into the air and mowing them down like blades of grass. Straight through the orc group the bear charges, intent on Mu'Zah.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
Like a stalwart bastion of stone in the midist of a black wave, Thorvald continues to wheel his axe in great whorls hinged upon the shoulders, pivoting at the waist, his ivory skin alight in the silver moonshine like that of a courtesan dancing beside a fire. As Jommelech charges past, the Blacksmith levels a fearsome strike at the beast's exposed kidney.
Runir's eyes widen as what a ppears to be a part of the Mountain comes forth... a troll! His eyes widen, and his powerful arms grip the haft of his battle axe. Still, he moves towards the assembled sowrdmen, his eyes intent on the oncoming orcs.
[Alisoun(#30395)] A whoosh of air rushes past Alisoun's ear, striking as an arrow into the flesh of the goblin before her. She whoops in pleasure as her own blow manages to connect and follows it with a kick to the orc's knee, hoping to knock it down. "Last one didn't get a chance, and nor will you," she growls.
[Loke(#28583)]
Huge eyes of bemused malice sweep the scene, and the troll erupts into tantrum as no-one seems to answer his perfectly reasonable question. This blossoms into absolute rage as Brynjolf's arrow races out of the night and stings him in his buttocks. "Oi! Who did that?" shouts he, and he reaches down to grasp hold of an orc by the scruff of his throat. "Tell me!" he roars into the uruk's face, until the poor creature passes out from the force of Loke's breath. In disgust, the ogre turns, and hurls the worthless body aside, unfortunately in the direction of Randinen and some of the elven rabble.
Brynjolf grins broadly, and knocks another arrow, firing on the Olog once more. He is hoping for the eye, but aiming, as before, for the chest. He stands only to fire, and then ducks down again, hurriedly checking Feral's pulse.
Duinlas holds his place in the line, as the flood of orcs meet the blades of many firstborn, yet as the fighting breaks out, he finds himself unengaged, strangely enough. His eyes watching the Troll as it so easily brushes aside one of the orcs. He feels a knot rise in his throat as he looks toward the still retreating elves.
[Karin(#30777)] With a groan, the gaze of the high pass guide come to rest upon the entering troll. Deciding to leave that particular foe to the Bear, Karin swiftly notches another arrow, freeing it to the aid of the Captain (or so she hoped).
[Zugzug(#30867)] Shoving his way through a crowd of Orcs, Zugzug surfaces with his war hammer at hand. There is a spot of blood on the jagged end of the hammer, probably from an unlucky Human or Elf. The Orc raises the hammer high in one hand and looks at the sky, screaming out a horrific war cry. He recovers from his rage, and looks for an unsuspecting humanoid to charge.
[Jommelech(#15932)] "Skai.." Another guttural curse vomits forth from Jommelech as the axe comes his way. Dodging it by a hair, he growls and leaps at Blane, spear thrusting directly at him.
[Brongil(#16924)] Brongil lashes out at the smaller Orc, cutting him just under the chin. The blood that sprays out mixes with the dust in the air and instantly clots the eyes of the Ranger, making him stumble backwards. Seizing the moment, the second, much larger Uruk, leaps forward on Brongil with his scimitar held high. Sensing his imminent death, Brongil ducks just enough to miss the blade making contact hard with the body of the gray-green skinned creature. The pair of them fight for several seconds, pulling this way, kneeing, clawing each other until they get too close to the edge and disappear down into the darkness at the bottom of the ridge. A moment later, there is nothing but quiet from that corner of the battlefield.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
And the line of orcs that survived the onslaughts of the elven archers, boils now into the line of elven swordsmen... and the clash is like the meeting of great waves at a breakwater, crashing and rising in a glint of shiNing metal. Gondramind holds his sword in the ready... waits and slashes downward at the first neck within reach...
[Blane(#10740)] His axe passing over Jommelechs head, Blane curses and steps back quickly, the spear striking his chest but not as powerfully as it might have done. Wincing he stumbles slightly and swings his axe back at the uruks temple.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Muz'ah is digging in a crushed tent, pushing things about, looking hopefully for some magic bauble, some weapon, a body, something. He turns to see the the great ursine mountain charging him, roaring jaws big enough to nearly swallow his body -not his limbs- whole. He is standing at the end of a trio of fallen tent-poles, stout lengths of ash. The nether ends of the poles stick slightly up into the air, their middles levered upon a rounded but high stone. *POING!* Mu'Zah's form is catapultred in the air! He sees the ground from above, but it all seems quite hairy....onto the back of the great bear he falls, turned towards its hinquarters. He swipes his (small) mace at the creatures backside!
[Grikhash(#17562)] "Ggrghh!" Comes a growl of pain and annoyance from Grikhash's spittle covered lips as wounded mildly in more than one place she staggers back a pace only to catch the heel of her iron-shod boot on one of the rocks that, ironically, now works to her disadvantage. The goblin topples to one knee but even this she puts to her own advantage; The rusted scimitar slices vertically up as if to slice Alisoun into two halves.
One of the orcs, a proponent of suicide tactics, hurtles towards the cunyr of Imladris, caring not about the constant hail of darts and singing bow strings. How many arrows can one orc take and still live?
[Thorvald(#23510)]
Like a stalwart bastion of stone in the midist of a black wave, Thorvald continues to wheel his axe in great whorls hinged upon the shoulders, pivoting at the waist, his ivory skin alight in the silver moonshine like that of a courtesan dancing beside a fire. As Zugzug charges past, the Blacksmith levels a fearsome strike at the beast's exposed kidney.
Brynjolf turns from the skald, and nocks another arrow. As he can see no visible changei n the troll, he assumes he missed. Or maybe arrows don't matter to trolls. With a shiver, Brynjolf bends his bow once more, aiming at a troll. He is gratified, this time, to see the troll go down; he hit it, but from the way it is twitching, he didn't hit it mortally.
[Jommelech(#15932)] Lucky is the foul spawn of Morgoth called Jommelech, but not too lucky. Jumping exactly in the wrong direction, the blunt opposite side of Blane's axe makes contact with the side of his head. Stumbling back, it plunges Jommelech into a kind of inhuman rage, a state of subconscious ferocity that knows little but the taste of death. Jomakh thrusts the butt of his spear at the human's nouth, hoping that he will choke on his won teeth.
Runir finally makes it, as elves and orcs crash against each other. Rising his battle axe high, its clean edge glinting coldly, he makes an overhead chop to the nearest orc. "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!". The ancient cry of the dwarves rends the air, carrying the dwarf's voice above the sounds of orcs and elves fighting. The battle axe whistles as it approaches the orc...
Alisoun leaps backward as best she can after Grikhash swings at her, but this is tricky to do after you've just kicked someone, and the scimitar's blade crosses her leg. She manages to keep the limb, but the cut is deep and painful, eliciting a high howl of pain and rage from the girl. She swings again, now aiming for the orc's sword-arm.
[Loke(#28583)]
Brynjolf's second arrow is not so straight in its flight, and whizzes over the head of Loke, even as the beast spins around in apparent confusion. Enough is enough, judging by the fungal olog's expression, and so the Shaman-troll reaches for his axe. Drawing it forth, his hate-filled eyes hide behind its cruel blade as he peers about.
One eye closed, it is unclear what on Middle Earth he is doing, but it seems someone has taught him the presmise of archery, only he failed to realise he has no bow. Loke growls, and chooses a target. "C'mere you!" he bellows to Helegrhofel, "Chopper wants yer!" Head lowered, the troll charges, a rumble of the earth that pounds and pounds as he rushes towards the elf.
Duinlas catches the blade of an orc across his hand as he parries a blow from one of the wretches. Wincing he drives his spear into the beast, sending him sprawling backwards. But Duinlas does not pursue, instead he sees the remaiNing scouts are no where to be seen, and he makes his way back up toward Ailiell. The burNing pain of his hand forgotten as his gaze looks for the scouts, and where they must be.
[Randinen(#10961)]
Ere a second volley of arrows can be prepared, one of the Cunyr spies the peculiar object hurled at the squad by the Troll. In alarm the line of archers scatters anew... although the projectile soars right into one of the less fortunate elven warriors.
Struggling back to his feet Randinen scowls, "Dispatch the foul one... back in line, leave more distance. Front group, fix your aim upon the troll's eyes!" a short struggle follows, a band of elves seeking to overcome a single dazed orc... almost reluctantly more arrows are fired... till the Troll decides to charge head on.
[Zugzug(#30867)] The attack that was aimed for his kidney's strikes Zugzug in his upper chest, and the axe cuts through the armor without much trouble, leaving a small gash on the Orc's chest. With a loud grunt of displeasure and surprise, the Uruk reaches down for a fallen comrades metal shield and engages in combat with Thorvald. With his shield in front of his chest, he winds up the war hammer and swings the sharpened end at Thorvald's chest.
[Thyrdwulf(#32205)] And now it begins..The hero raises his axe to the air- and in deeper reverance praised by one and all it shines in the sunlight- grotesques its target be...Thyrdwulf draws back his hood to reveal a saintly wondrous face with a look on it to send shivers down the ankle's of orcs- or attempts to have a look akin to that. He walks forward impervious to any fear- slowly and enticingly
[Great_Bear(#22365)] Startled, the great bear leaps into the air when the orc lands on its back, and then starts bucking about, like a a wild horse with a rider on its back for the first time. The orc blade misses the bear--it is moving and jumping and bucking about so hard that the blade hardly has a chance to meet anythign but air. Wild, enraged and roaring, the bear then charges full speed into the pack of orcs, Mu'Zah still on its back, the bear weaving and ducking and bucking furiously, all the while crushing orcs under its feet. Faster and fasterthe bear runs, gathering speed, moving impossibly fast for a creature its size, carrying the orc rider downhill...and then...WHAM! The bear stops suddenly in its tracks--perhaps in the hopes that it will launch the unwanted rider skyward.
[Blane(#10740)] "Ach!" Blane yells as the spear moves towards his face, there is a dull 'thunk' as he manages to raise his metal shield in tiem to deflect the blow. "Good thing you aren't as strong as you are ugly." he growls, swinging his axe in an arc across the orcs gut.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
A flurry of BoerNing steel parries Zugzug's blade, whistling shrill in a silver wind around his shoulders with the potent force of momentum. Jeering a great warcry in the guttural speech of his people, Thorvald hurls another strike at the Uruk's shield, certain that he will block it; and that he will feel the blow nonetheless.
[Brynjolf(#26334)] Cursing at the troll, Brynjolf fires at it again, though he realises he can have no great effect from this distance. He really does know a lot of curse words, for he doesn't seem to be repeating himself yet, as he shouts oath at trolls, orcs, enemies, and the occasional unprovoking stone.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] The Elven archers quickly shoot what goblins may have escaped from the swordsmen wall but then a loud roar is heard for Loke has arrived. Helegrhofel quickly eyes the large figure but then sees the orc rushing towards them and fires his nocked arrow at that goblin, his eyes shiNing fiercely. Another arrow flies towards him by another Cunir, while other shafts continue to speed towards several targets. "Do not let them reach us!", he cries to those around him as he picks another arrow from his quiver.
His blood is frozen as he hears the voice of the troll near him. He turns to realize that he speaks to himself actually and slowly, heeding the commands of Hirvaethor Randinen moves a bit backwards to gain some time, his eyes and bow locked on the massive figure. As he stop he aims for the face of the troll, cautiously, slowly, with strength. 'Whizzz', the arrow flies towards the troll and Helegrhofel prays.
[Grikhash(#17562)] The suicidal orc's arrow count now stands at ten and its chest is a mass of blood and feathered shafts yet still it runs, as though some strange power propells the body that should not move. Mere paces, three at most, the creature trully dies and stumbles at the foremost elven archers - the dead weight splattering the blood liberally.
The female-orc, second in command of this crew, fares little better than the pincushion by the archers. Alisoun's axe is heavy, the blade powerfull, and despite Grikhash's best efforts she does not avoid the blow. The orc gapes in horror as her twitching sword arm, hand still clutching the scimitar, lies on the floor some feet away. The ragged stump is now a fount of blood that, of not stopped, will soon lead to this minion of evil's death.
[Ailiell(#31678)]
Atop their small hillock, Ailiell silently and swiftly strings her bow, but sets it aside in the brittle weeds. A glance rises towards Gailluin, mutely speaking reassurance, as more stragglers ascend in varying states of disability. "Lie low," she murmurs in as steady a tone as she can manage. "Or stand, if you have anything like a weapon..." She stares wide-eyed out towards the archers then, almost absently binding a freely bleeding wound.
[Loke(#28583)]
Randinen's arrow comes not a moment too late, for Loke had his axe raised to hew Helegrhofel limb from limb. Striking into his earlobe, the troll is left with a sharp decoration to add to his woodland appearence. Flicking it idly with a curious finger, suddenly the pain of such a sensitive blow enrages him anew, and he turns with a sweeping arc to strike out at the archer. Chopper flies murderously towards Randinen's neck.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Mu'zah. Ride 'em, bearorc! With two fists full of coarse hair, and heels digging for every ounce of their worth, the bladed mace of the orc flies out from sight. His head careens wildly about on his shoulders, and as he struggles to stay aboard, he begins to howl with wild and terrified laughter. "Ho-ha-ho hh-ii--aiieeee!", cries he, flailing more wildly than even the Queen Goblin on blood-cocktail night. "Uh-ah-uh-ha-uh-ha!", he hiccups, as the lurch of the bear sends him forward...crashing rolling until he comes to a halt...before the great claws themselves!
Alisoun sees the spurting stump of the orc's once-arm and looks surprised almost pitying for a flicker of a second. Gritting her teeth in malice, however, she uses the axe's momentum to swing around for Grikhash's neck, praying to end this melee quickly.
Zugzug's metal shield is dented as he raises it to reflect Thorvald's axe. He blocks the attack, but is shaken by the force of it. Zugzug curses at the metal shield in a slur of Orcish words, and tosses it to the ground. He backs up a few steps and then charges back towards Thorvald, gripping the leather hilt of the war hammer with both hands and swinging with two times the power at the back of the Human's knee's, hoping to topple him.
Brynjolf stops shooting at the troll at this point, instead adding another redundant arrow to the twitching body of the suicidal orc. He was aiming for an orc ten feet away, but he doesn't let on.
[Karin(#30777)] Who knew rocks could curse? To the unknowing observer, such would certainly be the case. Until, of course, a slender form wielding a mighty longbow pops up from behind, arrow nocked and ready to be fired. Deadly anger smolders behind those cold eyes of silver hue, and with a final check as to aim and distance, the feathered stick whirls through the air, propelled by the strong force of the arms of Karin. To the prey of Thorvald does her next arrow fly.
[Loke(#28583)]
"Gah!" complains Loke, and he now returns his angry stare to Helegrhofel. "You measly stinkin filthy little !" he shouts. "C'mere, and let Loke crush yer 'ead!" He reaches forwards with his axe in a downwards slice towards the elf's chest.
[Jommelech(#15932)] "Shut up, human turd!" Jommelech spits, eyes afire with rage. A -crack- is heard as Jommelech's spear breaks in half. Smiling wickedly at Blane, he picks up a rather ineffective item at first glance: a wooden stick. Smiling stupidly, Jommelech brings the stick down on the human's head.
[Great_Bear(#22365)] One swipe of the great claws is all it takes, and the guts of Mu'Zah Bear-Rider spew forth, splattering the ground. The bear doesn't stop there, though. Picking up the mangled orc body, it rears on its hind legs and then flings the orc into the nearest pack of attacking goblins, knocking down half a dozen with one good shot of mangled orc. Another roar of fury, and the bear sets to killing again, racing through the attackign orc packs as if playing in the spring grass. Orc bodies fly everywhere or are crushed beneath the bear's feet, as it steadily mauls the enemy.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gonramind struggles with the fowl spawn of morgoth, dispatching it with a slash to the throat... And then the commander of the Ethiriath orders the near flank of the squad to turn and defend the camp from the troll. And so they do, Gondramind with them. They turn as a unit and approch the troll, surrounding its rear flank and attack its slow moving legs....
[Grikhash(#17562)] The female orc, understandably stunned, simply stands there as her doom whistles towards her throat with frighteNing speed - the axe again strikes trully and the throat is cut first, before the spine that supports the head is also cut. With all nerves severed the orc drops to its knees and falls face down. It is over ... or is it. The head parts company from the torso and rolls down the rest of the slope with a blood-trail going after it.
CRAK! Such is the sound made by the orc's head, as it splits, the heavy battle axe crushing whatever it finds on it's way, be it bone or flesh. The orc's eyes grow dim, and it collapses to the ground, where he twiches once... twice... then lies still, the look of savage fury never leaving its face. Runir grand stroke, though, has left his defense open, which is used by another orc. Its cruel sword makes a gash on the dwarf's arm, which starts to bleed profusely. "Gahhhh", says Runir, and then he grumbles. His mouth clamps, jaws set as if with steel, as he jumps back to recover, and sets his battle axe ready for another strike.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind raises his sword, seeing nothing but foul troll flesh, and strikes at the soft area behind Loke's knee.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
The Blacksmith presses forward, wielding his weapon as a sythe; the great wheel is ceaseless, a shield of raw aggression. Warding the orc's grim cudgel aside yet again with a falcon-like din of steel and iron, Thorvald lowers the grizzly bit of his axe in a similar motion to cleave Zugzug's leading ankle.
[Blane(#10740)] Stepping deftly to one side, Blane manages to save his head from being hit by the stick, but it strikes his shoulder. Causing the captain to wince and stumble to one side, using the momentum as he tumbles he swings his axe towards the orcs elbow.
[Gailluin(#9974)] A wounded edhel stumbles up the slope towards those assembled around the healers, beginNing to fall near Gailluin. The Tannur catches the bleeding Firstborn, guiding him to Ailiell's side before returNing to her erstwhile post.
Alisoun watches as Grikhash's head goes bopping down the hill, then looks back down at her entire front covered in blood and gore, not to mention the same ichor trickling down her face, into her boots, and puddling around her ankles. "Eeugh," she says, half-limping away from the corpse. She rips a piece of cloth from the liNing of her cloak, binding the wound in her leg, and goes limping off to find better quarry.
[Brynjolf(#26334)] Several orcs, having passed the line of archers, are making their hurried way up the hill, hoping to take the Elves and humans from behind with bow fire. An arrow speeds from the top of the hill, taking one in the throat. With a faint gurgling sigh, the orc collapses, but Brynjolf has a problem now; he's out of arrows.
[Thyrdwulf(#32205)] With valour and bravery unrequoted Thyrdwulf charges- his face blaring as he cries..."Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!" in rage, an abrupt and tender war cry that laps upon the eardrums of those who care to listen. Like a trident sialing forth from the arms of a being of old- his fear, if any is masked and unseen....He heads for the troll, swarthing throguh a shocked orcish horde- his axe flailing and bucking in all its great size- and then he comes to the foe, and attempts to make impact!
[Randinen(#10961)]
Was it a wince to mar Randinen's visage? A flash of remembrance perhaps of his last encounter with a troll... but for now it seems luck has not left his side. The murderous swing he dodges, although 'tis but a narrow miss! The Hirvaethor does not tarry and beg for more. His feet take him several pace away from the troll... "Archers, fall back!" he commands, wincing anew as the troll makes another swipe... missing Helegrhofel.
Readying his bow for another attempt at one of the beast's sensitive spots Randinen steps slowly back, abiding his time it seems...
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Of the orc party, still some remain. And among those, there are more clever types than they which sought to strike and parry with their prey. After all, this was supposed to be a surprise attack, and a worthy trick! Meat tenderizing, not a slaughter. A dozen or more have begun a skulking retreat, dragging with them a pair of bodies...but what bodies? The grit and dust of the rockslide still hangs in the calm air...it is difficult to see.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] No reply comes to the words of the troll shaman but instead Helegrhofel leaps quickly before the power of Loke's axe and finds himself somewhat behind his former position, the axe of the troll now hits the ground a dives into the ground. Without losing anymore time, for danger is in front of him, Helegrhofel now pulls another arrow from his quiver. He nocks it and without much preparation shoots towards the eyes of Loke which now he can aim easier, from a shorter distance. The cunir start to disperse away from the beast, yet Helegrhofel cannot still manage to move away from his rage. Thus, he can do nothing else but fight.
Zugzug blocks Thorvald's attack with the wooden handle of his war hammer, shattering it in half. The Orc grunts loudly and throws the halves on to the ground, but finds a longsword off of a human's corpse. With another loud battlecry, he swings the blade horizontally at Thorvald's neck with unsurpassing Orcish strength.
[Loke(#28583)]
A roar. A roar like no other heard since the world was shaped. Pain uNinaginable is in that roar, and anguish unbearable.
For as Gondramind strikes out, his blade meets not with the soft flesh blow the knee, but it does meet with soft flesh. Angered by his miss as he attacked Helegrhofel, Loke had squatted down, hoping to grab the elf, and if one scans up an olog's thigh to where unspeakable...areas are found, one can imagine how the warrior's sword fares against the nether regions. Howling and bellowing in pain, Loke topples, and crashes to the ground, legs and arms flailing everywhere. The axe swings out of control, and could hit anyone.
Alisoun staggers forward in appalling fury as she sees a pair of bodies getting dragged away. It matters not whether they are men or elves or orcs; she would burn them rather than see them eaten. She roars to the orcs in a bellowing bear of a snarl, raising her axe high as blood and gore drip from her clothing and her weapon, "Drop the bodies! Or I'll slay you all!"
Brynjolf steps smoothly over to Ailliell, and removes three arrows from her quiver. "Your pardon, mistress," he says with a nod, and whirls, letting loose an arrow into an orc's throat. The other two gain the hill, and Brynjolf uncertainly nocks another arrow and steps back, taking aim at the one on the left.
[Karin(#30777)] As yet another shot goes awry, Karin swears. Noting another boulder some fifteen feet away, she dashes to her new vantage point, closer to the action - and without anything blocking her view. Surely this should help. Bringing her bow up to sights again, she notches another arrow, and aiming for the large mass of troll flailing about, lets her arrow fly.
[Jommelech(#15932)] The momentum is something frighteNing. The strenght of humans is not to be underestimated. "Urkk..." says Jommelech, crashing to the ground. Of course, not before landing on the tip of his own spear. Blood and gore seem to erupt from the exit wound like a dynamite charge being set off. Jommelech is no more...
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] The last orc in the line turns about to regard Alisoun. He shakes the body with which he is occupied by it's hair...it looks like a smaller body...
"Oh, really??", he questions, saliva strands falling from upper to lower palate. Nine of the other eleven orcs turn about, and in their turns, each makes a flexing of muscle, a swipe of a weapon. One hurls a stone at Alisoun's forehead. "I'd like to see you try, fool!", he curses to she-that-stands-against-many-with-axe.
[Eailing(#20948)] "As eveyr one is fighting Eailing wakes up.After being knoked out.and picks up a small log to defend himself".
[Runir]
The dwarf is not one for finesse, but what he lacks in style he makes up in brawn. His battle axe makes a sidelong arc, headed towards the orc's blade-arm... however, the orc interposes his blade... a bit too late. The axe digs cruelly into the orc's arm, almost dissecting it. The orc, with a mad yell of anger mixed with pain, lops backward. However, the creature's misery is soon over, as an elvish blade stabs it in the stomach. Black blood gushes out of arm and torso now, and the orc topples, while Runir takes another orc head on.
[Brynjolf(#26334)] Atop the hill, one orc flies back, flying off the crest of the hill to land with a loud crack on the ground below. Brynjolf charges at the other orc, who is understandably confused, lunging with . . . An arrow?
[Blane(#10740)] His axe connecting, Blane lets out a satisfied grin. "Ha!" he spits as the orc lays dead on the floor. "Hey.. got blood on my boots." he complains. TurNing his ehad to see Alisouns challenge, he smiles slightly, before runNing over, headed for the uruk Mu'zah.
[Randinen(#10961)]
An chance... a clear shot, there is a strong *thwang* as Randinen releases another arrow, relentless as the troll topples over and starts to squirm in oddly lethal fashion, "Fall back beyond the hill!" he cries out in the Fair Tongue, as elves hastily make sure they are well away from poor Loke while he copes with his agony.
"Gondramind! Rally the scouts... we must force them back..." and Randinen points down the hill, "Gather round the dwarf!"
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Too many things happen at once and Gondramind suddenly finds his blade piercing ... well, a fouler portion of the foul troll than he had ever imagined possible. Grimacing at the stench of ... troll, Gondramind pulls his blade from Lokes nether regions and steps back... The creature writhes on the ground and Gondramind dances away from flailing arms and legs and ducks to avoid getting his head sliced off by the free flying axe... and in so doing narrowly avoids Loke's stone like hand to his face... He jumps away again...
The commander of the Ethiriath squad follow Randinen's command. "Fall back!" He calls. "Ethiriath fall back!" And Gondramind scrambles to join them.
[Alisoun(#30395)] Damn. Someone once, long ago, told Alis that orcs tended to be rather cowardly creatures. She remembers now that this was followed up with "When they're *alone*." Hmm. That seems to be the, er, opposite of the current situation...Nine orcs versus one Alisoun. Oh, well; if she's going to die, it might as well be glorious. She tilts her head to avoid the rock and lunges forward, axe swinging toward the neck of the orc closest to her. "Die, you fools!" she cries.
[Jomslivvi(#15932)] Another group of orcs, albeit a small one, come down from the Morian side. Leading them is JomSlivvi the Sledder, and he is aptly named... Without warNing, Jomslivvi punches a nearby orc in the mouth, knocking it down. He pulls out a long strand of rope, and ties it into the flailing orc's mouth like a bridle. Pushing off, he and the three other Sledders slide down the hill, whooping and yelling as they close with the front lines, fast.
[<#9974>] "" Gailluin calls uncertainly, her eyes on the girl BeorNing. "" The alarm rises in the elleth's voice as she speaks of Alisoun's plight. Her movements become more and more stoic though her breathing grows rapid. "" she calls, runNing towards the lone human.
[Eailing(#20948)] "Eailing Tries to find his Barings and rejoins the main group".
[Brynjolf(#26334)] The orc bats Brynjolf aside, sustaiNing a mild wound to it's arm from the arrow. Apparently, it wasn't confused enough to be killed by a BeorNing with an arrowhead. It advances on him triumphantly, sword upraised.
[Loke(#28583)]
By this point, Loke has managed to get off of his back, and already the strain of concentration to do so is making him pant. He is on all fours, and Fate is far too michievious a puppeteer to let him get away with that. Randinen's arrow flies into his rump, joiNing Brynjolf's dart from before. This coupled with the light gash in his knee from Thyrdwulf's strike are quite a recipie for one angry troll.
Grunting and moaNing as he clambers gracelessly to his feet, Loke whirls about to look upon the BeorNing hero. Pointing a finger at Thyrdwulf, the eyes narrow, and teh Shaman of the Shaws draws forth a bone. A magic bone. A sacred bone. One that instills terror in foes. "Ooooooongaaa bah!" he intones. "Huuuuubla ho! Huuubla hai!" He springs forwrds and strikes out with his axe to the BeorNing's head. "Haaaaai-ya!"
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Other orcs scatter. Another plan of darkness, beautifully executed, then somehow horribly botched. Orc-school in Goblin-Town really should have a summer session. But the small troupe which faces Alisoun, they hold their ground. /They/ have bodies. Bodies! Chunky protein, hunky organic goldmines of savory /something-ness/. The first orc up to meet Alisoun's axe, knowledgeably parrying it with his neck! His head lunges at her nose, biting furiously, even as it is loosed from it's home for good. Orcs three, four, five, they rush at her legs with their clubs, while six through Nine continue to haul off the unidentified bodies. Orc ten looses an arrow at the woman's chest.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Loke has fallen down but the axe of the troll moves powerfully; unlucky is Cunir Helegrhofel, the target of the troll since he appeared. Unfortunately for the elven archer the axe comes upon his already hit leg, crushing him and throwing his body many meters away; his longbow slips from his graps and falls nigh him, in his reach.
Yet, however, Helegrhofel does not make a move to fetch it for he slowly feels the pain of his leg, hit very bad by the troll. He feels it not, neither he can move. "Manwe, sure na mentuva, pilin o Cunir na hortuva!", he cries in his anger against the foul beast. His hand slowly extends and fetches the longbow, yet he does not make any more moves and stays lying on the ground.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
Thorvald does not abandon the unchanging principles of the BeorNing warrior merely for the sake of an expedient death to his opponent; though it would be satisfying. He relies instead upon constancy, roughly turNing aside the Uruk's thrust with his axe, futile, as every one before it. Upon the rebound of his swing, the Blacksmith steps to one side a single pace and heaves a mighty stroke to the side of Zugzug's neck.
[Runir]
The elf swordmen surge, and now many orcs lie dead... more than half of the assailants lie on the ground, and some elves can be seen there too. However, the elves keep their line, fighting valiantly. Runir is about to get again into the fray, when he hears a loud cry above all the ruckus.. he turns his head, and sees the troll! Eyes growing wide, Runir makes his way with all possible stealth, trying to round the troll, to attack from behind. A bit slowly, maybe, but surely, the dwarf moves, eyes trained on the troll, and the figures around it.
[Jomslivvi(#15932)] "Kill them all! To the front lines!" Jomsliivi and his small gang head for the front lines, fast. And indeed they go there. The bodies of the orcs they rode are now shredded beyond comprehension, and almost surely dead. Now they are directly in front of the front lines, in front of all those rows of swordsmen... Screaming out orders, Jomsliivi cries, "We jummp off three, two, one..."
[Brynjolf(#26334)] Brynjolf slowly stands, watching with a sort of shaken delight as his assailant falls, clawing at an elven arrow in his chest. The trader does not stop to thank anyone, however, instead nocking an arrow and firing at one of the orc's near Alisoun.
[Eailing(#20948)] "Eailing joins up with blane nodding to him."
[Gailluin(#9974)] Finally reaching the outnumbered human, Gailluin mumbles under her breath as she lifts her sword, coming from Alisoun's side and bringing her blade whistling through the air in a strike upon an orc's shoulder. "--Vardaaa!" she cries, singing out the last word of her mumbled prayer.
[Thyrdwulf(#32205)] OUCH! Thinks Thyrdwulf as the troll sends him forth like a projectile into a pile of Orcs...he writhes in the balck see for a while- splitting skulls gallantly and snapping spines with his blade. Still in fair health, he coughs abruptly...and his eyes fill with new found rage- reddeNing in anger and curse! "Die! FIEND!" he screams and CHARges like no man has yet to on this battle- his feet plowing through the snow.
[Blane(#10740)] Halting in his tracks as he spots the powerful blow delivered to Thrydwulf, Blane turns and makes his way towards the towering olog. "Hey! dungface!" he yells, waving his axe at the troll, "why don't you pick on someone almost half your size?" he says, walking towards the beast. He is hiding it well but is obviously shaking as he moves.
[Karin(#30777)] Scowling at her bad luck today, Karin notches arrow after arrow, firing quickly into the recent foray of orcs near the front lines. If none of these hit...
[Alisoun(#30395)] "Mother -- gnah!" Alisoun's cry of something rather, well, unprintable, is halted by the biting teeth of the already dead orc. It seems to grin in triumph even in death as it attaches itself to the bridge of her nose. Shaking her head violently in surprise, she knocks the dead head off her face and straight toward the head of one of the charging orcs, startling it. The other two attacking her legs swing well, but Alisoun manages to hop on one foot a good deal to the side as they do so. She cheers in victory, but in her haste, she completely fails to notice the archer-orc -- and takes the arrow straight to the chest.
Brynjolf does not wait to see if his arrow hit, instead firing another toward the orcs, and then turNing away to survey the front lines. He idly fingers a long, shallow gash in his side.
[Ailiell(#31678)]
Ailiell rises rapidly, the pilfering of her quiver going all unnoticed. "Gailluin!" she calls sharply, as the elleth charges towards the foolish woman's side. But she says nothing more, brow bending in a deep frown. She cannot argue with the sentiment, and instead turns, calling clearly for aid to the tannur. Bending, she swipes up her bow, calling for Tirith once again.
[Runir]
A rain of deadly elven arrows welcome the assailing orcs, the arrows striking true. many orcs tumble down, never to get up again, but others keep up their mad dash towards the line of elven swordsmen. Meanwhile, Runir finishes to circle around the troll. The dwarf almost hold his breath, so as to not give away his position, while he cautiously approaches. He then inhales deeply, his strong arms surging with all the strenght they can muster, and his battle axe speed towards the troll's tendons on the back of the powerful knee.
[Loke(#28583)]
Loke spins about as Runir's blow draws dark blood fron his tough skin, and snarls as he aims a slap to the dwarf's stout head. not bothering to see if it connects, he looks to his magic bone and kisses it. "Knew yer wouldnt let me down," he croons. "You and me been through---"
But Thyrdwulf's axe comes flying out of the fray, and cuts into his knee once more. "Oi!" the troll roars, and he faces the would-be hero anew. "Gerrof yer miserable little rotter! Loke is talking to his bone!" And Chopper swings a second time, as if to finish what it started on the BeorNing.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] And in the battle for the unknown bodies...Orcs three and four, they are judges of a moment. Csting a glance from one to the other, they shrug then leap at the backs of Alisoun's thighs, hopping to rip and hamstring her, biting with wild abandon at the strong muscle of her derriere. Orcs five and six, they take different routes. Five leaps high, hoping to lock his thighs about her neck, burying her face in orc-groin and then giving the squeeze. Orc six, he stands off, looking for a good opeNing for his club. The archer orc fumbles with his bow, dropping an arrow and cursing.
[Karin(#30777)] As nearly three quarters of her arrows find their mark, Karin grins maliciously. Targeting her bow next on the large (and rather troubling) troll, she notches, and looses, an arrow.
Gailluin hacks at the yrch that attack Alisoun, her silver blade singing as she brings it down and sideways again and again in an attempt to free the BeorNing woman.
[Blane(#10740)] Watching the dwarf and Thyrdwulf attack the towering olog, Blane jogs forwards a few paces until he is at the ologs side. Gritting his teeth he swings his axe at the trolls ample stomach.
Brynjolf snarls, and fires on the archer orc near Alisoun. He sets aside his bow for a moment, ripping the edge off of his cloak to bind his side. He never once stops cursing.
[Randinen(#10961)]
The elves are indeed /hardpressed/. Their lines shattered by the troll the risk is imminent to loose track of the battle... but then anew Randinen's voice cuts clear through the screaming and cries of war, "Arches, twenty feet before the Artisans up the next hill! Swordsman to the foot! Fall back, NOW!" naturally other elves are still caught in the fray before them... 'tis to those Randinen rushes, beckoNing Gondramind and some lingering scouts, "Runir, to us!" he bids, "BeorNings!" archers hurry up the hill near the Artisans, ready to dispatch any unfortunate orc waiting up there.
Thyrdwulf screams in pain as the bone smashes into his torso- more blood cracking forth as it gashes into him...and he coughs madly, blood staiNing the snow a pink that is so well known by human hearts. he stumbles back and forth- the world spinNing as he summons up the last of his beserker courage- his eyes spinNing as they roll back into his skull and forth again...He projects himself into the air, flying at the troll one...last...time
[Jomslivvi(#15932)] "JUUUMP!" And Jomsliivi's Sledders leap off of the corpses they sled upon. They crash into the lines of elven swordsmen, and blood and entrails splash and doat the elves quite effectively. Scimitars drawn, the orcs engage the startled swordsmen, parrying their attacks and trying to dirupt the line in the first few seconds of that engagement.
Alisoun falls flat on her bottom, which can, in some situations, be a good thing. Her legs are well-covered in wooden armor and leggings underneath, but one good bite to her bum causes her to shriek and start to roll. She tumbles down the hill, dragging the two orcs going for her thigh-muscles with her, and flails wildly with her axe. The orc trying to wrap its legs around her face (surely a fate worse than death) is the biggest target of her aggression; she swings her axe overhand directly toward its pelvis.
[Eailing(#20948)] "Eailing starts to attack the orcs by hitting the them with his log."
[Gondramind(#32156)]
The elven swordsmen fight their way back to the hill. Black blood is spatters them and they hack their way toward the squad of archers and the line of retreat... The soil slick with the blood of yrch and sorrowfully, the blood of elven kind as well. Gondramind shouts "Go! Now! Up the hill.
But Gondramind seees Runir still with the troll and runs toward him, away form the line of retreat and dashes around Loke as best he can, avoiding feet and hands of the creature... "Runir! Come on!" He shouts.
Brynjolf grins in relief as archers flood up the hill that he shares with the Artisans, and ties the bandage around his side. He picks up a bow, and looks for a target.
Runir clenches his teeth, as he watches the troll attack the BeorNing mercilessly, opeNing a cruel gash. Red blood spews, and Runir is about to attack again when he hears randinen's voice. Rushing, he quickly joins the group battle axe still dripping some of the black blood. "Let's move!", the dwarf says. "Maybe we can still make it to the next village, where we'll have reinforcements! Let's move, or we shall all die!"
[Loke(#28583)]
As Blane attacks, Loke grunts from the blow and is about to respond, when Thyrdwulf appears out of nowhere again. His axe bites, but the troll pays little attention, and his eyes return to Blane. "Yer want some too do yer?" he challenges, and with a nod to his sacred bone, he calls forth the power within it's blessed marrow. "Updee muptee smack him in! Furpee Murpee slit his skin!" His axe flies out towards Blane's chest.
Brynjolf draws the bowstring to his cheek, and fires on the troll, he being the largest and most easily hit target among those arrayed below.
Thyrdwulf swoons as he is ...unattacked...marvellous. He attacks again- his wirey muscles forged by heroism and his many spider and orc slayings, and his general musculature which is dandy. His wirey muscles bulging and coursing as the axe aims straight for the obese, demonic creature's face.
[Randinen(#10961)]
"REGROUP!" bellows Randinen a final time in his loudest voice. With him and Gondramind most elves fall back... to the next hill. Halfway more and more archers form their lines... feeding a new wave of arrows raiNing down upon the goblins.
Jomslivvi decides to turn tail and run for this one. Though discretion is the better part of valor, Jomsliivi is not exactly the definition of "valorous." Pushing his way back, Jomsliivi returns to the Mines, with a false tale of bravery to be told, and three comrades left for dead at the hands of the Light-Lovers.
[Loke(#28583)]
But this time as Thyrdwulf attacks, the blow does not go unanswered. Loke whirls about, and his axe arcs out as if to despatch this bothersome gadly once and for all. It speeds towards the man's neck.
Thyrdwulf collapses to the ground, defeated by Loke!
[Blane(#10740)] "Wow!" Blane exclaims, lowering his axe he blocks the blow, but the force still knocks him back slightly. Stumbling he shakes his head and rejoins the fray, swinging his axe towards Lokes thigh, "no muscle at all!" he grins, "all flab, need to eat less if you ask me."
Blane attacks Loke with his Axe and mildly wounds him!
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Orc six, he has become occupied with Gailluin. Back and forth they trade blows, the orc finally realizing he has no further interest in this, he turns and runs. But those with Alisoun, that is another matter. The orc at her head, yes, he has locked her face into the deadly nether clutches of his orc gooch. Her axe stings his spine, kissing deep into the fibers and bone. *Krrrzzz!* The fellow shudders as he becomes paralyzed, his legs suddenly and radically clenching themselves on her ears as the nerves get but one endless signal heretofore. His bowels begin to spill, however, for control there has been lost...
Meanwhile, the orcs at her legs...one has knocked his head on a stone as they tumbled and lies off a ways unconscious. But the second, his face is still locked on her behind, and he claws at the back of her left leg with hands and feet both.
Brynjolf glances at Thyrdwulf. He's never liked him, but...Maybe his tales of Heroism weren't /all/ lies. He runs down the hill, picking up a fallen Orc blade in passing, making for the BeorNing. Perhaps he isn't dead, though it seems a long shot.
[Karin(#30777)] As her arrow goes awry yet again, the guide decides that it's time for a change. Slinging her longbow over her shoulder, the woman steals further down the hill, ever closer to the troll. As Thyrdwulf falls to the ground, Karin pauses, brow furrowing. As the battle noise raging on pulls her from her silent reverie, she darts behind another bush, pulling orcish arrows from bodies, and setting them to her own bow. Targeting the troll yet again, she pulls back with all her might on her bowstring, letting the arrow fly with a teang.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Helegrhofel manages to control his pain. He looks at his shattered leg and then to the battle that goes on around him, although he wants to tender his wound he cannot do so now. He crawls slowly to the rocks nigh and sets his hand upon the wall of stone, pulling himself to stand on his unscathed limb; a trail of blood forms on the snow. Yet, he cannot heed the orders that easily, so he decides to help some more.
Slowly again he reaches for his longbow from the ground, ignoring the battle around as he does. Then, he picks one of the few arrows that have managed to remain on his quiver. Steadily he nocks the arrow with his now free hands, back leaNing on the rocks. He aims for the troll's face once again, hidden in the shadows, "Take that, foul spawn of the Evil One", he cries to Loke with ferocity.
Brynjolf comes to a halt, suddenly faced by a towering orc. He slams into him with an audible thump, and they fall to the ground, fighting for control of the Orcish blade.
Alisoun is in Hell. There's an orc attached to her buttock, and it *won't* *let* *go*. And the one on her face -- and that was bad enough -- has evacuated all over her face and chest. It does not, she reflects, get much worse. In a horror of revulsion and fury, she beats at the orc on her head with her shield, hoping to dislodge it, and on the one at her...tail...with her axe, hoping to sever its head, hoping that it doesn't decide to stay attached after death.
Runir dashes keeping his battle axe ready, should any goblin come forth to assail them. He notes some BeorNings still fighting the troll. "Ho, BeorNings! Ho! Here!", he cries, as he waves his battle axe towards them. However, his gaze soon tears from them, and moves to the elves that are now around him. "Let's go!", he roars to noone in particular, as he points towards the east.
[Thyrdwulf(#32205)] Stumbling backwards like a toppled doll the hero, who does have an essence of the fake title to him, after all, he attacked Loke...falls. He doesn't remember much as a white light pierces his mind and voices catacomb through his mind rolling and bucking like ocean waves....
[Loke(#28583)]
Blane's axe cuts once more into Loke's skin, and once more does the troll growl and rant. But, as Ninble and graceful as a troll is, even elegance must give way to loose rock underfoot. He slips, and crashes to the ground, landing but mere feet from the lifeless body of Thyrdwulf. A spark of olog genius seems to grip his powerful mind, and he reaches over to grab hold of the legs of the fallen BeorNing. Hoisting him into the air, the troll swings the torso around, hoping to smash into Blane.
[Eailing(#20948)] Eailing picks up a rock and throws it at loke face.
[Gailluin(#9974)] As the orc retreats, Gailluin hears the calls of Randinen and Runir and turns, runNing back up the hill towards the main body of elves. Her forearm bears a large gash that bleeds freely, adding blood to the dirt and muck that mars clothing, though as yet she seems not to have noticed.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind runs now beside Randinen and the others, the Ethiriath bringing up the rear of the retreat, turNing and fending off pursing yrch in what little organization they can muster at a full run. Swords glint in the light, rising and falling upon those that follow. Cries rise and fall as well as yrhc and elven kind alike are wounded and, as some die... Gondramind sees a scout he had know for years pierced through the chest by a rusty blade as the yrch he kills falls into him, and the Hirdan quickly picks him up and pulls him as best he can to safety... "Come on.." he mutters. And to the BeorNings that continue to fight he joins the call. "BeorNings! To the hill! Regroup!"
[Loke(#28583)]
Eailing's stone hits him in the eye, and with a wail, Loke drops the corpse to rub his eyeball.
[Randinen(#10961)]
Witnessing the horrible outcome of Thyrdwulf versus Loke's axe, Randinen gestures towards the archers, pointing to the troll, "Focus arrows upon the Olog! Face and lower parts..." he himself lost his bow in the fray. All he has left is his staff, keeping guard a feet away from the archers. "Gondramind, keep the charging goblins at bay..."
[Blane(#10740)] "Thyrdwulf?!" Blane yells, not as the man falls though. But as he is swung, Blane leaps back and dodges the blow. "Good shot!" Blane calls to Eailing, reaching out he grabs both of Thurdwulfs arms and begins to move backwards, slowly.
Brynjolf gets the advantage, and the orcish blade slices the orc up from it's waist, leaving a pulped and broken mess. Brynjolf pauses contemplatively above the orc, and then throws up.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] The bashing of Alisoun's shield does indeed gradually knock the orc from her head...though his arms are not paralyzed, and he does strike back. He jams his thumbs down into her face, hoping to dig out her eyes even as he begins a slow-slide off her soiled chest. The orc attached to her buttocks is getting horribly cut with the axe, but her blows are not too hard, as she can ill-afford to miss and chop off her own leg! He tears off a nice, HUGE mouthful of beorNing butt and runs pell-mell towards the gulley above. Meanwhile, the orc at her face slide past her chest, ripping off of her face whatever his wickedly sharp and many calws can take.
[Karin(#30777)] Horrified at the use of the fallen Thyrdwulf, Karin pauses to collect her senses. Looking about for an edge on the troll, she notices a boulder, fallen from the intitial barrage, lodged against another...directly above the sparring troll. Stealing behind the boulder, she edges carefully around, and soon begins heaving and pushing with all her might, muscles straiNing against the incredible weight. At last, the rock beneath is freed, and the boulder begins its slow descent down the hill.
[Loke(#28583)]
Helegrhofel's arrow does it's work well, and sticks deep into the hard forehead of the troll. It does little real damage, but this is not a thought that crosses Loke's mind. Raging and seething with every breath, the olog finally clambers back to his feet, and he glares about. Reaching down to pick up Thyrdwulf's now mangled body a second time, he hurls it with force after the retreating Blane, and turns the rest of his malice upon Helegrhofel. "I'll have yer for that!" he roars, and with an intense glance of prayer to the Sacred Bone, Loke charges forth and swings chopper for the elf's midriff.
Brynjolf stands up, and stumbles toward the elves, where the BeorNings are regrouping. Blood streams from his side, and he pauses after a moment to retch repeatedly.
[Thyrdwulf(#32205)] Up up and away! Wheeee...Thyrdwulf is swung like a bludgeoNing axe...Oh god, it's very high and fast..hsi head sims and eurghs like a rancid swallow of pain
[Thorvald(#23510)]
A figure strides down from the promontory, weary but unwounded; that of the BeorNing Blacksmith Thorvald. Inky blood streams in oily rivulets down the length of his axe and between his pallid fingers, face sullied with sweat and dust, flaxen hair matted. Staunchly, he stands in a firm stance beside Gondramind, chest heaving and eyes alight with fury to scrutinize the Orcish retreat into the shadows laid upon the crest of the hill.
Alisoun howls in a piercing tone that rings throughout the mountains as so much of her flesh gets ripped away. She rolls downward, heedless of rock or shrub, and lies quite still at the bottom of the hill covered in blood and...eeugh. Other.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
"We are!" Gondramind calls out at Randinen's request to hold the goblins at bay. Burdened now the by the wounded body of his friend, Gondramind shouts orders "Half moon formation... protect the archers..." And he thrusts his sword into the belly of fat, pig faced orc and keeps runNing backward... slower than the others because of his friend.
[Blane(#10740)] "umph." Blane comments as Thyrdwulfs body is picking up and thrown at him, pushing the mans body to one side. Blane stands up and clenches his fists, his knuckles white on his axes shaft. RunNing over to Loke he swings at the ologs buttocks as he attacks Helegrhofel.
[Mu'Zah(#19026)] Falling off Alisoun's rollig form, paralyzed orc hits the ground hard and in a squirting splash of goo. He sits quietly, not knowing just what he can do. Eventually, he tries to pull his body away by his arms, his legs dragging uselessly behind.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
The Smith slips his axe into the hemp belt around his waist, hands extended to aid Gondramind with his burdon. "Haste," he mutters in the common tongue.
[Eailing(#20948)] "Eailing Picks up the beorNing wounded."
[Randinen(#10961)]
Then a small group of the Tirith rush up the hill to check upon the Artisans and ascertain any orc or goblin to reach this far, is finally dispatched. Lower the archers attempt to keep up their volleys... although the remaiNing BeorNings complicate the shots enormously. Thus elven strategy backfires as not all heed the call of reorganizing and persist in their solitary battles. Yet the elven commanders appear reluctant to send their own back into a chaotic fray.
[Brynjolf(#26334)] TurNing wearily, Bryndjolf watches Blane for a moment, orcish blade held loosely in his blood-stained hand. One thing is certain; he's never wearing /these/ clothes again. He stumbles up among the elves, and then vomits again.
[Runir]
The group now grows larger as the goblins turn tail and flee... which is what the elves, beorNings, and dwarf are doing too... at least most of them. many elves and humans carry wounded comrades. Among those is Feral, still uncounscious, a wicked-looking bruise of his right temple swelling. Runir also runs backwards, trying to keep at bay the goblins that still assail them, his axe working ceaselessly, chopping up and down, sideways, using it to block orcish baldes... However, no sound is uttered by the dwarf, as he stands firmly beside Gondramind.
[Karin(#30777)] Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthump! The boulder slowly picks up speed as it crushes all in its path, barreling down the hill towards the troll.
[Loke(#28583)]
Blane's axe bite's into Loke's hide, and fresh bellow of torment erupts from the fungal olog's throat. "Owwww!" he roars, and whirls about to face the brave young BeorNing Captain. "Bones and me will crush yer skull yer filthy little---"
But for the second time this night, his voice is cut off, for the great boulder that Karin had loosed down the mountainside finally does its work, and crashes into Loke's back with shuddering force! Knocking the troll a full three feet into the air, and several more along, the beast crumples to the ground, and the Magic bone is lost, spinNing away into the dark. A sure sign of bad things to come. Blood trickles from Loke's head as he lays, and he moves not.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
Gondramind nods thanks to the Human and together they share the burden of the wounded elf. "To the hill. The healers... Regroup! Now all of you!" they run backward, maintaiNing formation as best they can and reach the hill... "Artisans... Go! Retreat eastward!" He looks to Ailiell and shakes his head."
[Blane(#10740)] Flinching at the ologs threats, Blane takes a step back, just at the moment that the boulder impacts. As the olog flies forwards, Blane leaps to one side. He looks over at the olog with a frown, following the path of the boulder he looks up at Karin and smiles. Giving her a thumbs up.
Brynjolf reaches the top of the hill, and sighs sadly. His longbow is gone, and it was a beautiful one, too. He sits on a boulder and complicates the blackened orc blade. With a sigh of disgust, he drives it into the ground.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Suddenly, Helegrhofel realizes that the Olog has seen him and rushes to him enraged. Since he cannot run and has barely time to make another shot, he just waits, praying for the better as he does. His longbow clutched in his grip. And the bone cuts through his armor and slightly into his flesh, upon his ribs.
However, this hit is much less powerful and Helegrhofel is only cast a meter away from the olog, Lossglir still in his hand. He looks at Blane who still fights the troll, "It's a madness. Leave now that you can!", he utters to him as he manages to raise to his foot again, putting his weight on a nearby rock. The last of his arrows is nocked, yet he still waits, inspecting the situation before realeasing the shaft, looking for someone to help him.
Runir watches the huge boulder strike the troll, sending it sprawling forward. "Here, BeorNings!", he calls. "Get yer wounded, and come!"he adds, as he runs. The goblins seem to have lost interest, as they watch how the troll goes down, and also watching most of their comrades dead or flying back to the Mountains. Soon, all of them turn tail and rush back to their lairs, while the elves and their allies flee eastward.
[Karin(#30777)] Satisfaction. At last, the troll is felled, and all remorse over her misguided arrows is replaced with grim satisfaction at his ultimate demise. To the thumbs-up of her Captain, KArin gives a nod, and haltingly jogs down the hill to retrieve her fallen comrade.
[Ailiell(#31678)]
In the sort of soft, voice one might hear in a nursery, Ailiell rounds up those wounded who are yet on their feet. "Go with the artisans -- " She calls out two healers by name, directing them along with them. As for herself, she remains on the hillock with the worst of the lot, silently meeting Gondramind's gaze.
[Thorvald(#23510)]
Thorvald spares a glance over his shoulder, countenance twisted with consternation at the belligerence of his kinsmen. "I cannot leave them, if they will not follow," he utters darkly to the Elvish Mason. Gently, he lays the wounded edhel's legs upon the earth once more and sprints once more into th waNing skirmish. Terror strikes his face, and bends to pluck the form of Alisoun from the rubble of stones, and bears on his shoulders, striding once more to the bivouac of tents.
Brynjolf stumbles up, and throws his orc blade at the charging troll. It's not like it'll do much, but perhaps it'll distract him.
Brynjolf 's blade falls hopelessly short, but he's glad to get rid of the nasty thing. He turns, and stumbles along toward the east, clasping his hand to the sharp pain in his side.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
The majority of elven archers fire round after steady round toward the retreating yrch, a select few marksmen fire at the troll, careful not to hit the BeorNings... Swordsmens for the Ethiriath herd the artisans eastward toward retreat
A group of scouts, the last remaiNing of the squad, come rushing, carrying one of the elves with them... Helegrhofel, badly wounded by the troll. They join the elves as they flee towards the relative safety offered in the east, away from the Mountains.
[Eirik(#13373)] Growling feircely, the Great Bear gnashes at a group of orcs, biting and clawing feircely. Some fall beneath the sharp claws of the bear, others manage to flee towards the mountains. Swiftly, he chases after them, as they flee, biting and tearing them with his claws.
[Karin(#30777)] As Blane hefts Thyrdwulf, Karin turns, and lifting her bow to her shoulder, gives a final, bitter shot to the troll's massive head. This time, it strikes. TurNing disgustedly away, the BeorNing woman lopes up the hill, back to the place where Feral lay. Finding him gone, the lass then heads east, going the way of the retreating companies.
[Gondramind(#32156)]
The Ethiriath pull in tight behind the retreating elves and eastward their line goes, the archers firing a defensive covering pattern as they flee toward the Vales
[Eirik(#13373)] The Great Bear pounces on a rather large orc as it flees, tearing it to peices quickly and chasing after another group as they flee. He chases and tears them down, one after the other. Seeing a small group fleeing in the distance, he runs swiftly after them, disappearing from all but the keenest sight.
[Loke(#28583)]
As the last remnants of the skirmishes hosts retreat into the valleys, left alone on the floor is Loke the troll. At length, the fingers on his hand begin to twitch, and a slight grunt can be heard as his eyes flicker upon. A low moan carries upon the air, and after a few moments of painful debate, the fungal one rolls over, and sits up. He blinks as he peers about.
[Helegrhofel(#22136)] The last shot however, is to no avail for the troll lies on the ground, black blood spruting from his head. Now a scout comes to Helegrhofel, aiding him to move towards the others, to a safer place. He carries his longbow in one hand and moves slowly, yet steadily. His left leg is almost dead, crawling on the ground and drawing a trail of blood on its way.
[Loke(#28583)]
The troll in the meantime has risen to his feet, and pitiful wails echo around the rocky trail as he stomps away. "Bones!" he laments, "I losts yer! Now what am I gonna do? The elf demons will get Loke fer sure! Them or the Mountain Giants..." Utterly despondant, the troll lopes away, maybe to fight another day.