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So Close, So Far

Empty Lands

You stand on a grassy plain west of the Misty Mountains. To the east, the Misty Mountains end in a steep escarpment, a tangle of cliffs, ravines, and steep slopes too precipitous for anything but mountain goats. The plain continues in all other directions, an endless expanse of scrubby grassland. Icy winds blast down from the mountains and sweep monotonously across the plains.


[Gondramind(#32156)] The light of early dusk slants dull across the barren plains west of the Misty Mountains, shiNing fitfully off the snow covered fields. An icy wind blasts down from the mountainside and howls relentlessly across the plain. What tufts of grass show through the snow bend and blow like frozen yellow hair.

But more than wind travels this empty land. A line of figures wends their way from the ravine of the Gladden Pass to the east and heads westward and north. A few still clamber down form the ravine itself, some heavily laden with awkward, flat square packs on their backs. And an unusual gathering it is. For some appear to be elves, others dwarves, and a very very few others... men. Elven scouts and archers fan out wide and guard the perimeter of the troupe, while at the center, the main body marches through the snow, some sinking into it, others leaving barely a footprint, many of them laden with similar flat square packs.

Near the back of this gathering marches a raven haired elf, a pack on his back, his long fingers wrapped around the pack straps, his grey eyes focused to the lands ahead... toward home: the herald Gondramind. The wind whips his cloak and braid around him, but his gaze does not waver.


[Glasiel(#31797)] Walking beside the herald is another of the Firstborn, also bearing a pack on her back, though hers seems slightly different than that of most in the party. Her cloak also moves with the wind as she treads through the snow, and her face is shielded, hidden from view by the hood that is drawn low and close around her face.

She leans closer to Gondramind to speak softly, her words nearly stolen by the winds and the insulating snowdrifts. "<Sindarin> How fare the others with their burdens, mellon? Shall I prepare something fortifying for all, when next we stop to let them rest? I have my teas with me, in good supply still."


[Braldor(#30149)] Beside Gondramind marches a smaller figure, clad in a blue cloak. The wind whips his cloak, and also his long black beard and his braided hair. Braldor, son of Braldon and Military Advisor to King Dain of Erebor scans the land ahead with his dark eyes. To the sides and to the back of the froup, dwarven warders also march, with weapons ready and ever-vigilant of their surroundings. Braldor also has a squarely shaped bundle on his back, which is sported by many of the elves and dwarves that march in the center, slowly trudging their way through the Pass. "Well, we have made some good progress this day, Gondramind", he says, as he flashes a smile to his elven friend.


Duinlas walks with a hand gripping his spear and the other loose at his side. His pack is tied snugly to his body and does little more than shift slightly with each step. He listens to the conversation between Braldor and Gondramind silently, his eyes narrowing as he watches the sun slowly dip in the sky.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind smiles to Glasiel, and then Braldor. And for once the burden of worry seems not to weigh this smile, but it shines forth easy and untarnished. "Good progress, aye, friend Braldor. The Pass crossed and now the plains and moors before us...." He gazes wistfully north. "And then home... four days away at an easy pace. Glaisiel, I think your idea a very good one. At our next rest, yes. We could all uses something fortifying. But let us put more miles between ourselves and the Gladden Pass before we pause in our march."


[Coll(#26481)] A silent figure stands a few feet off behind the dwarf Braldor. His face, now many days unshaven carries a red beard, matching in the color of his hair. He is one of only two men in the travelling party this day; his name being Coll, son of Alof, of the village of the BeorNings. His face shows little of anything except cold, for this man was not made for the extreme temperatures. He is bundled well, his woodmen armor covered by a thick woolen cloak, while he tries to ward off the cold.


[Randinen(#10961)] Another raven haired ellon makes up for the rear of this procession. Around him is a group of elves dressed in similar garb. No mantles to obscure their clothing, evident and proud prides the emblem of a dove in flight upon their chests and sleeves; for these are the Tirith Imladhrim.

Upon this particular journey, their set of task appears to have been extended; each and every one of guards carry a pack similar to the others, serving as mules to transport the precious quarry. Amidst the Tirith, Randinen goes forth. His eyes are fixed upon the way behind, not ahead.


[Braldor(#30149)] "Something fortifying?", Braldor asks, his eyes twinkinkling mischieviously. "So ye're gonna try some of our ale again, friends?", he says, as laughter escapes from his lips. "Or were ye thinking about something else... and maybe not as fortifying?"


[Glasiel(#31797)] Glasiel's eyes sparkle even from within the shadow of her hood as her silvery laughter spills forth in reply to Braldor's query. "Nay, friend Thane. No ale today, though I did find it quite enjoyable. I spoke of herbs, for use in teas. They warm the body, and fortify at the same time, bringing strength to the heart and stamina for the task at hand."


[Coll(#26481)] "This will be our last day with you then." Coll speaks to Gondramind and Braldor. "For we are not ordered to go any farther. The man rubs his chilled hands together. "And I have no desire to go to Imladris. It has been ... different." Than miller admits, his face bright red.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind chuckles softly, a deep rumble in his chest. "Ale, master dwarf, would be fortifying indeed, but... " he winks toward Glasiel... "but I think the healer's teas will give us greater strength. And calm. Remember Silothiel's tea?" And he flicks his gaze to Coll at that, well remembering it himself. "Aye Coll. Let us travel but a ways further, to yonder hillock, say, and then I am sure you will have fulfilled your duty."


[Braldor(#30149)] Another peal of laughter escapes from Braldor's lips. "Ah, I see. So this tea warms the body, strenghtens the heart and gives ye stamina for the task at hand? Are ye sure you're not speaking of ale, Glasiel?". Braldor then chuckles for a while, as he winks to the elven maiden. He then turns to Coll. "Aye, and e thank thee and thy comrade for coming with us, Coll", he says. "Although we might have had a bad start, it seems ye're not as bad as I thought", Braldor adds, as he gives the BeorNing a friendly cuff.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] A smile comes to Idhrendae's face as Braldor voices his question. "I think she is perhaps right, Thane, although your ale certainly has its merits." He turns, looking upon Coll, and his smile grows even further. "Aye, I should thank you, indeed, for bearing with us this burden," he says, as he adjusts his quartz laden pack. "But I think that the Hirdan is right, Braldor." He changes subjects once again. "And I do indeed look forward to your teas, Glasiel."


[Coll(#26481)] "Aye, that I will do." Coll says. "I believe that will be more than exceptable. I have learned that there are more to you than what looks say. I do apologize once again, Braldor. To you and your kin." The miller pauses in his speech, "And when you and your brethren make your way back to our village, I will be the first to welcome you." With this he extends his gloved hand to give a shake to Braldor.


[Glasiel(#31797)] The Hirilin's laughter sounds again, almost as a melody in its own right. "Aye, I am certain. I speak not of ale. Ask those who have already tasted my brews... they will tell you the flavor is quite different."


Duinlas chuckles at the thought of Ale, "It's been a long time since you've had ale in our halls, hasn't it, Braldor?" He grins down at the dwarf with a twinkle in his eye. Memory of past joy being relived in his mind.


[Dorgin(#10862)] At the front of the lonely procession are the Warders of Erebor. Hoods draw over their heads in a vain effort to lesson the howl of the chill wind, they march solemnly forward, heads held high and alert. In their midst is an older dwarf, a veteran of many battles, but no white yet touches his beard. His thick black boots trudge along the beaten path before him, following the deep footprints of those ahead. A gloved hand rests upon the top of a single-bladed axe as the Warder continues, using the solid iron shaft of the blade as support through the difficult terrain.


[Ailiell(#31678)] From nearer the rearguard, a darkly clad figure presses more quickly through the twilight, a merry spark within her homeward turned gaze. Ailiell steps lightly, mindless of cold, or burden. And subsequently, a sudden flurry of snow hurtles towards the sound of the Hirilin's clear laughter -- aimed with relentless elven precision.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor grabs Coll's hand with his own, and pumps it three times. "Thank ye, Coll. It seems we all have learned something from this trip, and that is something valuable in itself", he says, releasing Coll's hand. TurNing then to Duinlas, he says, "Indeed, it has been a while since I tasted the brews of Elrond's hall", he says, "and I look forward to tasting them again".

Braldor then turns again to Glasiel and Idhrendae, a smile on his lips. "Well, I doubt not the quality of Glasiel's teas... I was just making sure she wasn't speaking of ale. For the qualities she mentioned can also be found in a good dwarven brew".


[Glasiel(#31797)] Silver bells of laughter continue even as Glasiel's walking-staff is thrust backward in the snow, sending a 'reply' in kind to Ailiell's 'attack'. "Start naught but what you are prepared to finish, Aili-mel-Nin!" Her words are light as an aria, drifting sweetly on the wind.


[Eirik(#13373)] Laughter comes from Eirik's hooded face, as he sees Ailiell's antics. Trudging through the snow in the rear he comes, his grey robes tight beneath his woodmen armor. The longbow across his back just barely sweeps into the snow with each step.


[Randinen(#10961)] "We are not home yet." remarks the Hirvaethor Randinen in a voice calm, yet in a way strict. Anew he casts a glance across his shoulder, inspecting the road behind them. Thus the vigilance of the Tirith will not wither nor wane, as those near their Commander straighten up and adopt his wary demeanor.


[Coll(#26481)] Coll lets his arm fall to his side. His face brings up a brief smile, before he lets his face be consumed again by his hood which covers his metal helmet. He stands now watching the others about him. He returns to his silence as he watches the faces and hears the words of those standing about him.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind smiles approvingly as Coll and Braldor shake hands. "Aye, we have all learned more about each other on this trip. And I have learned to appreciate both ale and Glasiel's teas." His grey, colorless eyes scan the marching troupe and he too grins at Ailiell. His gaze then slides one last time toward the ravine, satisfying himself that all of their party have safely descended. He catches the Hirveathor Randinen's words and nods. "Yes Randinen. And so let us put more miles between ourselves and the Pass. Quick miles."


Silothiel smiles with mirth at her friends' antics. Barren of armor or weapon, she is glad for this bit of comic relief as she has understandibly felt vulnerable walking through these harsh lands. She has also been getting used to the heavy pack on her back, and now her pace is steadier as she keeps up with the group. Every once in a while her eyes dart from Gondramind to Randinen to other important memebers of hte party to see if the spot anything unusual, but so far everything seems to be going fine.


Duinlas smiles at all the mention of drink, "The sooner we are home, the better." He casts a glance at Braldor, "Not to put down The Mountain, mellon, but there is no place like home. And I miss our fine wine."


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] By the side of the Hirvaethor Randinen walks Cunir Helegrhofel, wrapped in his grey-silver warm cloak. Longbow and quiver as always attached to his back and hood over his head, shadows thrown on his face.

He stays silent and silently he walks on the snowed terrain, leaving barely visible traces. On his back is also attached a quite large bag, filled with quart, as those of the elven group know.

For a moment, he raises his gaze to the sky, leaving the path ahead from his eyes. Soon he looks ahead again and murmurs, "Ruinsul is flying strangely. She's upset and that does not do anything than make me fear as well". But he stops there, not wanting to spread any more feelings.


[Ailiell(#31678)] Challenge extended, and accepted, Ailiell scoops up further ammunition and sends a rapid fire volley, increasing in strength as she draws nearer. "Oh -- I am -- quite -- prepared to finish it!" the dark haired elleth proclaims, ice scattering from the hem of her skirt as she runs. One strike is directed suspiciously near the Hirdan's swinging braid, laughter filling the space between; dark words of the Tirith happily beyond hearing.


[Braldor(#30149)] "Yes, let us walk a bit more ere we set up camp", the dwarf agrees, looking ahead. "We have been lucky so far, but the closer we are to Rivendell, the better". He then turns to Duinlas, and smiles. "Aye, there is no place like home, Duinlas... not to put down the beauty of the Hidden Valley.

But ye're daft if ye put wine over ale!", he adds with a smile. Braldor surreptitiously bends and scoops some snow, which he forms into a perfect ball.

He waits until Ailiell turns her back on him, and then throws it with accuracy to the elven maidens back. TurNing, he chuckles, but says naught and acts if it hadn't been him the one throwing the ice ball to Ailiell.


Eirik's pace quickens, as he gains up with the other human there. Looking to Coll he says, "Soon enough, we will head back towards the village. How are you faring?"


[Coll(#26481)] "I can not wait, Eirik," Coll speaks to the eagle skald. "I wish to see my home again. And I miss my brother." Coll lets his hood nod in agreement with his words. "I also wish to get back to see Jora." His words fall silent, as he looks to the skald, "How long till we get back home, with only us two?"


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae's gaze is one of amusement as it glances upon the flying missiles, finally settling upon Ailiell. He awaits the striking of Braldor's snowball, though his face is impassive, lest she think it was he that threw it, as he falls back towards the archers to remove himself from the line of fire.


[Ailiell(#31678)] Ailiell stumbles forward half a step with the cold collision, brushing the ice from the small of her back as she spins, narrowly surveying the group for guilty faces. Finding none immediately obvious, the laughing maiden approaches the knot of travellers somewhat more warily, sidestepping nearer Idhrendae.

"Nearly home, now," she says, with contentment. "What will you do first?"


[Gondramind(#32156)]Gondramind laughs openly as the snowball fight escalates and he turns to Glasiel with a wink then bends low, scoops up a handfull of snow which is quickly made into a missle and hurls it the very serious face of Helegrhofel before turn back and looking forward again. "Aye Braldor. March, march we must. North and to home again. You shall have Culyave by weeks end, my friend. And in the chambers of nos Menelmen."


[Tiamaat(#17562)] BOOM! DOOM! BOOM! DOOM!*

Such sounds the great war drum of Moria and that sound, like a malicious heartbeat, rolls across this open stretch of plain without mercy - each rolling beat meant to assault the ears of Quendi and, indeed, any who cross this wilderness in search of home.

Soon behind the noise comes the surging scourge of uruks from Khazad-Dum. Amongst their black ranks the sounds of vile war cries rend the air and the banners snap. The banners, like their carriers, are black and some sport parts of dead uruks on their poles as grisly adornments. At their lead or near it, is one who must surely be a chieftain at least = this is Tiamaat, Gothsaka ob Moria and she is bent on spilling red blood in the red light of the dusk.


[Chazk(#29498)] An elder she hai begins to push herself to the forward edge of the advancing horde. She slows her pace and scans the area, squinting a bit under the sun. She places a hand above her eyes as she sniffs the air cautiously. She nods to her self and mutters softly "Near.." Intuitively, she hunches down and begins to move forward in as stealthy a manner as she can..

As she takes a few steps the noise of the horde belay any secrecy and she immediately abandons her tact and stands to her full height and begins to trot.

Eirik says, "It should be no more than a day or two's journey if we move swiftly." His words are cut off by the sound of the drums across the land. Taking a deep breath he looks to Coll, his eyes gleaming with readiness. He says, "Or maybe longer...."


[Paashmauk(#19150)] In the very front of the Morian raiding party runs a big uruk in a green robe, he drives several pigs in front of him. Each of the fatted pigs has a belt around it holding three spears. Hopefully the pigs will skewer a few elves before getting killed for the feast to follow. It is Paashmauk the Thrakburzum gatherer that drives the pigs into battle.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor's laughter dies as the booming sound of a great drum echoes. His gaze turns this way and that, searching for the source of the sound. "Shieldwall!", Braldor creis, as the dwarven warders, who as one start to obey. "Ready to form a shieldwall!", Braldor adds, as he frantically scans the lands around them.


Duinlas looks up at the sudden sound filling the plain, his face grave and his lips forming a thin line. No one would need explaination as to the origin of such a horrid sound. He glances at Gondramind, not speaking, but listeNing for whatever his orders might be. Quite a bit different attitude than a season ago, but much has happened since then. He grips his spear in both hands and wrings it in a motion more akin to worry than prepardness.


Silothiel stops in her tracks as soon as the foreboding sound of the orcs is heard. Dread fills her whole body as she sees them advancing upon the group. She can do nothing but stand still and wait for the reactions of the leaders of her group to know what to do, for all thoughts have left her.


[Gondramind(#32156)] The ground shakes rolls with a reverberant sound like sudden hate that echoes in Gondramind's legs, his chest. The Hirdan spins and sees the black roil of a host of yrch.

His eyes harden and without pause, without thought, he shouts, "Artisans to the rear! Head north! Ethiriath, V formation westward! With the Naugrim!!" And he draws his blade.


[Chazk(#29498)] The she ,Chazk, is soon in a full run. Her heart keeps pace with her footfalls. The dance of death has begun and she feels the muscles in her body grow taut. As the drums beat loudly she finds herself grinNing.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae's smile comes quicklly to his face, as oft remembered memories come forward. Yet words are not accompany them, as his eyes are pulled from Ailiell and to the approaching hoard, and then to the Hirvaethor Randinen, as he loosens his bow from his shoulder.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] And that snowball flies directly to the face of Helegrhofel who stops his steps and looks in a funny face at Gondramind. He shakes his head and ponders whether to make a ball of snow himself but as he bents to grab some from the ground, the drums of Moria sound all over the hills down to them. He looks higher onto the mountains at the west and sees the black banners waving in the scarce light of the dusk. "Orcs!", he cries and points to the hills as he draws Lossglir from his back.


The Eithiriath Squad pulls in from its fanned out position around the civilians and forms a V shaped wedge facing westward. Eyes cold as hardened steel, they draw their blades with a sharp metallic ring that is carried on the winter wind.


[Ailiell(#31678)] Crouched, fingers curled loosely around a handful of melting snow, Ailiell herself seems frozen. A soft, 'no' escapes her, as the familiar drums echo, tremble through her frame. For several heartbeats she remains motionless, dark hair whipping against her brow. But then she rises rapidly, features hardeNing as she scans their party for healers to herd.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor finally spots the black wave surging, trying to overtake them. "Shieldwall! face West!", he orders, and the dwarven warders quickly comply. Those that sport a shield set it in front of them, hoping to cover their comrades from any deadly shaft that might come their way. On the bacl, dwarves wielding battle axes and long mattocks stand, waiting for the order to attack. "Prepare yerselves! Weapons ready!", Braldor shouts, as he unslings his battle axe Rukhfelaku, the Orc Hewer, from his back. The dwraven warders comply with the order, and the unsheathing of the dwarven weapons mirrors the first twinkling of the stars, when the world was young.


[Randinen <#10961>] Upon the rumbling drums into the west the Tirith Imladhrim take little time to stand terrified. Randinen but winces, ere he bellows in clear vocals, passing orders and the archers set into motion, "<Sindarin> Set aside the quartz, bows will aid us now! Defensive lines! Keep your distance from the shield wall... Three lines, divide into groups of five! Do nay loosen an arrow ere the command is given!" And rushing forward he leads the following Cunyr.

Longbows are drawn forther; Elrond's finest archers prepare themselves for their task at hand.


[Dorgin(#10862)] What grim silence had accompanied the dwarven Warders before does not change as the dark rolling booms of uruk drums echo across the barren land. Braldor's quick order drive the hardened warriors into action. Those bearing swords haisten to the front of the lines, holding their shields up for cover while dwarves bearing axes and mattcosk fall swiftly behind them.

Dorgin of Erebor hefts his heavy iron battleaxe into both hands, testing the blade's lethal edge. He stands just behind the dwarven shieldwall, gaze roaming swiftly from Braldor to the mass of approaching black bodies.


[Chazk(#29498)] The distance melts away as the thundering footfalls drive on the Uruks still harder. The younger and inexperienced break out in a full and reckless run to engage the enemy.

The she hai keeps her pace knowing that those eager ones will be the first to die and will weaken the defenders. She lets out a howl of her own and after several moments takes her pace to a full run as well.


[Tiamaat(#17562)] The drums spur on the orcs, they fire the blood and send some into a near frenzy, and make the ground rumble - Tiamaat's promises that the ground would tremble with the Horde's movement are coming to pass - the black banners are brandished and wespons, war-hammers, axes, spears and scimitars are shown of whilst some clatter these on their shields.

Amongst the Morian scum (as others certainly call them) is a company of archers with their black bows ready. Uruk archers only use barbed arrows for inflicting of maximum pain and suffering. They fan out at the back of the lines as the others of their kin draw to a slower pace, hatefull eyes looking for their first targets. The squad of elven archers as it happens.

Tiamaat twists her scimitar in hand and spurs her Horde on in the hard language of the orcs but, judging from her actions one might gather that she intends removing as many of the Quendi bowmen as she can - they are the bane of the orcs.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind looks to Braldor a moment as he joins the defensive front line of swordsmen. "Now friend," he calls, "we must fight together."

He grips Gwestind - ancient blade of Eregion, the heart of an oath - in both hands and takes position in the line. "Wait for it!" He calls. "Hold the line. Defend the civilians!" He turns once and looks to Ailiel. "Ailiell! Glasiel! Take the civilians north!"


[Silothiel(#21466)] As all the formations of the squads take place, Silothiel is finally moved to action. She throws aside her pack of quartz so it will not hinder her movement, and looks around frantically. When she sees Ailiell's searchign gaze, she runs over to the Arnethril. "Ailiell, what am I to do?" she whispers frantically. "I have no weapons, no armor, no traiNing..." here she is at a loss for words, but keeps glancing frantically back at the group of approaching orcs.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] And Paashmauk breaks into a run, driving the fatted pigs before him. Hitting the pigs on the back with the flat of his scimitar and poking them in the rump to make them run faster toward the elves.


[Coll(#26481)] The man Coll brings his two batons up. His face under his hood is grim, as he finds himself amongst a group of dwarves, and not far away from Braldor, his charge. He finds himself following the lead of Braldor, as he prepares himself for the coming onslaught. He readies himself, "Eirik, what is this? Not when we are this close to making our way home. Please no."


The Ethiriath Squad coolly raise their blades and await the onslaught of the black scum of Moria, eyes like flint.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] To the orders of Randinen, Helegrhofel, as one of the Cuthalion Squad, takes off his bag of quartz and drops it on the ground; only their lives are important now. He gets in the first line of five, keeping Lossglir before him, arrow notched on the string. And there he waits for an order of the Hirvaethor. His eyes shift quickly from the dwarved in front, to his comrades. Then to the orcs in the distance and the first black shafts are ready to tear the wind. Finally to Randinen, waiting for his call.

Helegrhofel's eyes shine fierce and he stands in the lines, tall and fair, his dark hair now waving free since the hood is down.


The dwravem warders stand silent and grim as death. The death of a comrade not ago, plus the reminder of the disaster of Sarn Goriwing makes their blood course like newborn fire throught their veins. Here, at last, was a chace to strike at the Enemy.


[Ailiell(#31678)] "You will need none," Ailiell replies in tones loud enough to carry over the coming tumult, but underwritten with calm. She meets the Hirdan's eyes for that one steady moment, giving a curt nod in reply, and reaches for Silothiel's arm, tearing her gaze away towards the vast plains stretching into the north. "Come. Come, mellyn. Quickly."


Chazk charges hard. The length of her years melting away seemingly with each step. "At them you maggots!" she bellows, the volume of it lost amid the din of the charging mountain dwellers. She grips her mace firmly carrying it before her, the swinging of her arms keeping time with her pounding feet.


The orc archers pull back their bows, not in unison, and loose a volley of black darts towards the Cunyr but the light-loving swordsmen (and dwarven maggots) are closest to the main power of Moria.


[Tiamaat(#17562)] Tiamaat, the leader of this sea of evil, has set her ember eyes on one of them -Gondramind, though she does not know the name- and with shield on arm and scimitar in hand she moves towards him with certain hate written in her expression.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor's face mirrors that of his kin, grim and fell to look upon. "Hold the shieldwall, lads! Wait for the scum to come forth, if they dare! Then we shall teach them to fear us!", he bellows, brandishing his battle axe. To Gondramind he says, "Indeed! We shall battle side by side... as it should always be, and vanquish these servants of the Enemy!". Finally, casting a glance at Silothiel, his voice turns softer. "Fly north, Silothiel! Follow Ailiell! We shall be right behind ye... after we deal with the scum!". He then turns his gaze back to the incoming orcs, waiting for the right moment to order the attack.


[Randinen(#10961)] Twin grey daggers alight Randinen's gaze, flickering akin cold steel as he looks upon the charging orcs. Pure contempt poisons his voice as he spits out words, "Spawn of Morgoth. Never shall they learn." A faint smirk troubles his lips, afore the Hirvaethor heaves his hand.

Thus the archers ready their greatest allies -- slender longbows, light in hand. Arrows come forth, set to over two dozen of strings; elegant projectiles, smooth tips glisteNing with anxiety in the fading light.

"Reminiscent of Eregion, elves and dwarves stand firm. Let us pray the outcome be different this time!" Randinen continues, turNing to face the readied lines of archers, "Raise bows to cripple their assault!"


Silothiel does not even reply to Ailiell, but obeys and hurries after her, not daring to look back.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Though not of the Cuthalion Squad, Idhrendae follows the words of Randinen, for his skill is of the longbow. With quick steps he joins a grouping of four, holding his weapon as he reaches behind for an arrow in a liquid movement. His gaze flicks to the Hirvaethor as he hears the order, and he calmly moves to enact it, raising his longbow, eyes now firmly upon the enemy.


[Dorgin(#10862)] Drawing his hood back, Dorgin's gaze turns cold, forbiding. It dances, almost with glee, across the lines of charging orcs: the hated enemy. The Warder's face, already red with cold, deepens even moreso until it reaches a dark scarlet color. "Steady lads," he whispers to a group of eager young soldiers edging forward. "Steady." And steady the shieldwall remains, unmoving, unwavering. Their shadowed feature stand frozen but dangerous, waiting for the much desired order to charge.


Eirik says to Coll, "Stand brave, Coll. We shall outlast them." With that, he springs backwards drawing his longbow, taking place amidst the elven archers. Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he knocks it and draws his bow, awaiting a suitable target.


Duinlas slips out of his reverie as he watches the black tide roar up to the shore made up of Elves and Dwarves. He watches at Ailiell and Glasiel herd the others back, and then his eyes drift to the scouts, forming up the line near the front. His eyes darken and he marches forward to the line. Gripping his spear and holding it forward admist the rows of blades.


[Gondramind(#32156)] As the black swarm nears the combined line of elven swordsmen and naugrim axemen, the earth rumbles, the air grows fowl in Gondramind's nostrils. His jaw hardens to old habits of war and his eyes spark with cold fire as they fix upon the foul figure that appears to be the leader of the hoard. A female of some kind. "Aye Braldor. Ever should it be thus my friend. Ethiriath! Wait the wave!" And he watches as Tiamaat draws near.


[Ailiell(#31678)] "I will let no harm come to you," Ailiell says softly, pushing Silothiel ahead of her, even as her own pale face turns back toward the rough shouts. Clearly, finding Glasiel's eyes within the fray, she calls, "Artisans! This way!"


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk charges aheat toward the first elf driving the deadly pigs in front of him. He idea is to skewer Gondramind with the spears attached to the back of the wild pigs.


Chazk begins to pick out the forward members of those she hates. She alters her course and brings her mace up high, ready to thrust it downward as soon as she can. "Die Maggots, Feel the hate of the demon before you."


[Tiamaat(#17562)] The Gothshaka ob Moria snarls as she nears the elf of her choice and then her lips slide into the most sickly smile as she looks up at Gondramind, since he is considerably taller, and then spits at him forcefully. Her voice, for once, raises and she says one thing alone "Die!" That done her black scimitar hisses out in a wide arc towards his gut.


[Randinen <#10961>] Then the command is given... "<Sindarin> Cunyr! Loosen arrows! A carpet of arrows to cover their approach..." speaks Randinen grimly, lowering his hand decisively. And the first flurry of arrows sails over the shield wall before the archers. Thus bad 'weather' is afoot for the orcs, the deadly fog of elven projectiles descending upon them.

Yet the orcs have their own archers... arrows heading for the elves. The first cries of agony arise...


Eirik follows the lead of the elven archers, releasing his arrow into the swarm of orcs. He quickly knocks another one, waiting for the next volley.


[Chazk(#29498)] As the rain of arrows takes flight, the she picks out her target (Coll) and readies herself. Yellowish mucus flow from her nose from the effort of the charge though she is slowed not. "Feast Fang! Feast on the flesh of this human.." With that she plants her forefoot and swings at the belly of Coll.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Elven swordsmen raise their blades now and hew... pigs... Chopping the points off spears, the snouts off wild swine. The snorting and squealing is near deafeNing as the aNinals die. Ethiriath leap out of the way, some are wounded in thigh and arm.

Gondramind slashes downward on a fat boar and dances to the side to avoid its spear. Dances nearly into the arms of the coming Gothshaka Tiamaat. He looks down at her and turns aside from blade and it narrows misses his belly. He steps back then and with a simple motion swings Gwestind at her left shoulder.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk drives the pigs onward toward the front lines of the light-lovers. Paashmauk finally stops beating on the pigs as they pass the first line and raises his scimitar to slice at the right arm of Braldor.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae releases an arrow, not waiting to observe its path, for he ducks immediately to avoid the flurry of arrows that return. With a glance to Helegrhofel before him, he stands again, nocking an arrow for another volley.


Silothiel goes as far as she can from the fray as Ailiell has instructed, but she cannot help looking back one last time as the cries of pain errupt. The raw display of anger, hate, and destruction strikes a sour chord in her heart. She watches with a pained look on her face as attacks are made upon her compainions that have become more than just friends on this long journey. But as the elves and dwarves fire arrows and attack with swords in response to hte orcs, her expression hardens. This is why she has decided to study to become a healer, ease the pains of battle. She turns away, and continues on away from the battle, not wishing to watch anymore.


[Morlok(#27431)] Flip zip zip! The elven arrows fall on the orcish ranks, a righteous hail of wrath leaving all too many of the pitiful creatures clutching their throats, breasts, or hideous snouts. To Morlok's right, even as he draws back his own missle, a comrade suffers an arrow throw his eye. The howling echoes in the wind that races over the plain. Morlok snarls and takes aim, noticing his vision becoming better in the dusky light. Grass is grey instead of green and hopefully, he thinks, all will be black. A wicked grin, more an infection, creeps across his cracked lips. He licks. The orc lets go his weapon, tracing it into the sky and following it to its target.


The elven swordsmen regroup as the pigs charge through them and turn now to face the coming swarms of yrch. Thier wedge formation seems to hold.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Duinlas finds himself standing near the path of a spear-laden boar. Yet before even the swordsmen can react, his own spear is thrust forward into the oncoming charge, the tip piercing flesh and skewering the beast before it can reach the swordline. He yanks back with a hard pull, his face a scowl as the blood and brains of the beast pour out. He looks up at the approaching yrch.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Some arrows fly even to reach the fair elven archers. One passes whistling by Helegrhofel's head but his keen eyes notice most of them in time. "They never learn...", he mutters and raises his longbow according to the command. He notices Idhrendae joiNing the lines of the Cunyr and says, "Mellon! Let's try once again to teach these mindless creatures...". With that the order of the Hirvaethor comes and Helegrhofel's arrow leaves the string, only to be replaced by a second silver shaft. "Elbereth na sila!", he cries and releases the second shaft too, aiming to the lines of the orc archers.


[Braldor(#30149)] As the black swarm comes closer, Braldor eyes it with a steady gaze. "Steady... steady... steady", he says to the eager warders. "Steady...", he adds, as the black swarm almost reaches them. "Now!", he cries. At unison, the dwarves that were behind the shields burst forth, every one of them uttering the same cry. "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!", they bellow, and the ancient dwarven battle cry seems to shake the very heavens.


Braldor bursts forth with his brethren, brandishing his battle axe high. He finds an orc, and it attacks him. However, Braldor gets his axe in the way of the orcish balde, barely in time, and deflects it to a side. "Come, vermin!", Braldor says, as he counters with a sideways chop.


[Coll(#26481)] The first thing Coll sees is the coming of a orc, filth and disgust. The mace crashes into the woodmen armor, and bashes into his ribs. Pain nearly doubles the man over. "Ah, goblin scum," Coll says, bringing up his batons hoping to hit the goblin in the head.


Eirik decides he is not close enough to the action, and charges forward, standing near behind the front line. Seeing Coll, his fellow BeorNing, in trouble, he turns his aim on the orc attacking him, and releases an arrow.


[Tiamaat(#17562)] The red light of the dying sun catches on the black edge of the Morian Queen's curved blade as, squinting she raises it and catches the edhil's sword and prevents it from meeting her shoulder- steel rings togather adding to the general clamour of battle. It is fortunate that she narrowly avoided the same charging porcine that Gondramind was just forced to dance around, since now she is free to viciously slice her blade towards the stone-mason's kneecaps. "I said.. Die!"


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk's slice is blocked by the battle axe of the dwarf. He sidesteps and brings his scimitar up to return the favor. As soon as he pushes the battle axe aside he ducks and swings low toward the right knee of Braldor.


Chazk laughs as the mace bites home. "Eat well fang, for there is much to devour." She steps out a half step and avoids the human's counter attack. She lets the haft slid down in her grip until the head of the mace is atop her fist. The she jabs it out directly at the face of this one. "Be gone human!"


[Braldor(#30149)] The cruel orcish blade strikes true, sinking into Braldor legs and bringing forth red blood. Braldor curses, and clenches his jaw to prevent a cry of agony from escaping his lips. He jumps back, too late now, and after making sure his leg was not badly hurt, he cricles menacingly around the orc. "Ye'll pay for that, warg-dung!", he says, and then swings his battle axe mightily, aiming for the orc's shoulder.


[Gondramind(#32156)] "No!" shouts Gondramind, jumping high so Tiamaat's blade, intended for his knees, passes instead under his feet. The strength of her earlier parry however has forced the momentum of his body backward and he lands slightly away from her in a deep bend of knees, laughing. Laughter, aye. Incongruous. Merry. Laughter. "I will not oblige you, filth," he near sings and from his crouched position, he sweeps Gwestind toward her legs.


[Dorgin(#10862)] The order is given. With roars of fury the dwarves surge forth, front line shields still held high as they advance. "Baruk Khazad!" Dorgin bellows. "Khazad ai-menu!" He swings his blade high abive the heads of his companions, bringing it down with a sickeNing thud as the tidelwave of black clashes with the dwarves. A dwarf by his side falls to his knees, clutching a protruding arrow at his throat. As a lone uruk reaches for the fallen Warder's axe, his grimy hand is abruptly seperated from his foul body. With a yell of rage, Dorgin hurtles forward to complete the job, pushing the orc away with the shaft of his axe and slicing at the beast's middle.


[Randinen<#10961>] So the fray thickens! Steel clashes upon steel, orc meets dwarf or elf... cries of battle mingling with cries of agony, fear and triumph. The shield wall still holds... in firm attempt to repel the crashing wave of advancing orcs.

The elven archers readjust their bows, as Randinen heaves anew his hand, "<Sindarin> Heed our friends. Cease the volley, and take careful aim. Loosen at will! First line target their archers, second line aid our frontfighters." and ere he finishes his phrase, the Hirvaethor himself puls forth his bow, readying an arrow.


[Morlok(#27431)] It seems the fair and the foul have mingled. Already, the denizens of evil and the fighters for the light are entangled in mortal combat in the battle's center. The glorious voices of elves rise in unison with the sturdy roars of the dwarves - made violent by the hideous shrieking of the orcs. Here and there an Uruk-hai emerges, recklessly shouting blasphemous phrases and lashing out with its mace or scimitar, but the bulk of the horde is caught up in shrill shrieking. Morlok avoids an arrow and launches a reply into the air. Opposed to the elven missles, those of the Uruks wobble and often tumble astray of their mark.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk smiles as his blade finds it's mark then ducks low under the swinging battle axe. Then he jumps up bringing his scimitar flashing toward Braldor's right shoulder. Or at least where he thinks the shoulder should be in the bright light.


[Coll(#26481)] The mace of this vile creature rings true against the metal helm of Coll, giving the man a small gash above his right eye. "You beast! Taste my traiNing!" The miller yells, bringing his right baton up to crash against the goblin's ribs.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor ducks, the orcish blade shooshing past his shoulder, barely centimeters from finding its mark again. "Ye were lucky once, pig-fancier!", he spats to the orc, resorting to name-calling to try to get his opponent mentally off-balance. "But maybe yer warg kin will feast on ye this night!". Braldor then attempts an overhead chop, directed to the orc's chest.


[Tiamaat(#17562)] This time Gondramind's attack is more successful than the last -the light does not go well with the eyes of uruks, which are more suited by nature to seeing in the darkness of underground caves than the glow of setting suns- and his sword cuts across Tiamaat's thighs, leaving a line of black blood there and on the fine elven steel.

The injured Gothshaka hisses at the pain, it focuses her mind, and she moves forth again and this time slides around to one side - the right side of the Hirdan - hoping that her cut will get under his defenses.


The Eithiriath line now clashes and struggles amid a roiling of yrch. The glint of metal, the sharp ring of steel, the clamor of voices. It looks a sea of arms and legs, twisted horror meeting the fair faces of the elves.


Eirik lets out a growl as an arrow lands in his leg. Knocking another arrow, forcing back the pain, he releases it at the archer who shot him.


Chazk brings her shield up as she is now close in to her foe. A metallic clang lets out as the shield deflects the clubs force. "Quit squirming. You die faster that way human." She rolls out to her left and circles around letting the mace slip out in her grip. TighteNing again on the haft she swings it now with force trying to sweep the knee of this one.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk frowns as the dwarf steps out of the way of his blade, "Hold still you little sawed off runt. I'll show you." And he brings up his leather shield to block the battle axe. he stips forward again to swing the scimitar toward Braldor's midsection.


Duinlas watches at the line around him breaks down into a flurry of one on one (and often times two on one) combat. He remains defensive, parrying with his spear and occasionally throwing back a thrust at the offending orc.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] From the west flank of battle rush the Scouts of the Morian Horde, dressed in black, the crows of Moria, sleek, stealthy, quick, and quiet. But not today; their rush is anything but quiet; screaming, blood rage in their eyes, the perimeter of the Morian advance, until this day, overtakes the land like ants from within a kicked hill. At their lead, Dilgaarth, the Master Scout, scimitar held high above his black metal helmet, his ring mail clanging as he runs. He halts, and his scouts move around in an arc; as two half-circles do they enter the fray. Once his troops are past him, the Master stands still, perusing the line for his first kill.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Another barbed arrow flies to Helegrhofel, sticking on the snow under his feet. And another order comes. He carefully nocks the arrow, aims for a specific black figure, an orc archer at the back of their main force. He aims carefully with his shiNing eyes and murmurs, "Guide my arrow, Oh! Manwe, Lord of Winds!"; and the silver arrow leaves towards its target. He stands still for a few moments, following the shaft with his sharp gaze, though his perception does not decrease, ever careful for incoming arrows.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae frowns as the Skald Eirik is hit, and his arrow goes astray. Nocking another arrow, he takes aim for Morlok, hoping to distract him from the human, his arrow loosed quickly, following the path of Helegrhofel's missile.


The dwarven warders clash with the black tide, and soon their bellows get confused with the horrible cries of the orcs. Maces, axes, and mattocks meet with scimitars and other orcish weapons. The warders enagage in a deadly dance with the orcs, and here and there cries of agony start to be heard.


[Randinen(#10961)] The elven archers tarry now afore they attempt more shots. Now it comes to precision... a true test of skill and accuracy, as they guide their arrows amidst the fighters; hopefully dodging friend and crippling foe...

Randinen's first arrow still rests upon the silver string, for the Commander inspects his lines. His eyes fall upon the BeorNing who joined their ranks. Him he addresses in the common tongue, "Human, behind us await Healers; should you have need of them, fear them not. Another will take your place in the line." and encouragingly the elf nods, yet then he takes aim as well, sending an arrow whistling beyond first lines, aiming for the orcish archers.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind feels steel meet flesh and his colorless eyes spark with that incongruous mirth. This close to the Gothshaka, however, he feels his eyes burn from her stench. And as she moves to his right he moves away to his left, a graceful, practical bend of the waist to avoid her blade, and he the stabs upward to her exposed underarm, seeking a swift, quick elimination of her sword arm.


Over head the black bolts from twenty or so uruk bows fill the air with a steady hiss and whistle - some of the arrows are special 'screamers' designed for effect and to cause fear rather than to debilitate. The focus of this 'hail' appears to be the squad headed by Randinen.


[Verisur<#16566>] Striding with some more of the Thrakbuzum troups is the new Talashakh, Verisur. He looks over the battle nad calls out in an authoritive tone. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" Then he draws his own axe and shield out from behind his backa nd charges towards the battle with his tribesmen around him.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor recovers soon from his grand (and missed) stroke, and jumps backwards, making the orcs swing fall again short. He smiles, but the smile brings not the usual cheerfulness of it. It is now grim and cold... "Aye, show me, vermin... show me how orc bleed!", he roars, as he now tries a lower aimed swing, directed at the orc's knees.


[Morlok(#27431)] Two off. Morlok reaches back into his quiver. Short shafts wait there, several of them, all with barbed hooks. The orc's fingers scramble the quiver's contents and then he draws out another shaft. All too aware of the rain of death around him, the beast affixes the arrow to his bow, draws, and lets another shaft fly. But then !! Whack!

"Aaaargh!" Morlok screams. "Right in the blasted .. " He grits his teeth and breaks the shaft protruding from his groin. Thump!!!

"Gaaah! Another blasted .." This one is sticking out of Morlok's thigh. It was partially blocked by his low-hanging mail. Blood seeps down his leg none the less.


[Coll(#26481)] Coll barely manages to lift his legs in a leap over the movement of the mace, luckily for him the woodmen armor is lighter than the metal of those allies, so he is not weighed down as much. On the ground again, the man says nothing, as he brings his batons into a taught position, left, horizontal, right, vertical. With a swift motion, for him at least, he brings down the right baton, hoping to club the goblin in the shoulder.


Chazk's eyes narrow to slits and her fangs gleam in the twilight. She counters the club with her mace and twists it free from where it caught on the wood. Bringing back high and to her left she unleashes a coiled backhand to the humans shoulder.


[Dulisus(#30749)] A cloaked and cowled figure comes over with the Thrak troups. She sneers as she looks around and rests her fiery eyes on the She-hai witht he ugly tark. She pulls her hammer form her side as she slips a drum from her hips to a position to use it as a shield. "Yesss, the Flame will scorch you all. Die light lovers!" She moves with defined grace towards the battle.


[Dorgin(#10862)] Black blood now coating his once gleaming ringmail hauberk, Dorgin swings low at the knee of a taller uruk. A yowl escapes the creature as he falls to the ground, blood spurting from his stump of a leg. But as he does so, he swings a rusted scimitar at the veteran Warder's shoulder. The blade cuts in just beneath Dorgin's hauberk and he staggers back with a grunt as several of his companions move in to finish the uruk off. Clutching at the wound, Dorgin pressed the shoulder of his cloak against it to staunch the flow of dark cimson blood. Switching the weight of his axe to his other arm, he joins a group of four fellow Warders, continuing through the black mass.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk frowns again as his scimitar misses the dwarf, "How me suposed to hit ya if ya keep moving? Hold still little dwarf." as the battle axe again sings ar him he tries to jump over the low blow only to have it slice into his right leg. He quickly regains from the blow and swings his blade low again toward Braldor's right knee.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] A spear. There, among the swordsmen, a spear. Dilgaarth's eyes flash hate. "The pointy pole, yesss..." He runs a hand along his midsection, pensively - perhaps an old wound? Whatever. The Master Scout advances with a surprising speed upon the line, a beeline made for Duinlas. Racing forward within twenty paces, the Scout screams, a hiss of hate in the air (but certainly not heard over the clashing of equipment all around). His ebony marble eyes bear down on the spearman and he charges, ready to strike within a few seconds.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor's grin of pleasure quickly turns sour, as the orc swings again... and strikes him. Grimacing, he doesn't jump back this time, nor utter any word, as he whirls and swings towards the orc's midsection.


[Tiamaat <#17562>] There was ever a weakness in chainmail, and any other armor, at the armpit and Gondramind does well to exploit this weakness in Tiamaat's glittering black chain mail -or aim to- the jab of the sword is not taken directly there, however, since the bloodied goblin was not so obliging as to stand still. Blood comes from her right side but it is a nick, painfull, not enough to imobilise the sword arm. As she presses another slash diagonally across the tall foes gut she shouts: "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" She winces as more blood comes from her cuts.


Eirik affixes his arrow on Chazk, now, attempting to help out Coll. Drawing an arrow back, he releases it at the orc.


[Coll(#26481)] The pain is growing worse, as blood flows into Coll's face from the wound over his eye. Now the pain is in his shoulder. "By the Bear!" he cries, a scowl on his face. The man now tries one last attempt to harm the foul creature. His right baton again moves towards the head of the Chazk.


[Verisur <#16566>] "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" Verisur rushes to fight. He then throws his axe towards the elf that is fighting her. He he weaves through the throng of forces, and pulling out another axe.


[Randinen(#10961)] As the 'screamers' rain down upon the elven archers, truly their strength of will is tested. Most do not move from their spot, keeping their information; for many of these archers have developed a strong resolve due hardships ednured during previous battles. But the youngest of the squad stir... their fright fueled by these strange arrows. A few Thandyr fall to their knees, as even less indeed break the code of discipline...

"Keep formation!" scowls Randinen, eyes flaring as he sternly addresses his 'men'. Some heed the call, snapping back to their senses, "Supportive burst!" followed by the familiar *thwangs* of elven strings.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk again smiles as his blade finds the dwarf then quickly steps back out of the battle axe as it flashes past his stomache. Stepping again forward he sends his blade again low toward the left knee of Braldor.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Glad to see the arrow reaching its targer, Helegrhofel raises his gaze to the sky and cries, "The Valar are with us! Fear, spawn of the expelled Dark Lord!", trying to encourage his comrades and discourage his oppenents. But indeed, it seems the Power of the West are with them. "Gil-Estel shines upon our way and the light of the Silmarili will burn the eyes of the evil!", he adds to his previous words.

For a moment he turns his gaze back, hearing a grunt from the back, and notices Eirik being hit. He says nay for Randinen has spoken but turns to loose yet another arrow at his -still standing- former target. "Take this! For Thuringil!", he cries to the orc and when the arrow leaves he rakes his hand through his long dark hair, shiNing blue in the light of the stars that begin to appear. But another arrow flies and Helegrhofel is forced to leap out of the way for a moment, only to return to his former position in no time.


Chazk cries out as from some unseen foe an arrow bites into the she and she growls in rage. Moved into even greater furry she intends to finish this human and make another pay the pain she now feels. Slowed or perhaps distracted the club of the human dances offer her armor. She huffs. "Newborn orcs have a bigger bite than you.NOW Die!"


[Ailiell(#31678)] Still the line of the unarmed wends a steady path towards the open north, some burdened with stone, and the more debilitating reluctance to leave their fellows behind. Ailiell's clear voice drifts with the faltering breeze, begging haste -- touching shoulders in a light onward shoving as she, herself, pushes to the very back of the group. The healer turns towards a familiar voice, seeking Glasiel, the fading sunlight sparking through the sigil at her throat.

"Shall we take rearguard?" she calls to her.


Dulisus makes her way near the elder she-hai. She cackles evilly as she sees the tark withing but wooden rods. "What and easy target this one will be!" She swirls her hammer over her head as she launches to towards the shoulder of Coll. "Die Tark!" Her fiery eyes glances tot he Master Guard as she aid her in battle


[Duinlas(#27187)] As blood flows around him, Duinlas takes a step back, suddenly finding himself unassailed. He glances around quickly, and in the dimming light, he spots the charge of the Master Scout of the Yrch. He takes a deep breath, freezing in place at the sight. Yet his eyes moves keenly, watching each footstep. And then when he sees that Dilgaarth is almost upon him, and thinks he couldn't possible turn aside, the young Celdir drops into a low, sturdy stance. His spear is held straight forward in both hands, a skewer meant to impale the orc on his own furious charge.


More than one of the goblin archers has a white feathered arrow protruding from its chest and more still have arrows embedded in thighs or guts but still they will draw their bows whilst they live and breath. Another volley goes at the elves and more screamers with it.


[Morlok(#27431)] Morlok is quickly becoming a pin cushion. Not that it's anything new. Servants of the Flame are especially renowned for their fortitude (and cruelty) - the Treasurer is no exception. Instead of retreating or cowering, Morlok seems to take heart in the comming darkness. He glances overhead and sees roiling clouds. He squints? Are those birds?? No! Zip zip zip zip zip! Another hail of elven arrows rains down around Morlok. One of them buries itself just below the orc's collarbone. A sharp pain shoots down his arm as he aimlessly shoots off another missle. He's hit again as soon as he releases.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind simply, quikly, steps back. And Tiamaat's blade whisltes past his chest and belly. He raises a brow and winces at the vile speach the drips from her lips. "You are a poison," he mutters as he aims a blow for her right side of her neck. "A poison to be leached from the earth."


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] *THUD*
The spear of the elven upon Dilgaarth's leather disc. Sidestepping as the equipment collides, Dilgaarth's arm sweeps diagonally downward in reckless abandon. It is obvious the orc wishes this to be a short fight; he seeks to chop the left leg off at mid-thigh with his swipe of heavy scimitar.


[Braldor(#30149)] "Well, stop dancing, vermin! Come meet yer end!", the dwarf snarls. But it is he who must "dance" now, barely avoiding the orcish balde from hitting him. "Is that all ye got?", he asks, as he attempts another overhead chop, aimed now at the orc's shoulder.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] A wide swath Tamuuz does clear amongst his ranks...he silver-hair, raging with his war hammer, loudly calling death-hymns to the rhythm of pounding drums as he strides quickly forward.

'Let you now before me lie
Upon a bed of swords and die
Bend your bones and tear your heart...
Pull your legs and arms apart!
Be merry, my lads, we've come, we've come...
And will leave all of these, undone, undone.'

From left to right the black menace sweeps, and the uruk warrior's grey eyes scathe the lines of foes before him. His garish mouth tears open into a wide, pustule-infested canyon. On his face gloams the stink and hate of his entire life - and by his haste, there is a score with this that he would soon see settled. His focus ranges over all and none, and it is yet uncertain whom he will seek to acquaint with his iron. To Tiamaat's side he plows, and he hefts his hammer in two hands, and releases a horrible shout.


[Eirik(#13373)] Refusing to let this orc get the best of Coll, Eirik knocks another arrow. Aimed for Chazk, he calls, "Die foul beast!" as he releases the shaft at the orc.


The line of the Ethiriath begins to waver, falling backward but holding formation. Some elven swordsmen are wounded, thin lines of blood darkeNing their armor, their faces, their hands. But they fight on, swords rising and falling agains the sea of black hate that roils about them.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk again shouts out as his blade misses it's target, "Quit jumping you little dwarf. How you expect me to hit you if you keep jumping around in this cursed light." He quickly jumps back out of the way of the flashing battle axe then steps forward sending his scimitar high toward the neck of Braldor.


Verisur rushes forward as the elf strikes as his queen. He lets out a feral cries' Shai!" And then he moves in as his shield tries to crach against Gondramind. His axe whirls up and then slashes at his right thigh. Her snarls at the elf. "Die, Light lover!"


The dwarven warders fight on, even when some of them fall prey to the cruel orcish weapons. However, they stick close, battling the black wave of attackers, swinging their weapons with abandon, sometimes missing, sometimes hitting.


[Coll(#26481)] The attack this time is nearing to much, for the human barely has enough in him to keep up this fight. His visage is being blocked by the blood that spills into his eyes. Coll begins stepping back, and he falls to the ground awaiting his fate.


[Glasiel(#31797)] The answer to Ailiell's question comes tossed over Glasiel's shoulder, as the Nethril has already turned to run back toward the fray. Her keen sight picks out one of the humans, outnumbered and badly wounded. Her eyes light in triumph as Eirik's arrow finds its mark in one of Coll's attackers, and she slips in swiftly to pull Coll away before it is too late.

"Come, friend... this battle is over for you. Let us go, that you may be healed to face another day..."


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor ducks his head, avoiding the bite of the orc's scimitar, and in the same movement he makes a chop with his axe that comes upwards, the dwarven blade gleaming with the dying sun. "Die, vermin", he bellows.


[Duinlas(#27187)] *SWOOSH*
So quickly does the battle seem to happen for Duinlas, yet his reactions are there to meet this speed. As soon as he sees the leather shield of the Orc come up to meet his would-be skewer, he is moving backward. And the blow that was meant for his front leg flies wide, striking nothing but the air that was there. He resets his footing, forced further backward from his spot by the furious onslaught of Dilgaarth. He swings the spear in a low arch at the beasts lower legs...


[Tiamaat(#17562)] Luck, or the Demon, prevents Tiamaat's head from being severed right along the curious scar that encircles her throat (her 'crown') - this 'luck' comes in several forms, the first of these being that, with blood dripping from the line across her thighs, she retreats a pace or two out of the sword's path. The second is that an axe was thrown might have been a distraction - the sky grows ever darker, though, and the Gothshaka grins as she brings her scimitar sharply up between the edhel's parted feet hoping to deliver a deep cut to inner thigh.


[Eirik(#13373)] Seeing his friend being taken care of, Eirik's shot turns back to the fray. Launching an arrow out, he hopes he hits an orc.


Silothiel makes her way to the back of the line so that she is even with Ailiell. "Ailiell, how far are we to go? Of course, I do not wish to stay with range of htese vermin, but surely we cannot leave our friends and comrades that will need our aid?"


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind's blow to Tiamaat's "crown" swings wide as she steps back but her next blow he can anticiapte.. .a flick of her eye, the angle of her wrist... he begins to jump way from her when Verisur attacks with an axe... all blows to his legs, from which he ca dance away with elven grace. In one movement then his sword arm slashes downward aiming at Verisur's axe arm .... and then upward to Tiamaat's gut.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] After a quick assessment of her danger, Tamuuz barges in to separate the attacking Gondramind from his sibling-Queen. His hammer pushes straight out from his chest, hoping to impale on the top-spike while driving the fellow backwards.


Dulisus snarl at the elf that sweeping to take the her tark prety away. "ooo no you don't elf! That is one that will be sacraficed to the Flame! You shall die with this ugly tark then!" her hammer swings down heavily towards Glasiel's head with one swift motion.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae smiles coldly with satisfaction as two of the arrows strike Morlok, and now a third of Helegrhofal's hand. Yet his attention is drawn to the new uruk warrior that approaches Gondramind and the Gothshaka, and with a dark look, he releases an error, intent on leaving the Hirdan only one foe.


[Dorgin(#10862)] "Hold the shieldwall, stay together!" is the bellowed order from a dwarven officer. Dorgin's group of five, now reduced to four, pushes their way relentlessly through the waves of black, blades flashing in every direction with practiced precision. A dwarf about his own age falls at Dorgin's side, two arrows jutting out horribly from his chest. Down to three. Dorgin's axe cuts up at a short orc, snapping the foul creatures neck in two.


[Randinen(#10961)] Keeping a keen eye on the front lines, Randinen allows his gaze to wander from the orcish archers to their frontfighters. He stands oblivious to the screaming noises made by the black feathered arrows, this in contrary to some of his fellows.

Some Thandyr find their courage failing, falling to their knees as they reach for their ears - fright clearly readibly in their eyes... Ere the light therein fully fades, as several fall forward, punctured by arrows and bereft of life.

"Further apart!" decrees Randinen, looking upon the fallen with rising alarm and concern, "One line... Left and right flank concentrate upon their archers. Middle group, aid our fighters!" the commands are followed up, as the Cunyr shift formations - Randinen at the middle and the front. Soon enough arrows fly forth anew.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk frowns and squints into the light of the cursed yellow orb, "Can't see ya but I can sure smell ya little dwarf. I gonna get you." He jumps backward out of harm's way as the battle axe again flashes past finding nothing but air to slice through. He quickly steps forward again sending his scimitar flashing toward Braldor's right knee.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] Dilgaarth jumps, an attempt to leap the swipe of the spear. Too late, though, and not high enough; the hard haft of Duinlas's weapon bashes into his shine, knocking him back several steps. This attack seems to have moderated his vicious attack mode, and he bounces slightly on thr balls of his feet, stepping forward slowly. Puching his scimitar across his body, he then pulls it across and outward, a backhand slice directed at the right arm of Duinlas; the shoulder, to be exact, is the target of this cutting blow...


Verisur mutters to himself as he misses the elf as he charges into battle. He glances to Tiamaat as he fight beside her to drop this elf. His axe swings down and circles back up towards the neck of Gondranium. "This one will be your trophie, my queen!"


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor snarls with anger, and dances away once more, avoiding the orcish scimitar. "I can surely smell /ye/, spawn of Mordor!", he says, as he mirrors the orc's tactic, going for its feet.


[Morlok(#27431)] Yet another insult. Not verbal. Not sneering or jeering or injest: a painful insult that tears through Morlok's armor burying itself between his fifth and sixth ribs on the left side. The creature howls in pain and lowers his bow. He gasps for air, but it is obvious that the hurt is severe. Doubling over now, Morlok is low to the ground, crouched and quivering. Zip zip zip! The arrows continue to fall. Obviously, orcish archery is no match for the longbows of fairer kindred.


Eirik sees the Hirdan being tag-teamed, and aims to shoot the one who helps the orc queen. Knocking an arrow, he takes aim and draws back the bow. He releases it at Verisur.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Still unscathed by any bowshot from the enemies, while having shot a lot of them, Helegrhofel surely belives his words and takes courage on them. It is not just luck, but something more. His mood cheers up and he begins to sing a seemingly old song, to raise the morale,

Quickly they fall upon the beasts,
like rain falls on the field.
Cries and sore around Dale,
Many Goblins have been slain.

"Do you remember /that/ Battle? But you never learn!", he shouts furiously to the orcs that are closer to them. With that a greyish flame burns into his eyes, the light of Gil-Estel mirrors on his eyes, and he releases yet another shaft to the orc he has targeted a while before; though it now seems long before. Finally he heeds the order of the Hirvaethor and increases the distance between him and his comrades.

[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk frowns as his blade don't find the dwarf and quickly sidesteps to avoid the battle axe, or almost as it flashes past only scratching his knee. He roars in rage and sends his scimitar flashing again toward Braldor's midsection.


[Verisur(#16566)] As nigh fall in, Verisur's eyes adjust to the lack of light. he grin brightly as he moves away from the sword og Gondramind . He then steps back in quickly as his axe sweep down towards the forearm of the elf's sword arm. He grunt with pain as an arrow strikes him as he staggers slightly, but not before his blow is launched.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Duinlas moves instinctivly, the speed of his kin evident in his fluid motion, his face stone-still as he moves away from the blow. He takes a risk and ducks his body to the left, bringing him down below the height of the orc he fights. He realizes the danger in such a low height and he rises up and forward in a thrust, the point of his shaft aimed into the foul beast's torso, hoping to skewer him again.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor sees the orcish balde coming towards him, catching the last rays of the sun as it sinks in the horizon. Using his battle axe now defensively, the dwarf defelcts it to one side, and, going with the same motion, Braldor whirls in a circle his deadly axe directed now at the orc's back!


[Glasiel<#31797>] Glasiel leans forward as the filthy orc swings her weapon, with elven reflexes to protect her newly gathered patient. In the same motion, she reaches into her boot to pull out a hidden dagger. Though the orc's aim is true, so, she hopes, is her own as she returns blow for blow with a mighty gleam in her eye."<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk again steps out of the way of the flashing battle axe and smiles as the sun sinks below the horizon, "Now me see you ya little dwarf. Prepare to die!" and he steps forward swinging his scimitar at Braldor's neck.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] While the morian horde falters, the last rays of the sun fall behind a heavy cloudbank which hangs on the western horizon. Light goes...and the horde redoubles its efforts. Loud cries of glee resound over the field, and amongst them, one clarion basso cuts through all...

We come! We come!
Do not hide!
Do not run!The end is near! The time is nigh!
Come to me and die, and die!

This, once again, is Tamuuz. Still he fights aside his Queen, searching for ingress to the gossamer core of this tall, pale enemy before him. He braces himself and stands between the queen and Gondramind.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] But the skewering is saved for another time, for Dilgaarth is quite quick himself, leaNing quickly to his right at the waist. His scimitar held low at his right side now, he screams, still leaned over, "Darknesssss isss upon you, light-lover! May you rest with the MASSSSTER when I remove your head from you!" And with these words Dilgaarth brings his weapon-arm up in a rage, aiming for the underside of Duinlas' left arm. His blade screams upward toward the armpit of the elf, again an attempt to remove the limb.


[Ailiell(#31678)] "Glasiel ...!" Ailiell falls to stillness as the Nethril runs into the melee, taking three rapid steps after her, over the snow. An ebony arrow sings through the last wisp of light, and she grimly slides her own bow into her hands at the rear of those retreating. "Nay, Silothiel," she calls in a strong tone which brooks no argument. "Who will mend, if we are unable? Go. NOW." The last word is nearly a growl as she sees the healer struck.


[Braldor(#30149)] The dwarven warders keep their position, as they battle furiously the orcs that come near them. Some of their comrades lie on the ground, some moving, some not. But that doesn't stop the warders, and they don't break their defensive position.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondamind is pushed suddenly backward by the intrusion of a fierce, hammer wielding yrch and with out thinking he arches his back, far far back, and then swing around at the waist, narrowly missing Tamuuz attack with the war hammer. Still turNing at the waist, as though dancing with a bird, the old stonecutter aims a thrusting blow to Tamuuz's belly. Night falls as he does this.... and a fire is lit... "Come to you? I am here filth. And my sword craves your blood."


[Tiamaat(#17562)] *SHRRRIEK!* A flurry of sparks go up from between the Gothshaka's scimitar and Gondramind's longsword. Tiamaat has parried this latest attempt on her malicious life. The deepeNing darkness and her sight returns to sharp focus, aided by the sharpness of stinging wounds, as she affords a glance to her brother, Tamuuz, and snarls (for Gondramind's benefit): "I will have this one's heart! I will rip it from his chest!" And so it is towards the Hirdan's abdomen that the cutting blade goes in a swift gesture.


Dulisus cries out with some pain as the dagger slashes agaisnt her ring mail. Some back icor oozes out as he presses her attack agaisnt the elven maiden. "Oooo you will pay, light lover! Yes! You will pay!" THe Acolyte then strikes her hammer with her all her might towards the chest of the elven healer.


[Eirik(#13373)] Seeing the elven healess in trouble, Eirik knocks an arrow, aiming for Dulisus. Drawing back his bowstring, he releases it at the agressing orc.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor's stroke might have caused great damage had it been true, but it didn't hit the orc. Also, it left Braldor's defense open, and in comes the orcish blade, biting cruelly. "Gah!", Braldor says, as he retreats.

Blood now starts to run down his chest, but the dwarf stands there, unyielding as the stone from which some say dwarves sprout from. Brandishing his axe, he swings it towards the orc's midst.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae shakes his head, an arrow astray, and yet another is nocked almost before the first has left. And he takes aim at Tamuuz, it seems, for his arrow does fly towards him, the elf nocking yet another.


[Gondramind(#32156)]"Chest?" Gondramind gasps as he belly feels the sting of Tiamaat's blade, come at him while he attacked Tamuuz. A thin line of blood wells up through his armor and he thrusts now aiming straight at Tiamaat's chest. "/There/ is the heart!"


[Tamuuz(#19026)] Tamuuz looks eager, indeed, hungry, as he parries the blow from Gondramind. Whatever strength the immortal has poured into his strike seems immediately infused in the tense cordons of his black arms, and he sweeps upper-cutting, his hammer seeking to dig a hole in the elven smith's groin.

Afar, the clouds mass as the dull notes of weapons clashing are swallowed by the infant eveNing.


Verisur grins as the other talashakh comes in to aid the queen as well. "yes, we all will take this one down! He shall be out to mount on our spears!" He swings his axe downa nd over as he tries to raise it up towards the chest of Gondramind.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk smiles as the red blood of the dwarf starts to flow then steps lively out of the way of the battle axe. Without a word now he fights on, sending his wicked scimitar again low toward Braldor's right knee.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] Immediately preceding his missed strike at the evasive elf, Tamuuz is hit by an arrow. The elven bolt misses the meat of his neck but barely, and a small cut is opened by it's serrate tip.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor hops back again, avoiding the orc's blade. His wounds start to burn, but that only angers the dwarf even more. Grunting, he swings his axe anew, aiming this time for the orc's neck.


[Randinen(#10961)] Drawing breath it would appear the Hirvaethor Randinen is to bellow another command... However, the elf produces no more than a grunt as an arrow hits him from behind, just beneath his right shoulder. An elven arrow draws forth his blood, as the 'screamers' did their work, sending one of the Thandyr into despair.

A cry of alarm is uttered by some of the archers, and two rush to support the Hirvaethor. Gritting his teeth Randinen attempts to straighten, agony written across his features, "Pull it out..." he mutters, leaNing upon his bow.


[Eirik(#13373)] The pain from the arrow embedded in his leg becomes almost unbearable, as Eirik moves, driving it deeper. He limps back to where the healers are, hoping to be tended.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Though Dilgaarth's words may be true, Duinlas merely smiles at them. The first change in his face since he was beset by this foul Captain of Scouts. As the enemy's scimitar rises, his spear drops, catching the blade against the hard shaft. His eyes narrow and his voice comes forth, all his traiNing with a spear is nothing compared to the traiNing of his voice, his words filling the space between the two as he holds the blade down, "The night is filled with the stars, and is neither darkness nor yours. Go back to your foul hole if you wish for darkness, else the stars of Elbereth sear your eyes!" And he side steps and swings the spear upward over the arm of Dilgaarth toward his head.


Among the artisans, lights spring up. Torches blaze into being, striking against the heavy winter sky. Nearer the fracas, light blazes also among the Ethiriath, glinting perilously bright from metal of weapons and armor. These latter fly with grim focus at the black wave which breaks again, and again against their ranks.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Another big notch is put in the blade of Paashmauk's scimitar as his slice is stopped by the battle axe. He then tries to duck under the battle axe as it is swung high only to recieve a cut to his cheek. Bloodlust fills the uruk driving him even harder in battle as he quickly steps forward and sends his scimitar again toward the midsection of Braldor


[Glasiell<#31797>] The wind is knocked out of the Olvaristdil by the orc's next blow, but still does she shield Coll with her own body. She shakes her head carefully, to clear it, and then she turns the full ferocity of her gaze on the hated creature while pulling Coll away from the battle.

"<Sindarin> Shield! Shield, I pray you! Strike down this vile creature ere it sends me to Mandos' halls!"


[Morlok(#27431)] Bleeding profusely now (and pale as ash), Morlok scrambles to his feet. His vision is blurring and the battle seems to go in and out of focus. Terror seezes the Temple servant and he suddenly fears for his life. It's as if suddenly the cold hand of death has gripped his throat. Gasp! Can't breathe! The orc stumbles away, far away, from the battle. Out of range and out of sight and out of bloodlust for the night.


[Gondramind(#32156)] One attack after another and Gondramind cannot think. His body moves without thought, without hesitation. Tamuuz aims a bow at his groin, Verisur at his chest and he leaps back from both, a simple side step to avoid the groin blow, then a leaNing back to avoid the blow to the chest. Verisur he ignores for now and attacks Tamuuz first, slashing his blade down toward the wounded yrch's weilding arm


[Tiamaat(#17562)] The Gothshaka dodges another of Hirdan Gondramind's powerfull attacks (she will be glad that she did, since if it had hit then her beating heart could now likely be on show for all to admire) - avoidance came by suddenly dropping to a crouch close to the ground and with buckler and scimitar in hand she semi tumble and comes to a stand behind the elf. Her next swing is for the back of his knees to 'hamtring' him. "I will have it yet!" She intends to fell him to a more managable level.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] Hisssssss! Dilgaarth doesn't like being talked back to. He snarls, stepping forward, a thrust of his right arm bringing the scimitar toward his opponent. "What a pretty little poem..."

The cut from the Master Scout flies lightNing fast toward the spearman's own face, a slice which would split his visage open horizontally across the eyes and bridge of his nose, were it to strike...


[Braldor(#30149)] The orcish balde tastes dwarven blood once more, as Braldor, wounded and tired, reacts now with less speed. A gash is opened on his left side, blood starting to trickle form the newly opened wound. Some of the rings of his shiNing mail break from the impact, and a low growl escapes from the dwarf's lips. He talks no more, intent now on slaying this fearsome adversary.

Braldor lets a roar out, as he swings his battle axe in an overhead chop, aimed at the orc's chest.


Dulisus moves to persue the elf that is taking away her prey, but an arrow staggers her. She takes a step back as other block her presuit of Coll and Glasiel. The acolyte then looks around and sees one of the Flame's Gatherers fighting a long beard. She then moves deltly through the battle as she approaches that fight.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] Tamuuz is hit on his hammer-wielding arm, for the outnumbered (but perhaps not outmatched) Hirdan's aim and timing were true. The sword cuts neatly through the mail-cuff, and a wound on the wrist is made. But without a pause, the uruk tosses the heavy hammer from one hand to the other, and with a grunt he swipes his weapon clear 'round his back to bash overhandedly at the chest of the elf.


[Verisur(#16566)] A snarl of frustration comes from Verisur as he continues to miss this quick elf. "We shall ahve your head, Elf!" he then strikes his axe towards his neck as he tries to aid his queen int he battle against this worthy foe.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk steps back from the flashing battle axe but not far enough. Rings of his armor are broken and black blood starts flowing from his chest. Again he lets out a roar of rage and steps forward to send his scimitar flashing toward Braldor's right arm.


[Ailiell(#31678)] An eithir shoves his way through a vicious tangle of orcs, falling to his knees by Glasiel and her protected charge. His shield flies up against a clumsily aimed blow; a strong grip encircling about the healer's forearm. "Come! Can you stand?"


[Gondramind(#32156)] Again, for Gondramind, no time for thought only movment, only the working of muscle and heart and hand. Tiamaat's blow is anticipated. As she crouches low he dances forward, seeking simply to step aside from the squat beast, drawing his departing blade from Tamuuz's wrist.... But he is hampered by the press of bodies, yrch and elf and dwarf... The orc queen's sword knicks the back of his hamstring through his leather breeches, a scratch and without thinking he stabs downward, toward the center of her back. And as he does so, Verisur's axe whistles in the air.... Gondramind ducks, but again not quickly enough. The axe avoids his neck, but slices through his armor at the shoulder, a small cut but painfull.


[Duinlas(#27187)] The blow streaks across his face, and he turns at the last second, yet it is not nearly fast enough, the blade sinks into his flesh, although not deep enough to kill him, it rips through tendon and spills the blood of the poet across the blade. One eye goes dark temporarily, yet he can still see, and suddenly he realize it is merely covered with blood.

The poet flees backward several steps, his arm wiping away the blood, yet it flows too freely to staunch quickly, he stands instead, and thrusts again at the beasts legs, trying to keep the orc captain away from him.


[Dulisus(#30749)] As Paashmauk battle the long beard, Dulisus charges in. "The Flame is with you Gatherer! Fight on, and i shall help you fell this long beard!" She raises her hammer and sends it down towards the shoulder of Bralador.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Glasiel's cry draws Idhrendae's attention, argent eyes glinting with anger as she is again struck. He raises his bow, sighting along the shaft of an arrow, before the missile is released towards Dulisus, eyes seeking the healer, hope burgeoNing that she is well.

[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor reacts slowly again, as the orc's blade strikes him anew, this time on his right arm, right below the protection of his mail. Grimacing, Braldor risks a quick glance at the wound, and grits his teeth. Without roar or word he attack the orc again, his battle axe swung savagely towards its left side.


[Coll(#26481)] Coll is conscious, but barely, and he finds it impossible to walk on his own. The man sees many of the elves about, as he pushes himself onto one knee. He speaks not, as he looks towards the one who has protected him from numerous attacks. His eyes say more than his mouth could. He struggles to bring himslef to his feet, but falls in the trying.


[Randinen(#10961)] With a healthy amount of reluctance one of the elven archers sets his hand to Randinen's shoulder, causing a shiver of agony. "Do it..." breathes the Hirvaethor, biting his lower lip.

Around him not all of the archers ceased their play of arrows. The left and right flank continue their volleys upon the orcish archers...

Then in swift motion the Cunir pulls out the white feathered arrow. A cry of pain... yet it is out, and Randinen sinks down to the ground.


Glasiel nods in relief by way of reply to the ethir, gritting her teeth and refusing to show weakness before the enemy as she pulls herself and her charge to a stand. "Aye." Her voice rings hard and sharp, unlike her usual melodic tones. "We stand. We flee, with your protection, and thank you."

Thus, she guides the wounded human from the battle, as fast as his injuries will allow. "Lean you on me, Coll," she advises. For herself, blood stains her wheat-gold hair... and yet she walks tall and proud as she flees.


Verisur cries with victory as his axe strikes through the armor of Gondramind. He brings his axe up and around as some of his crimson blood gift his axe blade. "Yes, we shall down you, elf!" his axe swiftly swings down towards his legs as he tries to stumble Gondramind.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] As the battle axe is swung toward his left side, Paashmauk steps to the right out of the way of the blow. Black blood still runNing down his chest from previous attacks. He still fights on as he sends his scimitar flashing toward Braldor's right shoulder.


Tiamaat pushes herself quikly to one side to avoid the downwards slice of Gondramind's sword, she winces as stiffness to cuts make the flesh pull when she moves, and then she licks her fang punctuated lips and gets a view of the Talashakhs, Tamuuz and Verisur, and the lips become a smile as she remins behind the seven foot tall edhil. Her next attack is a wide swing at the lower back.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind, off balance from the bodies around him, knowing his blow to Tiamaat has been doged, swiftly raises his blade and slashes downwad, seeking Verisul's axe arm


[Ailiell(#31678)] The war between purposes which wages ever beneath the surface, breaks now over Ailiell as her sister Nethril's voice comes clearly, desperate. With a backward glance toward the line moving steadily, more rapidly now to the open lands and -- it is to be hoped -- safety. The healer nocks an arrow, dark eyes ablaze, turNing her face back toward the struggle. She stands there for those who flee, waiting the moment when there is no choice remaiNing...


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] Blood. RED BLOOD.
The Master Scout smells it before he sees it, and he lifts his arms in victory as he spills the blood of his opponent. As he celebrates, the elf swings at his legs once more, and he jumps. this time, he is in time, and the spear flies by with no harm done; Dilgaarth takes full advantage, somehow gripping the scimitar with both hands above his head. He screams, "Firssst Blood, MAGGOT!" and brings the tip of the blade down full-force. the result of a successful hit will be cross-shaped gashes upon the face of the elven poet.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] The grey arrow of the Cunir Helegrhofel flies away into the lines of the orc archers, though it does not appear to reach its intended target when a grunt is heard from his right; audible to the elven ears, despite the noise of the battle. Helegrhofel turns his head to see the Hirvaethor being supported by two Cunyr. Swiftly he abandons his position, watching carefully so that no arrow hits himself and he rushes to Randinen.

Upon reaching him, he kneels above him as the Hirvaethor is placed with his face to the ground. "Hirvaethor, were you hurt much?", he whispers, "Let us carry you to the healers, now, ere your condition worsens", he says, ignoring the battle going on around them. And then the arrow is pulled out of his shoulder by another Cunir.


[Braldor(#30149)] Another orc comes to attack Braldor, yet the dwarf doesn't see him, intent on the one he battles. The mace impacts him on the shoulder, sending pain down the dwarf's arm. The dwarf sees the other orc's scimitar swing, and acting on instinct he raises his battle axe, deflecting it. Pressed from two sides, Braldor tries to get into a defensible position , while he swings his axe mightily towards one orc's side.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] "When...will...you...writhe /away/, worm!?", Tamuuz grunts as he continues to buffet himself against the mass of Gondramind. The elf is outnumbered, but still he fights the queen! After a ringing of blows, one-two from the orcs, and a counter from the elf at Verisur, the orc-captain sees a possible weakness in his defense. The hammer hurtles outward, backspike intent on opeNing kidney to night.


[Coll(#26481)] The miller does just as he is instructed by the healer, he puts his arm around her shoulder, and lets himself be led off by Glasiel. His pace is not fast, but it is movement. His footing stumbles a bit, but they make their way away from the field of battle.


Dulisus cackles maliciously as her hammer strikes down on the dwarf. "Yes, we have slain many long beards that encoach on OUR land. Youw ill be no different!" She circles her hammer around and then sends it back down towards the head of Bralador. "More Long beard heads will be upon our pikes!"


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk steps back again trying to avoid the battle axe. A few more rings of his mail are cut as the battle axe only bruises instead of cuts the uruk. Again he steps forward sending his blade low toward Braldor's right knee.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] And again does Idhrendae let loose an arrow, and again does it fly towards Tamuuz, glinting within the light of fire. He steps closer to the brawl, nocking an arrow, and preparing to fire again.


Verisur snarls with some pain as the blade of Gondramind. A small amount of blood well up on his arm as he bring his axe around. "You wil pay for that!" he lets out a feral yell as he swings his axe towards the ribs on Gondramind's left side.


[Dorgin(#10862)] Blood seeps from a broken arrow at Dorgin's thigh as a dark stain begins to spread across his black pants. Sweat blurs his vision as a red-stained hand grabs at the arrow wound, trying to will the pain away. But the pain stays, as does the arrow, for barbed arrows cause even more harm to pulled free. The hilt of a heavy cutlass makes sudden contact with Dorgin's iron helmet, sending the Warder staggering back on his weak leg. Wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, he aims a slash at the belly of the attacking orc. Joined by a sword-wielding dwarf, the two weary companions bring the orc to his feet. Gaps now run along the dwarven shieldwall and Dorgin joins the line, hammering at the ever approaching foes with no relent, despite his absence of a shield.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor roars as he listens to the orc's words... the image of the Halls of Moria, infested now by these foul creatures comes to his mind. "Ye shall die, orc scum!", he spats, as he deflects the orc's mace with his battle axe. Continuing the motion, he also deflects the other orc's scimitar that came low, aimed at his knee. "For Dain! Moriaaaa!", he bellows mightily, as he swings his axe, aiming again for an orcish neck.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] *Thwock!* Another arrow from Idhrendae finds Tamuuz. This one sticks out of his right buttock, and the orc jumps slightly in surprise. Reaching back with a gauntleted mitt, he pulls the arrow from his own rear, howling briefly.


Silothiel badly wants to obey Ailiell's instructions to flee from this evil place, but she cannot. Not while her friends are being wounded. Also, she has a job to do. Though she is not trained to treat serious wounds, she is determined to do her best. Now, she carefully makes her way down to see what she can do to help Glasiel with the wounded human.


[Randinen<#10961>] Although scathed... the fire in Randinen's eyes has not diminished. Arrow removed he makes to stand, accepting the support of another elf. Quickly he surveys the onraging battle... "<Sindarin> Night has fallen... this bodes not well. Tirith Imladhrim, know you your duty still?" Defiantly Randinen glances round, as he receives several slight nods from some of the elven guards.

"<Sindarin> Very well, then stay by my side."

Thus a small group moves towards the right flank...


Dulisus chuckles as she sees she is getting to Bralador. "Yes, many dwarves have been in our stews and sacraficed to our Master! You shall be no different!" She swirls her hammer down as it is moved aside. She then swirls it back around as she aims towards his right ribs.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Duinlas raises his spear to block the 2nd strike, but it is too late, and the blade slashes across this arm, cutting the pale flesh beneath his tunic. The pain is unbelievable, and brings back bitter memories of years long gone. Blood now coats both his left and right sides, yet the poet still looks better than the beast in front of him. He does not speak, the will is not in him. He fights now for survival, a burNing inside him rising up for his own survival. He thrusts is spear straight toward Dilgaarth's stomach, a cry which fills the battle accompanying the strike.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Another notch in the blade of the scimitar as it meets the battle axe. Paashmauk jumps back to avoid the deadly axe and the battle axe meets nothing but air. Again he steps forward sending his scimitar swing upward between the legs of Braldor.


[Tiamaat(#17562)] The Gothshaka yells (a notably rare occurence) so that she might be heard by her troops "We will cleanse this place with a tide of red! Spill their blood! Smash their bones! Crack their skulls!" Her eyes, like two burNing coals, bore into Gondramind's back and her blade raises again - she intends to add to the line of redness that decorates it. As once before her scimitar is flicked towards the back of his knees.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor is hard pressed, as he is attacked by two orcs at the same time. He moves his axe now, barely deflecting one orc's scimitar again. But his move is not timed well this time, and he feels the mace impact his right side. GroaNing as pain shoots from his ribs, he swings his axe wildly now, aiming for the orc's head.


[Gondramind(#32156)]"Elves don't writhe, you slime of Morgoth," Gondramind sings out as he turns sideways and narrowly dodges Tamuuz's hammer, aimed at his side. And with satisfaction he sees an elven arrow lodge in the foulest portion of the yrck. But satisfaction is short as Verisul attacks his other side and Gondramind dances sideways again and blocks the axe with his sheild. "Ethiriath," he calls, "help get this filth off me!"

Before the words are full spoken then, Gondramind feels a rush of air behind him and his sword slashes downward as he dances forward and blocks Tiamaat's blow to his knees. He then does a simple flick of the blade to push her off and aims again for her neck.


Silothiel stops dead in her tracks as she hears a voice from inside her, forbidding her to go any closer. She is a bit confused by this, so she obeys, and waits for Glasiel to come to her instead.


Glasiel leans her weight into her task, aiding the human away from the fray as quickly as he can travel. Her head turns to stare piercingly at Silothiel for a moment, her lips set in grim lines as she and Coll retreat further, eventually approaching the Nethordur's side.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk ducks under the deadly battle axe and steps forward to send his scimitar flashing toward Braldor's right shoulder.


Dulisus laughs deeply as Braldor does not attack her. She gets another free attack upon him as he misses Paashmauk again. "Stupid Long Beard! Your vainity will be your death!' She then strikes her hammer down towards the top of his helmet.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] As the arrow is removed and Randinen seems reluctant to leave the field of battle and his Cunyr, Helegrhofel aids him to stand up. "If you may allow it, I would like to stand by your side Hirvaethor", Helegrhofel says and get his longbow from the ground, where he had left it.

He waits for no answer and draws another arrow from his increasingly emptying quiver. He nocks and chooses a new target: the Gothshaka. For the Hirdan is outnumbered. 'Shoosh' the arrow flies...


[Verisur(#16566)] "Hai! yes, thier blood will cover this land!" Verisur cries out as he send his axe up towards the chest of Gondramind again. he punches his s hield towards the elf's as he tries to tie it up, so the other can get thier blows in.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] What will it take for the anger of Tamuuz to be transmuted into successful strike? He looks at the elven warrior, puzzlement flickering in his eyes. Squinting, he takes careful measure of the foe's /exact/ location, anticipated, and lashes out with the un-bloodied hammer once again. A different target, perhaps this time will help....the weapon strikes at elven head!


[Randinen<#10961>] From the right flank now Randinen cries to his fellows, supported still by one of the elven archers, "<Sindarin> Maldinel! Gather a small group of swordsmen and cover our progress as we go forth!" An elven swordsman looks up at the call, somewhat surprised, yet then he nods to his superior...

"<Sindarin> Cunyr, we will circle their flank, and shift the focus of our volleys... Yet, now! Aid the Hirdan and the dwarves!" So from the right a rather dense flurry of arrows assails the fighting orcs...


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor sees as mace and scimitar angle towards him... and he moves right and raises his battle axe, barely making the orcish mace miss, and stopping the scimitar with the upraised axe. Because of his position, he attacks the other orc now, axe swinging wildly to its right side


Spying the furies who encircle Gondramind in their wretched halo, a pair of magor rise with cool focus -- blades flashing within what light falls through the confusion of bodies. An auburn haired swordsman swings his blade in a narrow, solid arc towards Tamuuz, aiming for the foul thing's throat as the orc swings wide.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] Dilgaarth has been trained in stealth, agility, and flexibility. He shows off his skill now, pulling his midsection backwards now. His hands and feet are forward, his gut back; the spear swoops past the retracted middle. Dilgaarth regains his erect stance now, and black eyes scream bllody red as he peers up into the visage of the elf before him. "Hear? My Queen wishesss your death,

Dilgaarth has been trained in stealth, agility, and flexibility. He shows off his skill now, pulling his midsection backwards now. His hands and feet are forward, his gut back; the spear swoops past the retracted middle. Dilgaarth regains his erect stance now, and black eyes scream bllody red as he peers up into the visage of the elf before him. "Hear? My Queen wishesss your death, paleface! She shall have her wissssh, yesss...."

And with hatred mustered from years of pitiful, terrible life in the mines beneath the Misty Mountains, Dilgaarth swings; the tip of his scimitar whistles through the air as he does... the razor point seeks the fair neck of the elf; decapitation is Dilgaarth's aim.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae's eyes now alight in disgust as he notes yet another outnumbered, and they narrow as he takes aim. A quiet twang accompanies the arrow's departure, and he waits to see it's effect upon Dulisus.


Dulisus grunts with pain as the axe of Balador strikes her side. She groans with pain as she looks to him ferally. "You shall pay for laying hands upon an acolyte of the Master!" She then swings her hammer towards the middle of Bralador's chest


[Paashmauk(#19150)] As Braldor turns his back to attack Dulisus, $n again swings his scimitar at Braldor's midsection. In mid-swing an arrow burries itself in his shoulder.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor's strike throws him a bit off balance, and he feels, more than sees, the orc's mace impact his chest. His mail stands most of the damage, but the air is blown out of him. however, his move seems to have thrown the other orc off balance, as its scimitar misses him. RegaiNing his breath, Braldor swings his axe once more, aiming to the orc's right leg.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Rapid fire blows now are aimed at Gondramind and he feels himself in the center of a whirl of arms and legs and blade and spike and axe. The axe to the chest he blocks with his shield, pushing the blow away. The war hammer he ducks and feels it whistling over his head. "Ethiriath!" he calls again and two swordsmen make their way to him and strike out at he axe-weilding yrch Verisur while Gondramind turns away from Tiamaat and aims a thrusting blow at Tamuuz's chest.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Again the dwarf dodges Paashmauk's blade. Again Braldor turns his back to swing the battle axe at Dulisus. Again Paashmauk swings his scimitar, this time at the small of Braldor's back.


[Dulisus(#30749)] The axe of Braldor strikes Dulisus's legs and spins her away. She snarls as she tries to get up, but several anagas come to help the Acolyte. She looks to Paashmauk and calls out. "Kill him! Bring his head ot me and get the blessing of the Master!" She then is carried off back away fromt he battle.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Half blind by blood, Duinlas does not see the blow until it is too late, his reaction is fast, and had he full vision, perhaps the result would be different. His arms fly up, his spear meeting the blade directly.

*CRACK*

Not lightly to the shafts of the quende break under attack, yet need was upon him, and the block diverts the blow from his neck. The blade slicing through the shaft of the spear and across Duinlas' chest. The leather armor parts against the blade, but saves much of his skin beneath it.

Holding two shafts of wood, one with a point on it, Duinlas backpedals, giving one last glance to Dilgaarth before he turns to the north and lets his feet carry him as fast as he may.


As some Eithir break free, to fly towards Gondramind's aid, others still rally about the dwarf, Braldor, who falters beneath relentless foes. Wordlessly, a sharp elven blade sails toward Paashmauk, in an attempt to assure that Dulisus's order is not carried out.


[Silothiel(#21466)] As Glasiel and Coll approach her, Silothiel bows her head. "I apologize for my folly," she says quickly. "How may I assist, Nethril? I'm afraid I don't have much experience treating severe wounds."


[Tamuuz(#19026)] Tamuuz veritably screeches as yet another intended blow gets nowhere. He shifts the hammer back to his blood-covered right hand, and spins it a half-turn until it settles into the heart of his palm. Looking up none too soon, he sees the thrusting sword of Gondramind, and steps deftly aside. ReturNing the favor, he quickly strikes at his sword-wrist.


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor's swing digs deep into the orc's flesh, and also saves him from the rear attack by the orc, which shooshes close... too close. As the orc that assailed him is carries away, Braldor whirls, extending his arms and bringing his battle axe on a sideways chop, aimed at the orc's midst.


[Randinen<#10961>] More than two third of the elven archers have joined Randinen's side. A small group of swordsmen to guard the front, these elves now move onward in attempt to outflank the preoccupied orcs... Thus their backs face the southeast.

A solemn silence drives these elves, till Randinen breaches the quiet, "<Sindarin> Now... without relent. Empty your quivers! And gradually retreat southwards!" thus elven fury is combined with their keen sight, a new volley of arrows unleashed as they slowly move southwards, away from the Artisan up north.


Verisur shakes his head as his axe got tangled with the shield of Gondramind as well. He backs up slightly nad tries to circle. He then launches his axe to try to hook Gondramind's sheild. He then will try to thrust the spike towards his shoulder, if he pull back.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] A blade, and arrow as well, for Idhrendae swiftly nocks and launches such a missile towards Paashmauk, in hope of protecting the Thane Braldor from his foes. He calmly reaches for another, seeking out hiw next foe.


[Tiamaat(#17562)] An arrow, from Helegrhofel's bow, skims past and scratches the back of one of Tiamaat's already scarred hands - the flesh is scraped but nothing more - and again she avoids the sting of elven steel. Apparently the Queen is sick of looking at the edhel's backside (literally) and so she slinks to her assailed brother's side. "We will fell this light-loving flower together!" She aims and swings at the Hirdan's lower belly.


[Glasiel(#31797)->Gondramind] The powerful Music of Glasiel's fea, already humming in the background of your mind since the battle began, begins now to swell into its full might, to bolster your courage and endurance as you struggle with the hated foe.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Heeding the command of his Hirvaethor, Helegrhofel moves along with the other Cunir to circle the orc's flank and help their kin and the dwarves, suffering under the multitude of orc warriors. When he reaches his position -as pointed by the arreyy of his other comrades- he comes to a stop and raises his longbow against the queen again.

Slowly he reaches for a silverish shaft which glints under the light of Gil-Estel and he sets it upon the fiery bowstring. Carefully he aims, longer than the previous times for there are friendly targets nigh to the enemy, making it difficult to get a safe and sure target among the fighting lines. Finally however, he releases his shaft to Tiamaat. After that, he takes a few steps to the south, retreating as Randinen asked.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] As Dulisus is carried away to safty, Paashmauk jumps back out of the way of the battle axe as it shistles through the air only inches away. He jumps forward and sends his scimitar flashing again toward Braldor's right knee.


[Dulisus(#30749)] Once out of the way, Dulisus looks to her leg. She snarls as she see how muchs he bleeds from this wound. She then binds her own leg with some cloth as she holds it there to stopt he bleeding.


[Braldor(#30149)] The Thane's breath now comes in gasps, as he labors to keep the orc at bay... and not succeeding. His scimitar cuts again on his knee, opeNing the gash made before wider. Braldor roars, in both anger and pain, as he launches an attack towards the orc's left side.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind pulls back his sword arm just in time and rather than losing a hand to the crushing blow of Tamuuz's war hammer, he parries with his longsword and with the strength of his years of masonry pushes the hammer aside and aims a thrusting blow again to Tamuuz, this time aiming for his foul gut while bending at the waist and avoiding Verisur's ax.

"Ahh!" Gondramind grunts as Tiamaat's blade strikes home again, his upper stomach now welling a line of blood. He steps back a moment panting and looks at them, brother and sister, "Definite family resemblance. Both foul." And with that he slashes toward Tiamaat's right arm, then steps back again.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] The rain of barbs continues to hail from the sky. Another shaft finds purchase in the thick hide of Tamuuz...a shot that lands upon his right shoulder. Though it remains embedded in the flesh, the mail-armor of the captain has arrested much of the projectile's impetus. He has more than enough in him to swing once more at the elf sword-bearer, his hammer yielding now to nothing, and all hell contained in his shout and effort! "Yii-yii-yiii-yii!", he shouts, a cat-call reminiscent of that belonging to an unnamed warrior princess of his dreams.


[Ailiell(#31678)] A frisson of frustration breaks over the Ethiriath as Gondramind is assaulted again, and again and they struggle to close their ranks around him. Back to back, blades glimmering, they lash out against those who would see their kinsmen fall. Verisur is the target for one, particularly tall swordsman who advances with merciless bright eyes, swinging solidly for the orc's throat.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] Dilgaarth screams, once again raising both arms to the air in celebration, then turNing to face the bloody field around him. His black eyes peer across the field, seeking an orc to aid or fresh meat to eat. He snarls, seeing Both Paashmauk and his Queen under heavy attack and fire. He makes his way in their general direction, still a moment's quick travel away from them...


Glasiel looks first to Coll, to check his coloring. "Take you this human, Silothiel. Allow him to lean on your strength while we follow the others away from here." Only when her patient is successfully transferred does the Olvaristdil's step change, and the first sign of her injuries begins to be evident. She leans on her staff... though to most eyes it would not appear that she does so.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] As the battle axe decends toward his left side, Paashmauk steps to the right to let the axe pass by harmlessly. Then again he steps forward to send his scimitar whistling through the air toward Braldor's left shoulder.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Like the wind Duinlas moves, his body fleeing now for it's life. Finally he slows and then staggers toward the healers. His left eye is closed completely as he can't wipe the blood out of his eye anymore, he looks around with his good eye, and finds Silothiel, he staggers toward her and raises the broken spear in greeting, "Mellon. Need you help? I need a bandage before I can help." He seems slightly wobbly on his legs suddenly.


[Braldor(#30149)] Again the orcish balde tastes dwarven blood, as the scimitar cuts thourgh Braldor's ring mail and cuts into his flesh. Another roar of pain escapes friom the dwarf's lips, as he whirls and aims to the orc's legs.


Verisur shakes his head as his axe misses the wiley elf. He then presses his attack as he punches his shield towards Gondramind as he sends his axe towards the left leg of this vile stone cutter.


Silothiel nods to Glasiel, and allows Coll to lean upon her shoulder. But as Duinlas approaches, she moves towards him as quick as she can and offers to support him. "Come with me, mellon, I don't think you will be helping me today..."


[Tiamaat<#17562>] The Gothshaka glances around her and does not fail to see the situation with the retreating archers, through her pain (mild from previous injuries) she begins to yell "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" She clearly intends for most of her troups to go after Randinen's force but befoe she can say more she suddenly finds an elven arrow in her gut.. blood trickles down her front and that distraction leads to ... well more pain delivered by Gondramind. The she-orc's blade lowers and she staggers backwards shouting 'After the Archers!'


[Paashmauk(#19150)] Paashmauk jumps again to avoid the deadly battle axe and is rewarded by another nasty gash on the leg. He falls to the ground and tries to crawl away from the Dwarf.


[Randinen<#10961>] Clear rises a single voice, not wording cry of war or pain, "<Sindarin> Gondramind!" 'tis the elven tongue, spoken by Randinen, "<Sindarin> Retreat to the north... the Artisans must be kept safe. We shall draw them away. To linger is folly! Their pits are no doubt too nigh for comfort!"

Sending another arrow into the fray Randinen staggers back. The archers at his side follow... and indeed these elves move SOUTHEAST, away from the north where there fellows await. The rain of arrows descending upon the orcs from the South has now outgrown the smaller flow from the north.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Blood flows from a gash across Duinlas' face. In fact, it appears he was thrust face first into several blades: A large cut runs from above his left eye down his cheek to his jaw. Another cut flows from his right arm, coating the spear with sticky blood. At least his armor served some purpose, and there is no gushing blood from his chest wound. He nods to Silothiel as she speaks, blood dripping as he does, and he walks toward her.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Another blow is sent to the Hirdan Gondramind, and again does Idhrendae loose an arrow, yet not at his foe, but at Tiamaat. For her curse has come to his ears, and he nocks yet another, joiNing the archers to the southeast.


[Braldor(#30149)] The dwarven warders have manged to stay close together, their arms falling up and down as they attack and defend, in a deadly dance. Some warders lie on the ground, a couple of them writhing in pain as their kin battles the orcs with wild abandon. Many orcs also lie around the protective dwarven formation, hacked arms and a head or two can be seen, while also orcs writhe on the ground, too wounded to continue fighting.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] The Queen is strong.... she will withstand, she will conquer; she will defeat, and feast... Yet the Gatherer, pig-tender Paashmauk seems to be having trouble; for this fight does Dilgaarth wind quickly; within a moment he is within ten paces, approaching Braldor from the Khazad's left side. He screams once more, "LONGBEARDS! Will you never learn to avoid the MIGHT of the MASSSTER of Moria?!" His blade heled high, he pounces, his blade aimed in a cut toward the dwarf's back on his left side...


[Braldor(#30149)] As Braldor turns, seeking more enemies, a scimitar comes from behind, breaking the rings on his left side and causing another gash to open. Braldor turns, eyes alight, as he swings his battle axe to this new assailant's neck.


[Paashmauk(#19150)] As Dilgaarth comes to his aid, Paashmauk crawls away from the battle heading back toward the orc camp to the west.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] His neck aimed for, his shoulder hit; Dilgaarth -tilts,- protecting his neck, but the rings of his mail are mauled under the attack of the dwarf; he screams again, glaring hard upon the dwarf, and swings once more, his own blade seeking the neck of his opponent. His yell: FOR THE FLAME's GLORY!"


[Gondramind(#32156)] And in stepping back, Gondramind makes an error of exhaustion. So many arms and weapons.... He mistimes his dodge of Tamuuz war hammer and takes a dull-side blow full to the chest that hurls him backward and into a group of Ethiriath that catch him and keep him from falling to the redstained earth. He cannot catch his breath and lay in the arms of swordsman struggling for air, for consciousness.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae's steps are fluid and graceful, until an arrow strikes him, from where, he knows not. Yet it sticks within his thigh, and his steps lead him back to the healers, hurried steps, yet slower and less graceful amid the pain. Approaching Ailiell, he motions to the embedded arrow, and speaks quietly yet strongly, heard over the roar of the battle. "Arnethril, I beg of you for some assistance, with this."


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor ducks, the orcish blade wheezing past him, as he can feel the wind produced by the swing on his neck. The orcish cry is confronted by a dwarven one: "Moriaaaa!", as Braldor's battle axe seek the orc's knees.


[Verisur(#16566)] Upon hearing the order of his Queen, The Thrakbuzum Talashakh calls out. "Thrakburzum! Follow me! To the Archers!" He pulls away fromt he battle with Gondramind as he leads a large group of Orc away fromt he main battle towards a small group of arches.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Realizing the ultimate sacrifice, the risk Randinen and those that follow him take to help the others, Helegrhofel also understands he cannot help as much in that position. So he slowly retreats to the north again, to his former position in the shield wall of the elven archers. He quickly dashes in the shadow to avoid being shot and returns to the other Cunyr.

His previous shots were successful indeed and he feels he has helped somewhat. So, Lossglir is raised once again and another arrow leaves its singing string to fall among the fighting warriors of light and darkness.


[Tiamaat(#17562)] The Queen is struck by another arrow and a yowl of what is certain pain comes from her throat as she staggers backwards and snaps off the two elven shafts that now protrude, still feathered from her wounds, but as she scrabbles painfully to her feet she yells: "You orcs..." her blade points at a group of straggling archers "After the elves!" A short breath "We retreat! Retreat! We have spilled their blood and will do so again!" The Gothshaka now moves in a westerly direction expecting others to follow.


Silothiel nodding to Duinlas, she allows him to lean on her other shoulder and she follows Ailiell away from the battle. "Ailiell!" she calls over the din, "Where can I stop and treat their wounds?" Her face is almost desperate, and exhausted. Never before has she been in such a situation, and she has little idea where to go or what to do.


The dwarven warders fight on, as the number of their attackers dwindle... and so do their numbers. but more orcs fall to the dwarves than dwarves to the orcs. Still, it would be a close call... and then the cry of the orcish queen can be heard. But the dwarves cease not in the defense of their kin, and keep hacking at whoever comes close to them.


[Tamuuz(#19026)] Tamuuz staggers back from the blow he has delivered, and at last the elf has fallen back into the arms of his comrades, and is no more a threat to his sibling-ruler. He rushes then southward as the horde nearby follows suit, and while forging his way through a thicket of tall limbs, he hews this way and back again, hoping to reach one of the phalanxes of elven archers.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Through a haze of pain and lack of breath Gondramind sees the squat, foul Gothshaka begin to retreat. "North!" he tries to call out. "North! Fall back north!" But he is unsure if is voice can be heard.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] A quick step back removes Dilgaarth from Braldor's swipe; he lifts his arm to swipe another mirror attack at the knees of the dwarf, but hears his queen's cries, and again heeds them unquestioNingly; He glares at the dwarf, taking another quick backstep, out of arms reach, and turns completely, yelling, "Your blood on this ground another day, squatling! My Queen callssss!" He attempts to get away from the dwarf, seeking the paths his brethren have taken away south.


As Gondramind falls, the ranks snap closed. The swordsman who bears his weight hoists the Hirdan more securely against his side, and turns a calm face to the north. "Enough," he says, and nothing more, half carrying, half dragging the panting edhel away. As more of their assailants retreat, a magor falls back, slipping his shoulder beneath Gondramind's other arm, taking up the cry which falls faltering. "To the north! Fall back!"


[Dorgin(#10862)] Dorgin's axe heaves upward, weary but clearly powered by fierce determination, and slams into the chest of a grounded orc. "For Dain!" RunNing his shoulder into the belly of a charging orc, the Warder pushes him back, swiping cleanly at the beast's underarm. Blood trickles into Dorgin's right eye from a wound on his brow, but even with his vision growing continually worse, the weakeNing state of Braldor Hammerhand is quite clear. "Thane Braldor! Rally to Thane Braldor!" he bellows hoarsly. The wall of dwarves moves slowly; hacking, slashing, slicing in every attempt to protect their commander. While Braldor continues his own battle, Dorgin and his stout but tiring fellow soldiers form up their wall again, filling gaps with trained ease. "Baruk Khazad!" comes their ancient cry, breaking the battle-swept air with renewed vigor.


[Braldor(#30149)] "Another day, vermin! And be sure I will have ye fall to my axe next we meet!", comes the dwarf's reply, between gasps for air. Braldor turns, as the elves flee, and sees Gondramind. "NO!", he says, as he comes to his friends side. "To the north! Go to the north!", he says to the Tirith, frantically looking for a healer. He then turns, and sees the warders, who have disengaged from the orcs at last. Many lie on the ground, maybe dead, and most of them are wounded. Spotting an officer rushing to him, he stops him.

"Dorgin!", he says, his voice gruff, hiding his pain. "Have our kin taken to safety! move! We go north now! beofre the orcs have time to regroup!", he calls, as he sets the example of getting a wounded warder and helping him fly north, where the elves start going.


[Randinen(#10961)] Thus, as the orc decide on how to tackle the current division of the elves, the archers and swordsmen gathered around the Hirvaethor, continue to fall back in southeastern direction. Being followed, the thick fog of arrows lessens, the pace of the elves increasing, succeeding in their attempt to lure orcs away from the main group.

And whilst most elves finally retreat to the north, these few remain. Swordsmen to fend off the orcs that come to close, as the archers turn and aid best they can... More elves fall.


[Glasiel(#31797)->Gondramind] Her patient taken from her care, Glasiel leans more and more on her staff as she follows the artisans north, though only the eyes of an experienced healer and close friend may notice the difference in her step.


A trio of passing orcs -smallish ones- heckle the anonymous swordsman who is proving to be Gondramind's savior. "Yah! What! You leavin' so soon? Yer too pretty to leave the party!", yelps one. The second merely growls, gyrates, and scuttles towards the swordsman's ankles, his razor teeth hoping to gnaw there as though the leg were a rack of lamb. And the third...the third is the vilest and dumbest of all. He yanks down his filthy trousers, and stumbles forward towards the pair, laughing, giggling uncontrollably while a hot stream of piss shoots from his small plumbing. "Lem-me *HAHA* d-dress that *hehe* salad f-for you, Gorbal!" he weeps, spraying wildly.


Tiamaat wades, almost, bleeding and pained through the long grass towards the westerly view whilst looking over her shoulder to make sure her kin follow - seeing that they do she does not look back again. The Gothshaka's word is law.


[Ailiell(#31678)] Ailiell's uncertainty is mastered, there at the trailing end of their people. Her white knuckles unclench from the bow, and with measured movements she walks to meet Idhrendae as he limps forward. The weapon is slung over her shoulder, and she slips a steadying arm around the Bathron. "Lean your weight on me ..." To the nethordur she calls, "Ahead, ahead we will rest. Put pressure on his wounds, Silothiel."


[Braldor(#30149)] The dwarves reach relative safety, as they haul the ones that cannot walk. Many of the faces of the dwarves are grim, denying pain while helping those who can't walk. A shrill whistle goes up, signaling Randinen that they are safe from any orcish arrows, and that no orcs lie by the dwarves and elves who flee north. After whistling, Braldor turns, gets a warders arm around his neck, and helps him limp towards safety.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] Hearing the Hirdan order retreat, Helegrhofel decides to reinforce his call, "Retreat to the North! Retread has been ordered!", he cries to the cunyr around him, hoping that more and more will hear him. He gets ready for another shot, to cover the retreat of his companions but then notices that an arrow has passed through his right thigh and crimson blood begins to run down his leg. He looks at it and then to his kin and the dwarves. He raises his bow and sends another arrow into the orc crowds. "Retreat while there is time!", he cries, his words followed by a low grunt.


[Dorgin(#10862)] "Aye, Thane," says Dorgin over the din, nodding and wiping his brow. "To the north, lads! Help the wounded!" Still limping on his wounded leg, he grabs the cloak of a downed Warder and heaves the younger dwarf to his feet. "Easy does it. Ye'll be fine, lad." He slips the shaft of his axe through his belt loop, picking up instead of a broken short sword; easier to wield in one hand. "Shield's at the back, don't leave our back open!" And so they retreat, fleeing north as fast as their battered but unbroken bodies may carry them.


[Dilgaarth(#29038)] Dilgaarth, largely unscathed, hurries past other orcs toward the Queen and her sibling Talashakh. As he winds his way through and around and past them, he sheathes his weapon, black eyes seeking his Queen and the Dush which is sure to be surrounding her - perhaps even bearing her forth, considering her condition.


[Gondramind(#32156)]Taken in the strong arms of his comrades Gondramind finds breath again and shouts now, "Fall back! North! Now!" He looks to the magor that hold him and shakes his head. "Faster," he gasps for air still after that last shout. "They go home, but we have miles... leagues.... North!" he calls out again, and hears the call echoed by Braldor...

Arrows still whistle through the air. The night is orange with firelight, the snow red and black with spilt blood. Gondramind sees the struggle of Randinen and the archers...


For the pair of swordsmen who bear the Hirdan, the answer is succinct and immediate. A blade slashes downward towards the one's meagre plumbing, free hand flowing in a decisive movement. The other flings out his sword to behead the one who would gnaw his ankles, distaste and impatience written within his expression.Obediently, grimly, they obey the command for speed, with no apparent disagreement forthcoming.


[Silothiel(#21466)] Without a reply to Ailiell, Silothiel stops to look in her bag for some cloth bandages. "Here," she says, handing several to both Duinlas and Coll. "Press these on your wounds, it will help to slow the bleeding. Let me know if you need help. We're almost there, then we can rest and I can treat your wounds properly," she says comfortingly.


[Randinen<#10961>] Randinen says in Sindarin, “” The whistle is well received. Although their current position prevents the Hirvaethor from offering a pleasant smile, for his group is hard pressed. Nonetheless the safety of the others brings some relief. For now the archers turn, ceasing their fire. "Retreat... to the closest cover. Haste now!"

Thus a second retreat begins... swordsmen following last, to fend off more of the orcs, best they may. Yet, they are too few... and more swords fall useless into the snow. "Travel safely!" rings the final word, ere Randinen turns around and runs with his fellows, southeast."


[Glasiel(#31797)] Once Glasiel's steps (and her staff) bring her to a (relatively) safe distance, she gracefully takes a seat on a large stone. Too gracefully. Her eyes close, and she sits up straight. Too straight. From her lips there soon rises a melody, wafting on the wind to the ears of the retreating elves, humans, and dwarves. Her song is powerful, though she is herself robbed of her strength. Even wounded, she would lend what power is left her to those around her. She sways slightly with the effort.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Duinlas obeys Silothiel. Although he hesitates for a moment, then he figures it out, pressing one bandage to his face with his right hand, and pressing the other bandage to his right arm with his left hand. Immediately the bandages are dyed red with his blood. Duinlas lets out a bitter laugh as he stumbles north with the healers.


[Helegrhofel(#22136)] And as all fall back to the north, a Thandir aids Helegrhofel to walk on the snowed terrain and to the Artisans in the north. But the group of Randinen is left behind, lingering in peril.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae nods at Ailiell's words, coming to lean upon her, as he awaits the healer's treatment, quiet and now calm. His gaze wanders the retreating forces and the injured and dead, before his quiet words come. "Do not fret over me, mellon. All I require is a moment, and there are surely more that need the assistance of you and your kind."


[Braldor(#30149)] Braldor listens to Glasiel's song, strenght lent to his arms and legs... and to his heart, mcuh grieved by the fight. His wounds bleed, but he pays no heed to them, even thoyugh his legs start to feel weak, and he gets dizzy. But Braldor fights the darkness that creeps ito his eyes, and puts a foot ahead of the other, guiding the young warder to safety. Another warder comes rushing, and helps the thane with the wounded dwarf. Braldor glances at his helper, and sighs. "Ye take him", he says with a nod and a grunt. He then moves towards Glasiel, until he stands beside her. "Let's go, Glasiel... there's nothing more we can do here. And it will do no good if we have to carry ye too... so please, let us leave this place", he almost begs, his voice full of sympathy.



High Moors
You stand on a grassy plain west of the Misty mountains. To the east, the Misty Mountains end in a steep escarpment, an impassable cliff. The plain continues in all other directions, an endless expanse of scrubby grassland. Icy winds blast down from the mountains and sweep monotonously across the plains.


[Glasiel(#31797)] Slowly do Glasiel's eyes open, and she smiles at Braldor, though perhaps her smile is strained. "Aye, friend," she says, softly switching from song to speech. "Let us leave this place together..." And so she stands, and leans on her staff to follow the dwarf in the path of the artisans, to the north.


[Ailiell(#31678)] The scraggling line of the wounded and weary pushes onward, until it becomes clear that no further ground may be covered without rest. Then, and only then, do they begin to fall away from the trail, in various states of consciousness and disrepair. Ailiell, having stubbornly remained beneath the Bathron's arm, releases him now, looking over their party with a closed gaze. "Sit, mellon," she murmurs, absently, then turNing in a circle in search of Glasiel.


Duinlas struggles to walk now. Nearing exhaustion, and his muscles rebelling at holding the bandages against both his face and arm as he walks. And it appears his chest is bleeding as well now. He finally sits when Silothiel says it's alright, laying on his back, his one open eye staring up at the sky. "Ah, beautiful starlight."


Silothiel notices that both Duinlas and Coll are having trouble and are just as weary as she is. When she sees that Ailiell has stopped, she sighs with relief. "Alright, mellyn," she says quietly to Duinlas and Coll. "Now we can rest." She lets them both sit down on the ground and assists them in the process.


[Coll(#26481)] The figure of Coll is in a pitiful shape, blood covers his head, and much of his clothing is covered in his life-giving blood. Moving along with Silothiel, the miller forces a smile. He sits, with the assistance of the elf lass. "It seems that you continually are about helping me." his eyes appear to be looking beyond her. "I ... thank you. Siloth..." his voice fades as his strength wanes again.


[Idhrendae(#31338)] Idhrendae heeds the elleth's words, sitting on the ground as Aili removes her support. He is careful not to put pressure upon his thigh, and even now it bleeds, the flow only encouraged during the walk. His gaze is woundrous, however, as it turns upon Glasiel, appreciation apparent as well.


[Glasiel(#31797)] Glasiel is not hard to find, to those held close in her heart. Indeed, she has found a perch on a low rock, and has once again begun to sing, though the Music comes from her fea directly to the hearts of those around her. No sound carries on the air to find the ears of enemies.

Her eyes are closed, and she sways with the effort as she leans upon her staff. Mingled in her wheat-gold hair is the stain of her own blood, from the gash behind her right ear. No other wounds are /visible/, though she leans more heavily upon her staff with each passing measure of Song coming forth from her lips.


[Gondramind(#32156)] A mumble and rumble of voices is heard among the Ethiriath as they come wearily to join the others, straggling in by twos and threes, until the source of the voices is seen. The Hirdan Gondramind struggles against the arms of the two Ethiriath that bore him from the field of battle. "I can walk, mellyn. I can walk!" he grunts and stands and staggers forward, bent, one arm around his chest, blood staiNing his midsection, his legs. "The hammer just... knocked out my air."

The old stonecutter limps forward, hands and face smeared black with the blood of yrch, then stumbles to the ground and leans back against a boulder. And in so doing realizes he still carries the pack of quartz on his back. Without a word, he tries to take the pack off, hands fast and jerking at the straps, the shadow of a fey light gleaming from his eye.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Now that he is able to lie down, Duinlas drops his right arm from his face, letting the bandage on his upper arm stay in place. His left hand moving to hold down the bandage over his left side of his face. Breathing is painful and his eye turns slightly to look to his side and when he spots the spear he speaks, a very clear voice, but frail, lacking it's usual fullness... if you did not see the voice come from him, you would not think it was Duinlas at all, "Mellon. Save the spear ends for me. Take care they are not discarded if I am moved," his voice seeks out Silothiel, whom he does not see in his vision.


[Ailiell(#31678)] A narrowed gaze lingers long on the Nethril, once she is found -- grim, and pondering. Ailiell looks down towards Idhrendae, marking the slow flow of blood. "Rest you here," she says softly. "Do not move." Swift steps carry her by Silothiel then, a glimmer of a glance marking Coll and Duinlas where they lie, measuring their conditions. "Nethordur," she calls, gently. "Tulaxar. Tulaxar for Duinlas -- I will be back."

And by the Hirilin she comes to rest, extending her hand towards the elleth's pallid face. "Glasiel ... look at me?" Even as she speaks, she is swiftly taking stock of the elleth's injuries. "Are you well enough to help?"


Silothiel smiles slightly at Coll's words, but then gets back to her works. She hums a small tune under her breath; hopefully it will bring comfort to those around her. When Duinlas speeks, she is moved with sympathy. "Of course, mellon. Nothing will happen to them." She also takes the bloodied bandages from Duinlas without saying a word. Then she digs inside her bag of herbs and produces an even smaller pouch which appears to contain some sort of powder. "This will help to slow the bleeding. Unfortunatley, I have nothing to sterilze the wound yet for that would require a fire, and this needs treated now." She seems to speak mostly to herself, to affirm what she is doing. Carefully, she sprinkles some of the powder onto Coll's wounds.


[Glasiel(#31797)] The Hirilin's lashes flutter open, her eyes to gaze up into Ailiell's face. Her smile, though strained, is genuine. "I fare better than some, melleth-Nin. Though..." her head tilts, so the head wound faces the Arnethril's direction, "some small assistance would be most welcome, ere I come then to your aid in the treatment of others?" Her smile is partly jovial as she speaks...


[Glasiel(#31797)->Gondramind] ...and yet there is a tension in her voice that is very rarely present, that only those closest to her would notice.


[Coll(#26481)] Coll's face shows his pain. Intermingling with the blood is sweat. He is evidently exhausted as he seems to fade in and out of consciousness. His body goes limp on the ground, though not from death, just sheer exhaustion. As he battles to stay awake, the one thing that assists is the song, something of it does more than natural healing could possibly. Yet Coll still laspses into sleep. His breathing is heavy as his body tries to heal itself by rest.


Duinlas murmurs and nods as Silothiel tends to him


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind watches as Ailiell and Silothiel tend to the wounded.... His breath comes in short, pained gasps, the intake sounding almost like a cut-off whistle. He gazes long on the injurred, on every one. And the more he sees, the harder his face becomes and the more distant and.... precarious the light of his colorless eyes.

Glasiel's voice reaches Gondramind, the tone and strain of it pulling sharply upon him... He looks to her. Small and frail she seems in this harsh land, forzen land. And without thinking he struggles to his feet, holding his chest, and walks toward her, sits beside her on the ground, trying to hide small gasps for air as he does so. He says not a word. But takes her small hand in his.


[Glasiel(#31797)->Gondramind] Fear not, old friend. This night, though troubled, is not the last we shall see, neither I nor you. This I swear, while breath is in this body.


Silothiel smiles as Coll falls drifts into sleep. "Rest is the best medicine," she mutters under her breath. Now, obeying the Arnethril's wishes, she produces one small, greenish-blue leaf of Tulaxar. She moves closer to Duinlas and says urgently, "Duinlas, can you hear me? I need you to do something for me, mellon."


[Glasiel(#31797)] But briefly do Glasiel's eyes flit down to seek Gondramind's gaze, and with their private communication she finds some new strength in her smile. She looks back at Ailiell, and nods in silence, ready for whatever the Arnethril may do.


[Ailiell(#31678)] Unfooled by the note of levity within her friend's tone, Ailiell nonetheless draws together an answering smile, crouching before her. Softly, slow, as if time does not press a heavy hand on their shoulders, she takes up the Hirilin's song, pressing gentle fingertips against her brow for a long moment. And then, as though some decision has been made, a careful inspection moves onward to the cut, lingering long. All remains wordless, or so it would seem, though there is a flicker within her eyes.

And the same steady glance turns down to the Hirdan -- the song growing dim, as worry slides cleanly over into this other.


[Duinlas(#27187)] Duinlas looks Silothiel-ward and nods, "Yes?" he seems quite aware of what's going on, although his breathing is slow, as if he's in a bit too much pain to do it properly.


[Gondramind(#32156)->Glasiel] "I'm here. I know."


Silothiel sighs with relief as Duinlas answers her. "See this leaf? I need you to chew on it. It will stop the bleeding." Handing him the leaf, she smiles encouragingly.


[Glasiel(#31797)] Glasiel's smile once more shines on Gondramind, and with Ailiell's song she sings a descant, even as she slips from her stone seat to kneel beside the Hirdan. Her hands hover over his body as the two healers harmonize, their Song rising in volume as they progress through the measures.


[Coll(#26481)] Though the man is asleep, his body rests not. Coll speaks, barely audible to any but those about him, "No, no...Jora....no." It is evident that the man is having a terrible nightmare. As he speaks, his left arm thrashes a bit, before it comes to rest again. "by the bear!" comes out in an exasperated rasp from his mouth.


Duinlas nods and slips the leath into his mouth, he chews it slowly, "I must look a mess," he says to no one in particular. His back propped up against his pack of quartz. He lets out another laugh, painful for him, but healing at the same time. His mouth moves in slow circles, chewing the Tulaxar leaf, the cut along his face moving as he chews.


[Gondramind(#32156)] Gondramind closes his eyes as he hears Glasiel hum, as he senses the healing power passing between the nethryl. He says no /spoken/ word. But he grips Glasiel's hand tighter, offering strength to his old friend.


[Silothiel(#21466)] A worried look crosses Silothiel's face as Coll tosses and turns in his nightmare. But she can do nothing more for him until she gets a fire going, and hope that Glasiel's song will do the trick. TurNing back to Duinlas, she smiles. "Not as bad as the yrch casualities, my friend. You fought quite a battle out there."


[Dairwenraiel(#30888)] A ghostly figure darts back and forth against night's dark backdrop, heading for the camp. Dairwenraiel runs up to the camp, leaping over ground cover with ease. "The pursuit has cooled. We're tough prey and the night wanes. They have retreated for now." She announces this to the camp in general. Course with closer inspection, the tracker's white garb is muddied with brown. Blood. An arm is sheltered against her stomach and some might notice her hair gnarly and caked with blood at the back of her head. Yet she is upright. The siren call of battle makes pain's call softer.