Ambush on the East Road
East Road - Near the Trollshaws
The road twists and bends here as it follows the path of least resistance through the rough land. The trail is old and rough, heavily travelled but in poor repair, weeds and undergrowth choking the sides before the trees take over.
Four heads are stuck on long, sharp poles on either side of the road, a grim reminder of the presence of Orcs in the woods.
Contents:
Dwarven Camp
Thari
Ghahb
Maagh
Erghash
Bundle of things
Morian Orc Camp
Painfully Obvious Nettrap v2 Beta
Yfelwydan Camp
Crudely Painted Sign
Obvious exits:
East, West, and North
[Thari(#31038)] Morning ages, the sun warming. It's a clean, clear light of springtime that in many places would leave the birds making quite the racket, but here, the air is near-silent. For a while.
And then comes a distant, low rumbling sound that evolves into hoofbeats. A rustling, and then a party of dwarves can be seen on the road, galloping along on their ponies.
These dwarves, too, are quiet. They watch the road ahead and don't speak much. Oddly enough, they bring no wagons, few bundles, and they are moving fairly quickly.
[Ghahb(#21770)] As the evil rays of the daylight rain down on the Horde causing a half-blind state, many have retreated to the safety of darkness within their tents. Or at least into the shade. Though some are not so lucky, instead being forced to stand guard.
The Morghash are some of these. Mounted atop their mighty wargs. Standing guard on the outskirts of the encampment. A rider moves about from guard to guard. His pace a steady gallop. The Shakh Ghahb checks his loyal followers. Ensuring that all is well on the outskirts.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Unmounted at the outskirts of the camp a helmed head creeps above the ridge of a small, just-dug, embattlement. Eyes glint out coldly through slits cut into the helm - blotting out as much of the dreaded sun as possible. Glancing left and then right, Erghash takes in the mounted wolf riders and smirks. "Bloody creatures can see better than we can." The Guard mutters, shaking his head and standing up fully from behind the embankment.
A whistle! A wolf comes forward, stopping next to Erghash. "Well now, you'll have to see for me if we run into anyone today, got it?" Erghash grunts, situating himself before readying his mount.
[Maagh(#30358)]
The bulk of the army might remain in camp, but Maagh has always been gifted as a skilled commander. A small party of roughly 40 Black Guard lie east of the camp, watching the road for just such an occassion as the approaching dwarves.
And always one to be in the forefront, Maagh watches the dwarves as they trundle along on their cute little mounts, smirking a bit as he reaches for his bow. "Quietly boys.... wait for them to get closer...."
[Frarin] Among the dwarves there rides one clad in a grey travelling cloak and dark red tunic. Grimmer of face than most in the company, the silver merchant Frarin rides with the ease of one accustomed to ponies, one hand grasping the reins of his mount, the other holding fast to a mighty war hammer. At his side is a younger dwarf, this one wielding only a small axe of the sort used for splitting wood. The two ride near the front of the company of dwarves, eyes sweeping from side to side along the road.
[Ghahb(#21770)] Suddenly a growl lets loose from the mount that carries Shakh. A howl rings out across the area, followed by many others. Their senses having picked up something of interest. Many begin galloping about, their masters riding atop and looking out over the area.
Ghahb's arm raises, moving in a circular motion, signaling the many riders to form on him. Quickly many of the mounted uruks begin to move.
[Combat(#13388)] Maagh unwields his black scimitar.
[Combat(#13388)] Maagh takes off Leather Shield.
[Combat(#13388)] Maagh wields Bow.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Swinging up and setting himself quickly, Erghash puts his mount into motion behind the others, his axe bouncing at his hip as they begin to trot along. "What do you smell there?" Erghash asks of his mount, not expecting an answer, but instead scanning the horizon as much as possible to see what he may. Accidentally the sun's rays catch Erghash perfectly in the eyes.
"Arghh!!" Erghash grumbles, wiping at his eyes even as his mount continues along. "No good at all. Gotta watch that better." The Guard spits, trying to refocus his eyes on the group of wolf-riders about him.
[Thari(#31038)] Thari is riding a bit behind Frarin and to one side. Like the smaller dwarf near him, this dwarf has a small axe. The wargs howl, and suddenly the stout, strong, and noble mountain pony is reined in. Thari looks up with wide, fiery eyes, the sadly chopped-off beard bristling. The axe is pulled to hand.
The whole caravan slows, then stops, the dwarves to the rear coming in closer.
[Combat(#13388)] Thari wields Axe.
[Maagh(#30358)]
Maagh's head twists slightly as he hears the wargs howl, "Fools!" he hisses angerly as he notices the Dwarves closing up a bit and drawing weapons. "It is now or never...." he says to his little band, raising his bow and nocking an arrow, sighting in through the trees to aim at the dwarves.
"Fire!" he cries, letting his bow twang as an arrow streaks towards the Dwarves!
Maagh launches an arrow...
Maagh's bowshot hits Thari, mildly wounding it.
[Ghahb(#21770)] The riders gallop towards the dwarven convoy, weapons drawn and yells of fury filling the air.
The Shakh rides directly for the crowd of light lovers, hammer raised in the air. His mount gallops at a quickening pace, grunting as it covers the ground ever so quickly.
"RIDERS! ATTACK!!!!!"
Kellan comes along the long, winding road from the west.
Kellan has arrived.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Thumpthumpthump! Thumpthumpthump!
The riders charges begins to pick up steam across the ground. Erghash leans low against his mount, slipping his axe from his belt loop and readying it at his side. "Now there we go." Erghash's eyes finally catch sight of the targets ahead. "Let's have at it." Erghash leans in and grips tightly as the charge continues, his eyes squinting through his visor to focus.
Awooooo! The wolves howl and bark on the charge.
Thari is looking up and around wildly when a black arrow comes directly at the dwarf's face. A loud bellow-- the closest a dwarf could ever come to a scream-- is loosed, and Thari jerks just a little bit, just enough to allow the thing to slice on the cheek instead of embedding in an eye.
"Come at us, you sneaks!" cries the dwarf. "We'll carve you into pieces! AND GIVE ME BACK MY DAMNED BEARD!"
[Frarin] Frarin reins in his pony as the wargs of the distant camp howl, and indeed, the pony tosses its head with sudden fear, requiring no help to slow its pace. The dwarf opens his mouth as if to say something, but glances suddenly to the sky and the dark shadow that has befallen the light. "Look to the sky!" calls Frarin, pulling his mount to a full stop and instinctively glancing away from the falling barbs. But the glance away reveals a more threatening sight still: the charge of the wargs of Moria.
"Wolves!" he mutters harshly to himself before bringing his pony around to face the charge. He looks suddenly to the young dwarf at his side. "So help me, Gerin, if I have to take bad news to your father..." but he breaks off as the yopung dwarf nods quickly and hefts up his axe. Without another word, Frarin lifts his war hammer, gripping it in his right hand as he spurs his pony onward once more. "They are yours for the taking, Thari! Khazad ai menu!"
Draga has arrived.
[Ghahb(#21770)] The gallop turns into a full sprint, the gap between dwarven and orc riders closing so. Riders of the flame move faster and faster, their yells and howls increasing in numbers. The charging cavalry of the mines moves within arrow shot of the Dwarves.
The Shakh's mouth is held open, as a roar uncomparible to anything but a troll's emits from the jagged teeth that protrude. Hammer high in the air, as his mount begins to pick out its own target.
Maagh smiles inwardly as the Dwarves are sent into a mild status of disarray as the Black Guard's arrows pepper their ranks. The General glances sideways as the Morghash Warg riders make their charge, the Commander remaining where he is for a moment.
After a brief survey of the situation, Maagh steps towards the open grassland that seperates the road from the woods, moving into view with the rest of his contingent, not making any moves to charge over the ground to attack the mounted Dwarves, though several orcish archers unleash more shots.
[Draga(#29112)] "So much for subtlety." A twisted little grin, malicious and petty in a way only orcs ever master, splits Draga's lips like the slice of a scimitar. The blood-red tongue flicking between them only adds to the effect, as the drummer raises his weapon, a gnarled spear, in the air and charged after the wolf-riders on foot. Stripped of his daily duties beating Moria's drums, recruited for this party as a rather unnecessary footsoldier ("tertiary support", his commander said), he isn't exactly complaining -- you don't get to kill dwarves every day.
If only the sun didn't burn so much. It feels, sometimes, as if his skin is blistering, but it is already so black he cannot tell.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Erghash continues his charge, his mount coming in to line directly behind Ghahb. "Follow the Shakh." Erghash mutters into the ear of his mount, continuing to keep his body pressed and hidden against the form of his wolf mount. The axe held in his right hand bounces loosely with the gait of his wolf-mount. Its edge glistens coldly, waiting for the first chance to claim blood.
Thari watches the orcs and wolves descend, lips parting in a snarl. Beneath the merchant the roan pony is prancing nervously and backing up. "Wish I had something to throw at 'em," the dwarf grumbles low in the horrible heartbeats of time before battle is joined. "Like the arrows they've got."
Maagh casually nocks another arrow, chuckling a bit as he raises his bow again. "Like shootin snaga in a barrel...." he says to no one in particular, sighting in on the Dwarves, aiming well away from the Warg riders, not wanting to commit fratracide as he tries to pick off at least one more dwarf before the cavalry melee ensues.
Maagh launches an arrow...
Maagh's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
[Draga(#29112)] Draga licks his lips in anticipation, skip-jump-rolling his weight towards the battle. His running gait is uncomfortable and wobbly, due to the uneven crippled bones that fill his small body like unfriendly building blocks. Years of drumming have left him with forearms like lamb shanks, but little else that would help in battle. But the minor tragi-comedy of an orc not entirely fit for battle doesn't register enough in that little head to dull his excitement. With a wild grin and even a sort of choking, snorting laugh, he runs at the dwarves -- still falling further and further behind his fellows in the wolf pack.
[Combat(#13388)] Maagh unwields Bow.
[Combat(#13388)] Maagh wields his black scimitar.
[Combat(#13388)] Maagh puts on Leather Shield.
[Frarin] At a gallop, the stout grey pony beneath Frarin moves quickly, but the wolves of Moria gain the ground quicker. And as they near, the poor beast begins to snort and toss its head as it runs, disrupting the smoothness of its gait. Frarin jabs the heels of his boots into the pony's side to keep it on course, even as a great warg makes straight for the dwarf and his mount. Giving a great cry, Frarin hefts his war hammer up high and swings it as he nears the uruk with a gruesome skull about his neck. The square mallet of the hammer cuts the air, headed for the charging Ghahb's chest.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Your attack against Ghahb lightly wounds him!
Thari tugs at the roan pony's reins and digs heels into her sides. Soon enough, this dwarf is jumping behind Frarin toward the foe. And behind Frarin's foe is Erghash. Thari grimly bears down on this orc and his warg. Hand at the end of the haft, the smaller dwarf slices out with what appears to be a camp-axe, at least in comparison to the battle axes all around.
Thari attacks Erghash with its Axe, but it misses by a mile.
[Ghahb(#21770)] As the Morian Cavalry comes within striking distance the war cries become louder than ever. The clanks of metal, the thuds of paws hitting the ground in such a rapid beat, even the grunts and howls all come to climax in sound level. The mass of some 40 mounted uruks clad in metal leather and bearing the evil tools of their dark trades begins to enter the clash. The sounds of metal clanks, howls of pain or victory, and sprays of blood red or black. All meet together to form the battle, mounted against mounted. Surely a tale to be told, if any live to tell it.
Ghahb picks out his target, and as he nears Frarin strikes first, but all in sequence with the Shakh. The blow from the dwarf strikes the right shoulder of the warlord, glancing off. Though it will leave a bruise, it is not a fatal attack by any statute.
The hammer of the Shakh comes downwards at the face of the dwarven light lover. The a hideous war cry is let loose in sequence.
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 3 hp's by Ghahb's attack...
...you have 94 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Fwish! The axe whistles near Erghash, but does not find bite. Instead the Dwarven weapon sails harmlessly past. Erghash wheels quickly, bringing his axe across and over in retaliation to the Dwarf who would strike at him. Yet, even as he does....
CRACK!! The sickening sound of bone snapping. YELP!
The wolf carrying Erghash goes down, breaking its foreleg and sending the Morian rider sprawling, diving through the dirt. "AGHHHH!" Erghash yells, his body cascading over the ground before finally coming to a stop. Axe still in hand, the Guard tries to ready himself for another pass from the dwarf.
Thari flicks the axe up at the end of the swing in order to avoid hitting the pony's head and then leans back, bracing. But the orc goes tumbling down and, startled, the dwarf releases a quick laugh. Quickly the pony is wheeled around and the merchant leans over to swing again at Erghash with the simple axe.
Thari attacks Erghash with its Axe, but it misses by a mile.
[Frarin] Frarin's attack is quickly returned by the uruk, but the dwarf is saved partly by his own speed and partly by the speed of his fear-stricken pony. The merchant's head bows down and away from Ghahb's war hammer at the same moment as the grey pony wheels awkwardly away from the wolf before it. The hammer strikes Frarin's right shoulder but glances away from the mail hauberk beneath.
Pulling hard on his pony's reins, Frarin grunts as he digs a frustrated heel into the beast's flank again. "On Barim, ye fool beast!" he growls at the pony, who reluctantly advances once more with a sudden spurt. Frarin's hammer swings again as he comes upon Ghahb's right side, the mallet aimed at the uruk's abdomen.
[Combat(#13388)] Draga wields Spear.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Your attack against Ghahb moderately wounds him!
[Erghash(#11368)] Fwhoosh! Erghash can almost feel the breeze as the Dwarven axe passes him by again. Slow to get up, his only saving grace may have been the woosiness from being thrown from his mount. Steady now, Erghash returns the favor of the dwarf with a swipe of his axe, pulling the blade edge horizontally just at the height of the mid-leg of the pony mount. The Guard pulls hard with his shoulders, placing as much power as he may into the strike.
[Ghahb(#21770)] The hammer strikes clean on the Shakh. Ghahb's eyes begin to turn beet read as the fury within begins to burn ever so brighter. Like orbs catching the sun's rays and throwing them back like fire. The attack sets the Shakh back in his seat a little. Throwing him slightly off balance, but not so much to unmount him.
A split moment is all it take for the Shakh to regain enough balance to attack again. Steadying himself on his ride with his long and bent legs, he pulls the hammer back to a half swing. And fires forwards like a lightning bolt. Aimed at the chest the hammer flies, looking for something to catch the blow.
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 13 hp's by Ghahb's attack...
...you have 81 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
[Draga(#29112)] Whether it is fear of personal injury, or an impatient thirst for blood, Draga decides that he should get involved sooner rather than later. Though still quite some distance away from the scuffle (now catching up to the wolves who have slowed to engage the enemy), the drummer hoists his spear even as he runs. Making a few practice jabs in the air, then coiling his arm back like he has seen more seasoned warriors do, Draga calls out something about light lovers and their mothers, and then hurls the spear in the general direction of one of the dwarves. Of course, a better-trained warrior might have slowed down, might have measured his steps or steadied his arm before extending fully to guide the spear along a smooth parabolic trajectory. Draga just chucks it. But the wild happiness in his contrubution makes up for the insufficient skill, and what it might have produced -- pure satisfaction.
[Combat(#13388)] Draga throws a spear...
Draga's spear throw hits Thari, lightly wounding it!
The spear lies now upon the ground now at its feet.
[Thari(#31038)] Poor pony! Erghash strikes true, and the roan's leg is cut at the knee, bone and flesh completely shattered and hanging on only by a grisly ligament or two. An equine scream and she falls, Thari falling with her.
The dwarf gives a yell and tucks one leg up in the fall and-- WHAT LUCK!! Just then a wobbly spear comes flying out of nowhere and glances off of the merchant's thigh, ripping open trousers and a bit of the flesh beneath.
For those nearby, the earth almost seems to shake as the solid dwarf pounds to the ground in the fall.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Erghash grins knowingly as his axe finds bite in the leg of the pony, blood spraying up onto his armour and face. "Now we're even." The Guard grunts, wheeling now to pursue the downed dwarf. Stalking towards the tumbled Dwarf, Erghash smirks, his axe bouncing lightly in his right hand.
"Get up now, you! Not going to waste my time chopping you to bits on the ground!" The Guard shouts out to Thari, his eyes menacing from behind his facemask. Erghash merely waits amongst the chaos, eyes locked onto Thari axe bouncing anxiously in his grasp.
[Frarin] Ghahb's hammer hits home, striking Frarin just to the right of his chest. His shoulder jerks back awkwardly as he grunts with the force of the blow. The frantic grey pony seizes its master's temporary lack of attention with all speed and tosses its head. The move throws the already unbalanced dwarf to the ground, hammer still in hand, as the pony bolts. The pound of its hooves sound for only a moment before the beast is gone, disappeared into the rolling hills from whence the dwarves had come originally.
Frarin rolls quickly, using his hammer to heft himself to his feet. The weapon is now wielded with two hands and the dwarf sets his feet squarely apart. "Come on now, let us see how great you are without your wolf beneath you!" he shouts, waiting for the uruk to charge again.
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
You forego your chance to attack.
[Draga(#29112)] The drummer pauses, jaw slack and eyes wide despite the sun -- the throw went much better than he expected, truth be told. The spear actually went relatively straight, and somewhat in the same direction it was aimed in. The din of battle makes it harder to see, but squinting and shielding his eyes with a black hand, Draga thinks he can just make out his spear sailing towards a falling dwarf (though not the one he aimed at, but close), and maybe even striking him. Usually sullen and grumbly, the orc lets out something like a shriek of pure, vile joy at having actually *hurt* another living being. Gathering both his courage and his energy, he begins to run at the battle.
Of course, he is now entirely empty handed, having gotten rid of the only weapon that could have protected him. But for the moment, he seems to forget all about that -- adrenalin can really imbue amazing energy in success and in fear, so much so that one might forget even the most precious of his senses, self preservation.
Thari's solid chest heaves as the dwarf tries to catch breath after the fall. Silvery eyes are narrowed and glaring at Erghash, and the dwarf arises-- even seeming to hesitate a little. The roan pony is screaming and writhing in her agony, but still the dwarf spares not a glance there.
"Are you the bastard that took my beard?" grows the short dwarf, before darting forward and swiping at Erghash's head.
Thari attacks Erghash with its Axe, but it misses by a mile.
[Erghash(#11368)]
"I'd rather take your head." Erghash chuckles, moving aside with a low side step as the Dwarf lashes out. The Guard is quick to respond, coming back with a quick backhanded lash of his own, axe slicing through the air in a desperate search for new blood. The Guard moves with his blow, hoping to drive it home and end this fight quickly with his new found foe.
[<#21770>] As the dwarf is thrown to the ground, the Shakh sees the pony dart for the hills. Yelling,"
Ghahb looks down to the now standing dwarf. Sensing the mockery,"
Leaping from his ride, Ghahb lunges for Frarin. Shield in hand and hammer raised high. As he comes down towards the dwarf, the hammer follows. Its flight path taking towards the forehead of the dwarf.
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and you parry his attack with your War Hammer!
Erghash attacks Thari with his Axe and mildly wounds it!
[Draga(#29112)] Finally, for better or for worse, Draga has found his way to the battle. He approaches the very edge, where wolf riders are hanging back to observe, or pushing through to get at the smaller number of dwarves, and scans around for where his spear might have landed.
Ah! A fallen pony, trying to get away. And a dwarf! A dwarf, right there, engaged in a fight, distracted... ripe for the taking. In his haste and his bloodlust, Draga pushes through the wolf-riders (as a wolf growls, and finally snaps at him, missing very narrowly), and makes his way, wading in the battle like in water, towards Thari.
Whether he is over-eager, distracted by bloodlust, or perhaps simply tired, the drummer seems to forget that he is freshly weaponless. Raising his fist above his head, as if still carrying a spear, running right at Thari, Draga stops right before the dwarf and jabs his fist through the air in a futile, awkward attempt at a thrust... except, for all intents and purposes, he has ended up running up before the dwarf and... just... shaking his fist. Surprise and fear slowly, too slowly, dawn on him.
Breathing hard from the blow to his chest, Frarin readies himself as Ghahb quickly dismounts the warg. A quick intake of breath sends a sharp pain through the dwarf's chest, but his eyes do not leave the lunging orc. Frarin's blue-tinted hammer soars up to meet his enemy's own mallet and even with the taller uruk towering over him, the dwarf pushes the offending war hammer away and towards the ground. Without a second's pause, he charges his opponent, turning his hammer in his hands and driving the wicked spiked end towards Ghahb's left hip.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Ghahb parries your attack with his shield!
[Thari(#31038)] The blow skips across Thari's helmet, creating a fine DING! as it does so. The dwarf leans away from the ringing, eyes blurring a bit. And back the axe flicks as well, rather blindly, the blace slicing toward Erghash's midsection.
In the midst of all of this, somehow Thari misses Draga's attack.
Thari attacks Erghash with its Axe, but it misses by a mile.
[<#21770>] Although the hammer strike was blocked by the dwarf, this discourages the Shahk little. "
Quickly the Shakh shifts his hips, turning slightly and following through with his hammer, aimed directly at the chest of the dwarf. Hammer in motion, a lethal item indeed...
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he misses!
[Erghash(#11368)]
The Guard shifts back, allowing the Dwarven axe to pass harmlessly in front of him. A quick shuffle-step forward, and Erghash's axe is sent crashing down from on high - seeking to seperate shoulder from body. The Guard's smile has disappeared, replaced instead by a stoic intensity with his eyes locked onto his prey. Erghash can only press his attack forward, axe dashing down amidst the chaos of battle.
Erghash attacks Thari with his Axe and moderately wounds it!
[Draga(#29112)] Caught in this rather compromised position, Draga sneaks a glance back at the orc fighting Thari, to see if his embarassment has been noted. Thari himself, engaged in a /real/ battle, seems understandably distacted. Now torn between running and fetching his spear, or simply doing what he can with what he's got, the smaller drummer looks around quickly across the field of war, his feet shuffling an embarassed, indecisive gigue. He looks back and forth between Thari and the place where he has now spotted his spear -- back and forth and back and forth and finally, his hands twitching, lets out a primal (albeit much too high-pitched) scream, and lunges at Thari's neck with his bare hands... trying only to duck Erghash's axe, lest there be an incident of friendly fire.
Draga attacks Thari with his Bare Hands, but Thari parries the attack with its Axe!
[Frarin] "Take your dirty language back to your dirty home!" cries Frarin as the unintelligible speech grates coarse upon his ears. The uruk's aimed blow is closely averted, for the dwarf skips back a step and watches the war hammer soar just in front of him.
Taking advantage of the missed attack, Frarin follows Ghahb's step, bringing his hammer round and aiming the mallet at the uruk's left knee.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Your attack against Ghahb lightly wounds him!
Thari's arm is outstretched from the last swish, and thus is still not quite pulled back when Erghash's axe comes flying down. Dwarven armor is well-made, bless the forge, and thus the axe just catches sparks and pounds in a bruise. Thari's axe is lifted--
Suddenly Thari's thick neck is surrounded by strangling hands! There's a thick choking growl, and the axe is waved wildly at the unseen arms. The hands are knocked free, and the dwarf gives another swish or two for good measure.
Thari attacks Draga with its Axe and badly wounds him!
[Ghahb(#21770)] The hammer strikes true, but not at its intended target. Instead striking Ghahb's calf. A moan is let out, and the Shakh slightly stumbles.
Reaching out with his hammer once again, the Shakh takes aim at the torso of the dwarf. This time spike end of his hammer first. The hammer seems fairly aware of its intended target, making a low whir as it dashes through the air.
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 7 hp's by Ghahb's attack...
...you have 74 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Distracted by the other orc, Erghash presses his attack in again on the Dwarf. The Guard pulls his axe back across his body in a quick slicing motion aimed at the midsection. Silently, the blade cust through the air quickly in search of its next meal. Erghash's body tenses with the motion, muscles snapping into place to add power to the strike.
[Maagh(#30358)]
The Black Guard watch the battle unfolding, though the overall picture seems a little confusing. Maagh barks out several quick orders, the orcish infantry fanning out in a tight box-like formation. The Commander moves to their front, drawing his scimitar and walking towards the road, trudging at a steady pace.
Erghash attacks Thari with his Axe and moderately wounds it!
[Frarin] The spike rips into Frarin's tunic and chain mail, dislodging several of the closely linked metal rings and ripping into the flesh of the dwarf's hip. A grunt of pain is his only reply and his right foot goes back a pace to steady himself. But he carries the momentum through, bringing his war hammer up and over his head and swinging from his left. The spiked end of the hammer flies at Ghahb's right side.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Your attack against Ghahb badly wounds him!
[Draga(#29112)] "Aaaaaaaaaah!" Blood spurts forth from what only moments ago was a hand. For a drummer, there may be no worse punishment. But then again, it is a fitting answer to a fool who would toss away his weapon and charge at a wall-armed and armoured dwarf empty-handed.
Wide-eyed, clutching his stump of a forearm -- its muscles so useless now -- Draga falls to the ground and screams in bloody pain. What dignity and honor he may have had from his successful attack on the dwarf aforehand, he has now lost all standing -- for along with the pain and the danger to his surviving limbs, there is no greater shame for an orc than to be seen so helpless and mindlessly screaming upon a battlefield.
[Thari(#31038)] Arms stretched up like that, Thari's belly is a fine target for Erghash. The dwarf's air is pushed out with a grunt, and Thari crouches a bit, struggling against the instinct to double over. Behind, an orc screams, and nearby, the pony's struggles are quieting.
Thari wheezes a breath and straightens, cutting up between Erghash's legs at the same time.
Thari attacks Erghash with its Axe, but it misses by a mile.
[Erghash(#11368)]
Again Erghash steps back, dodging the axe blade of Thari and taking a few steps back than he probably should have. The Guard grins, but doesn't move forward again. Instead, as the chaos of battle begins to envelop him, the uruk begins instead to move away back towards the Morian camp and out of the direct fray of battle. Yet the Guard does so slowly, his eyes lingering on his Dwarven opponent even as his view is blocked by the din of battle.
[Draga(#29112)] And now there is murder in Draga's eyes. No longer a fool, no longer quite so careless, he pushes himself slowly to his feet with his remaining arm (thankfully, his right), and runs for his spear. Blood still pours from that horrible stump, sliced clean like by the axe like a butcher's cleaver. Nothing to be done about it now -- if he bleeds to death, no one would notice. Sweat drips down his face, stings his eyes... but he can only see blood now.
Finding the shaft sticking out of the ground, he pulls it free with strength and true determination that he has only now found.
Draga picks up a Spear.
[Combat(#13388)] Draga wields Spear.
[Ghahb(#21770)] The hammer's shart tooth sinks deep into the shoulder of the Shakh. The nasty spike pushes its way through the tissue and digs deep into some bone within. A howl is let loose as the bloodied mouth of the Shakh opens to spew what was once kept within.
Ghahb uses his shield to push the dwarf aways with his shield arm, trying to turn its back to the hammer. And with what little strength is left with his wounded limb, Ghahb swings the spiked hammer at what he hopes is the dwarfs back. The blinding rays from the sun, the deep pain of the hammer, and the noises about are enough to keep the Shakh from being fully aware.
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 7 hp's by Ghahb's attack...
...you have 67 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
Erghash has disconnected.
[Maagh(#30358)]
The Thrakburzum Infantry continue to advance, a single drum pounding out a steady beat as they march, spears pointed outwards. Several dwarves, trotting on ponies, are warded off by the sharp spear points and the odd arrow or two. Maagh's grip on his scimitar tightens, even moreso when he spots Thari, remembering her from the Highpass, a wicked grin forming on his features as the group steadily moves towards the melee, forcing several of the dwarven riders to retreat.
Thari presses after Erghash, but a battling pair comes between. The dwarf hops aside, but darting glances might reveal that foe is no longer seen.
Thari turns and walks quickly back toward Draga, grim determination in the gaze. The dwarf crouches near Draga, swinging axe-- and burying it in the throat of the roan pony, which twitches, and stills.
[Frarin] A grunt of satisfaction issues from Frarin as the strike hits true, but even as he tugs at the hammer to pull it free of the uruk's black flesh, Ghahb pushes at the dwarf to drive him away. His opponent's spat blood sprays Frarin's face and his face contorts in disgust as the uruk shoves at him. Ghahb's swing strikes Frarin, though not upon the dwarf's back as intended. The spike crashes into his left side, driving the metal rings of Frarin's armour into the skin beneath. The hauberk holds true, but blood has no doubt been drawn underneath the shirt of rings.
Frarin skips back a step, sizes up his opponent for a split second and charges in for another assault. He rushes Ghahb's right side once more, using this time the mallet of his war hammer but aiming it for the gaping wound in the uruk's shoulder.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Ghahb dodges your attack.
[Draga(#29112)] Draga stops, standing perfectly still and actually, for once, looking like a warrior. He pauses for a second looking lividly at Thari, blood dripping a little more slowly, his shoulder twitching in an attempt to control its phantom hand. And then without warning or preparation, he lets out a bloody scream and as reckless an attack as could be. He raises his spear above his head, and drives it down at the crouched dwarf with all the muscles and the energy left to him, putting so much of his weight into it that he bodily follows the wooden shaft in its trajectory, from the shoulder to the hips, and even to the legs.
Draga attacks Thari with his Spear and moderately wounds it!
[Ghahb(#21770)] Stepping to the left, the Shakh denies the strike on his already wounded shoulder. The hammer swings, the hammer falls, the shoulder is not met.
Instead the the hammer of the Shakh is raised once more, though slowly and weakly. With a grunt, aim is taken and the hammer falls towards the dwarf's right shoulder. Almost an attempt of revenge it would seem...
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he misses!
[Maagh(#30358)]
As the Thrakburzum Infantry enter the fray, Scimitars and spears lash outwards, the warriors spreading out just a little to give themselves room to swing freely. Maagh gets a little bit of tunnel vision however, trudging towards Thari with an evil grin on his features, clutching his scimitar even tighter as he draws nearer to her and her opponent.
Thari is paid for the kindness to the roan pony mid-battle. Head still bowed, a spear-point is driven into the back of the dwarf's right shoulder, and the dwarf gives a bellow of pain, right hand dropping senseless from the haft of the axe. The dwarf sways while raising to feet, pulling the axe out of the pony's throat with left hand. Swaying, a feverish fire is in the grey eyes as Draga is studied.
Thari's teeth are bared in a snarl, and the merchant leans forward while slicing with the left hand toward Draga's throat.
Thari attacks Draga with its Axe and moderately wounds him!
An attempt perhaps, but a failed one, for Frarin robs Ghahb of his revenge. His height at last serves him well, for he ducks quickly and darts to his right and the hammer falls harmlessly towards the earth. Frarin turns his own weapon quickly in his hands and lunges at Ghahb's left side, the spike driving straight for the uruk's left hip.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Ghahb parries your attack with his shield!
Maagh narrows his eyes, "How bout you pick on someone your own size!" he bellows angerly, advancing on Thari and Draga, raising his scimitar and bringing it down to her exposed back, "I'll take all your beard now!" he adds for extra meanness, the rest of his infantry breaking up to melee with the dwarves.
Maagh attacks Thari with his Scimitar and mildly wounds it!
[Ghahb(#21770)] His shield comes in play to protect the Shakh. The hammer strikes it clean, and Ghahb lives to throw another blow. The Shakh turns square with the dwarf and swings his hammer from the side towards the side of Frarin's head. Though as he does, the gaping wound in his shoulder spurts blood upwards into the air like a geizer.
Ghahb attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 11 hp's by Ghahb's attack...
...you have 56 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
[Draga(#29112)] Armor would really come in useful right about now. Draga snarls at the axe, attempting to lean back from the attack in the way all inexperienced combatants assume that the backwards direction is the safest. In this case, he isn't entirely wrong, for instead of slitting open he throat, the axe slices across his already useless left shoulder. With a snarl of pain amplified by rage, the drummer pulls the spear free from Thari's mailed shoulder, pulls his arm back and thrusts, aiming the sharp metal tip of his crooked weapon at the very middle of the smallr dwarf's chest, just as Thari is pummeled from yet another direction.
Noticing Maagh, Draga snarls the first comprehensible words since his maiming -- "Leave him alone! He's mine!"
Draga attacks Thari with his Spear and lightly wounds it!
Thari is sandwiched between weapons, for Maagh's scimitar slices away the back of the dwarf's shirt, exposing chain and pushes the dwarf against Draga's spear.
Thari coughs. A bit of blood leaks out of the small dwarf's mouth and stains the short, shorn beard. Aside the merchant limps once-- still not looking at Maagh, and slices the axe at Draga's belly.
Thari attacks Draga with its Axe and terribly wounds him!
[Frarin] The uruk's hammer strikes Frarin's chain mail coif, driving the bitter metal rings into his face, between ear and cheek bone. His head snaps around with the force of the blow and he stumbles for a moment, his breathing becoming steadily more laboured. Blood seeps out from beneath the coif, running down Frarin's cheek even as he spits it from his mouth.
The momentum of Ghahb's hit carries Frarin back a step, temporarily winded. But the spurting blood at the uruk's shoulder seems to lend heart to the dwarf, for he quickly hefts his hammer up once more and, as blood dribbles into his beard, Frarin swings the heavy mallet at Ghahb's abdomen.
You attack Ghahb with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Your attack against Ghahb terribly wounds him!
[Draga(#29112)] The drummer's eyes widen in surprise as their rage softens to something like a plea. Draga's remaining hand clutches at his stomach, and his bloody stump pokes at it in the way of phantom limbs, with habit that is terrible to watch and impossible to stop. The motions are, in fact, terrifyingly fortuitous, because just then, the contents of his stomach -- entrails, spleen, stomach and all, start sliding it like soft gelatinous traitors through the gash Thari's axe has just left in there. Draga does not even have time to look down in horror or to consider vengeance, for in that moment, he topples over backwards like a hewn tree, dead weight THUDing on the ground. The light of consciousness leaves his eyes, just as the more concrete, hideous, vengeful light of the sun above him strikes down with tiny spears all over his body, stabbing into his blank eyes. Lying on his back forces his innards to stay put, sloshing against his back for the time being, but surely that is a precarious position for organs to be in.
Now then, is he dead?
Maagh grins impishly as Thari dosen't notice the love-cut he made to her back. The Uruk shows little emotion as Draga goes down, if anything it furthers his lust for combat, the General throwing back his fur robe to give his arms more room to swing, aiming a horizontal slash across the back of her head.
Maagh attacks Thari with his Scimitar and moderately wounds it!
[Ghahb(#21770)] The hammer of Frarin finds it's target. Though, hitting slightly off the aimed point. It strikes Ghahb straight in the chest, a blow without mercy. As it strikes blood sprays from the mouth of the warlord. Slumping somewhat Ghahb turns, and begins try and move away from the battle. Walking, or stumbling, the best he can away from the dwarf who just landed a mighty blow.
[Combat(#13388)]
Ghahb dodges aside Frarin, and manages to escape!
Ghahb heads east along the long winding road and quickly disappears from view.
Ghahb has left.
[<#31038>] Thari watches Draga fall with dully fevered eyes, and then another blow crashes across the back of the dwarf's helmet. Thari falls to knees, head swaying, before quickly rolling to one knee and turning all in one motion.
The dwarf sways as silver-grey eyes climb up the figure of Maagh, this new foe, and stop only at the belt, where a thick, beautiful braid of mohogany and rubies glistens in the sun. 'Ai Khazad!' shouts the dwarf in a strange tongue. "
Thari attacks Maagh with its Axe, but it misses by a long shot.
Maagh is pretty lucky that he dosen't have much down there, so the axe misses anything important, in fact it misses everything completely. The General laughs, "Fool!" he bellows gutturally, "The Black Guard always triumph! Have at you!" he cries, taking a half-step back while bringing his scimitar down at the stunties head.
Maagh attacks Thari with his Scimitar and mildly wounds it!
[Draga(#29112)] Draga's eyes flutter closed, and then open. Clutching at his stomach slowly like a sailor trying to find his bearings, Draga slowly attempts to raise his head. The pain is too much, and he sinks back down quickly. But a few more moments lend themselves to another attempt, and before long, Draga has propped himself up on his left elbow, where blood has still not stopped leaking for the (now dirt-covered) stump at his wrist. He has found, also, that his spear somehow remained in his hand. Trying to forcibly hold his intestines where they belong, the orc attempts to rise on to one knee. The pain is unimaginable, and he winces and flounders, only to try again.
[Frarin] Frarin feels his hit as it strikes Ghahb, the solidity of the blow running through the iron haft of the war hammer to the dwarf's hands. But just as he is enjoying the brief victory, Frarin is suddenly aware of the looming shape of a small snaga to his left. With a cry he swings the spike of his hammer straight at the snaga's stomach, ripping the abdomen in one swift movement. Losing not a second, the dwarf looks quickly back to his opponent, but Ghahb is gone, melded back within the black ranks of his co-patriots.
With a growl of frustration at being robbed of his final victory, Frarin begins to dive into the ranks of fighting orcs and dwarves. But with a start his ears hear the ancient language of the dwarves upon the wind. Temporarily, he is removed from the battlefield and his face is frantic as he searches the field for the source of the words. But their meaning suddenly registers with the dwarf, just as his eyes fall upon the beardless Thari and the hulking figure of Maagh. With a cry, Frarin begins to hew his way through the battle towards Thari and her newest opponent.
[Thari(#31038)] DIIING! Thari's poor head. The dwarf's neck snaps back, shorn beard lifting and exposing, for one brief second, the dwarf's white throat. Thari stumbles upright and sways near Draga. The weakened right hand lifts to hold the haft of the axe with the left. "KHAZAD!" comes the bellow again. "KHAZAD!"
The deep voice lowers and starts to slur slightly. "You are a honorless worm digging through the holes of the earth, too weak to bite at stone," Thari grinds out at Maagh. Both hands swing the axe at his belly.
Thari attacks Maagh with its Axe, but it misses by an arm's length.
Maagh roars with laughter, the General seeming to be having a lot of fun. His red and black cape billows dramatically as he side-steps Thari's blow, cutting with his scimitar down across her exposed arm, hoping to draw blood once more as he elegantly brings his shield around towards the other charging dwarf, hardly seeming to be phased as he faces off against two dwarfs now!
Maagh attacks Thari with his Scimitar, but Thari parries the attack with its Axe!
[Frarin] Frarin roughly shoves a yellowish-black orc out of his way and smashes the mallet of his war hammer upon the knee of another. But no satisfaction does he gain from the sickening crack of the blow as his dark eyes hone in again on Thari, head thrown cruelly back. The silver merchant growls as he pushes the last of those orcs between him and Thari aside. He arrives at Maagh's back and without evening pausing to take a breath from his labouring chest, Frarin swings the mallet at the general's left shoulder blade.
You attack Maagh with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Maagh parries your attack with his Scimitar!
[Draga(#29112)] Slowly, stump to stomach, Draga gets to his feet. With a stumbling step towards Thari, and a monumental effort done carefully enough not to jiggle his inside entirely loose from their precarious resting place, he attacks the dwarf. What is meant to be a fierce strike ends only as a weak and tired jab.
Draga attacks Thari with his Spear, but he misses by a mile.
[Ghahb(#21770)] As the battle continues, the Morghash Shakh Ghahb makes his way out of the skirmish. Badly wounded, with the bleeding to prove it, he makes his way back to towards the encampment. Calling out to the other wounded Morghash escaping from the battle. Walking in numbers they make their way back to the encampment.
Thari's hands slide apart on the haft of the axe, and the wood absorbs Maagh's blow. "Frarin!" cries the merchant, relief obvious in the deep voice. A spear jabs between Thari and Maagh.
Thari glances aside at Draga with irritation. "Get off!" she slurs, and whips her axe aside at him.
Draga collapses to the ground, defeated by Thari!
[Combat(#13388)] Draga's weapon "Spear" falls to the ground...
Maagh twirls again as Frarin charges. The General raises his blade, letting it hang over his shoulder to deflect the Warhammer, parrying it aside as he spins on two feet, showing remarkable agility as he bears down on the new Dwarf, "Mmmmmmmm, fresh meat..." he says, his fangs flashing as he lets out a sharp hiss, rolling his wrist to bring a rapid slash across the dwarf's chest from left shoulder to right hip, diagonally across his chest.
Maagh attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 6 hp's by Maagh's attack...
...you have 50 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
[Draga(#29112)] The flat, broad side of the axe smashes across Draga's face. There is a cracking crunch, like branches shattering and crackling under a cart-wheel, and then a red spray flashing across metal and through air.
When it is possible to see anything again, it is probably better for everyone not to.
It is amazing how malleable bone can be, when the right force is applied. Draga's skull looks like a soft, mushy crumpled piece of parchment. There is now only a semblence of one eyes, and none of a jaw. The other, popped out of its socket by the sheer force of the strike doesn't look like an eye at all -- lying there like a sad glowing red jewel, slightly external to its socket, held to the body only by blood vessals and optical nerve.
And now, whether he is dead or not doesn't matter.
[Frarin] Frarin wheels away from Maagh as the curved blade licks towards him, but that does prevent the scimitar from cutting a clean slash into the dwarf's neck between chain mail coif and hauberk. He backpedals quickly, momentarily taken off guard by the uruk's unexpected speed. But Frarin seems unwilling to venture far from his wounded comrade and, even labouring to draw breath and with blood quickly drying on the right side of his face, he lunges forth once more. Using now the spiked end of his war hammer, Frarin charges Maagh, swinging the spike towards his opponent's right hip.
You attack Maagh with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Your attack against Maagh moderately wounds him!
Thari pulls axe back from Draga, glancing aside. Blood-stained lips curl in disgust as more black blood sprays across this shorter dwarf. Back to Maagh goes the gaze, and Thari steps heavily toward this orc. "Give me back my beard!" comes the slurring speech, and an axe-swipe at Maagh's belt.
Thari attacks Maagh with its Axe, but Maagh parries the attack with his shield.
Maagh grins, letting his shield deal with Thari's blow. But such coordination seems a little much, exposing his flank to Frarin. The Orc bellows with anger as he is struck, taking a few steps back and to the side, closer to Thari, "I think I will take your ENTIRE beard!" he howls, sweeping his scimitar out behind him as he turns in a complete circle, whirlwinding as it were towards the she-dwarf.
Maagh attacks Thari with his Scimitar and moderately wounds it!
Thari's shoulder is again struck and the right hand falls from the axe-haft, blood running down the fingers. Thari takes a swaying step around Maagh, then another, toward Frarin and even behind him. "I'll be damned if that's happening!" she manages to say, voice weak. She backs away now, eyes fluttering, behind Frarin.
[Combat(#13388)]
Thari tries to flee from Maagh, but it fails!
[Frarin] Even Frarin's successful blow brings no relief to him. The blow to his chest seems to hinder him more than ever now, with his breathing steadily becoming ragged and gasping. But the weak, almost dreamy look on Thari's face spurs Frarin on once again in some attempt to distract the hulking uruk from Thari. The silver merchant keeps the spike of his hammer pointed forward as he takes advantage of Maagh's turned back.
"Only attack those already weakened, is it, you brute?" Frarin growls to the slave-general's back, swinging as he does so towards Maagh's right thigh.
You attack Maagh with your War Hammer...
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
Your attack against Maagh moderately wounds him!
Maagh is assaulted from all sides it seems. The orc lets out another howl as the hammer mashes his hip. He spins around, "Fools! These lands will BURN!" he shouts, his eyes twinkling with bloodlust as he bears down on Frarin, spittle and other bad stuff flying from his mouth as he takes a swing at the pesky Dwarf, ignoring the fleeing stunty as he focues his attention on Frarin, swinging madly in anger!
Maagh attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 6 hp's by Maagh's attack...
...you have 44 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
Thari's head is wobbling, axe hanging limply from the left arm. Back, back, back the smaller dwarf walks, each step slow and steady.
[Combat(#13388)]
Thari dodges aside Maagh, and manages to escape!
Thari heads west along the long winding road and quickly disappears from view.
Thari has left.
Thari comes along the long, winding road from the west.
[Frarin] The uruk's wildly wielded scimitar slices slices into Frarin's exposed left hand, laying open the skin from the top of the wrist to the fingers. The grip on his war hammer lightens and he instinctively presses the injured hand against his tunic, staining the red fabric even darker. "Thari, get you out of here!" he shouts, taking a step back from Maagh to nurse his wound.
"You and your ilk will be all that burns in this land so long as there are those to defend it, coward!" Frarin spits at the slave-general, coughing as he backs away. But with a sudden joy, the dwarf sees that Thari has disappeared into the ranks of fighters. His task completed, Frarin attempts to shove his way into the mob of battle.
[Combat(#13388)->Frarin]
You dodge aside from Maagh...
You stumble along in the misty darkness and somehow manage to follow the winding road westward without losing your way.
East Road - Near the Trollshaws
The moon isn't visible here, and the whole area is cloaked in darkness.
Obvious exits:
North, West, and East
[Maagh(#30358)]
Maagh looks very upset as the Dwarves scamper off, standing tall as they retreat from battle. "You yellow bellies!" he cries, "Come back here and take what's comin to you! I'll bite your legs off!" he howls at the top of his lungs, adding a few swings of his scimitar for emphasis as he watches the dwarves retreat.
Though, once it is clear they are gone, the General sighs, looking to his victorious warriors, "Come on then.. gather the dead and wounded... we return to camp..." he murmurs.
Thari is wandering down the road, other dwarves pulling out of the battle as well. The orcs and dwarves both are falling back to some degree, the dwarves keeping some slight advantage.
Thari's axe-head sometimes catches on the underbrush and is dragged along. She is mumbling to herself.
[Frarin] Labouring to keep his feet from dragging, Frarin breaks away from the melee at a slow jog, using his war hammer as a support. He is hoarsly shouting something about retreat, with the word 'Bree' used several times, but the calls are broken off as he draws to a stop and hunches over as if coughing. Other dwarves fleeing the battle come from behind him and one in particular, brown bearded, limping, and bleeding from a wound above his brow, stops to aid the labouring silver merchant.
The two near Thari at a slow jog, almost a walk, and Frarin looks at her with a look of relief. But the relief disappears as quickly as it comes, for there is clearly something astray with her. "Gerin, lad," Frarin huffs to the young dwarf at his side, "find a pony. They bolted everywhere, see if you can find one. Quick, lad, there's not a moment to lose!"
He comes to Thari's side and gently places his injured left hand on her shoulder. "Thari? Thari? Here, lass, look me in the eye," he says, leaning heavily on his war hammer.
Thari stops at the soft hand and turns obediently, head tilting back for Frarin, eyes unfocused. "The... the... the..." she speaks, voice quite gentle and confused. "Bandages.." she manages. "Brown-eyes... need help. To help. Need to help." The axe finally slips from her hand and crashes to the bracken beside her feet.
[Frarin] The silver merchant's brow furrows deeply at Thari's nonsense words and deeper still as he looks into her unfocused eyes. "There now," he grumbles, all usual formality long gone as he tries to make sense of her muttering. "You've helped more than anyone else. Take a rest lass." His words seem suddenly to touch his own ears at last, for as he bends to retrieve Thari's dropped axe, his legs give out beneath him and he comes to a kneeling position, leaning upon the head of his war hammer. For a moment he chooses not move and kneels there, forehead pressed against the bloodied mallet of the weapon. Then, with what appears great effort, he forces himself to his feet once more.
Fortunately, at that time, Gerin returns to the two, leading behind him two shaken yellow ponies, both with saddles hanging loosely beneath them. "Gerin, help Thari onto the pony. She's not right, there's something wrong, though what I cannot say. You will ride with her, understand? Keep her as still as possible, but we must be far away from here by nightfall." Gerin looks to aid to his uncle as well, but Frarin still has strength enough to push his nephew away with an angry glance.
The merchant hails a retreating dwarf, attired as a warder, who looks more fit than most. "Warder! Gather what remains of the caravan together. Many of the ponies are roaming free, catch as many as you can and get the wounded onto them. We must be across the Last Bridge before nightfall if we can help it. Our foes go in our same direction and we must stay ahead of them!"
Thari frows as Frarin falls to his knees, and then she drops as well to a kneel, head bowing. She watches Frarin as he rests, tears oddly gathering in her grey eyes, head falling back to still watch him as he stands. "All dead!" she starts to quietly cry, black blood washing away from her cheeks. "Dwarves.... gone yesterday." She watches Gerin and accepts the strong young dwarf's help to stand, still weeping, then suddenly laughs through it, hands flexing softly.
[Frarin] Frarin watches Gerin help Thari onto her pony, the solemn soberness creeping over him once more, though he looks somehow older and more weary than before as tears dribble down her face. He looks away and some of the weariness falls from his shoulders as he sees the surviving dwarves slowly gathering. Indeed, though there are many injuries among them, the group is larger than Frarin had anticipated.
The silver merchant takes a hold of the saddle of the second pony and attempts to drag himself up onto the beast's back. With a grunt of weariness and frustration, he does not succeed the first time, falling back to the ground and barely keeping his feet. Gerin moves in to help Frarin, but again the merchant shakes his nephew off. A second attempt and Frarin heaves himself into the saddle, slipping his still bloody war hammer into the loop on his belt and taking a hold of the reins. Gerin lightly swings up onto the pony behind Thari, careful to keep her from moving too much.
"We must move from this place," says Frarin with a heavy breath, hunched over his pony as if straightening pains him. And with that the two ponies sets off at a slow trot. Other survivors from the caravan are quick to fall in behind the two lead ponies. Most of the heavily wounded have been found mounts and those without ponies jog alongside. The speed with which the caravan moves is now much reduced, as indeed are its numbers, but still the stout company trudges on. Far to the west lies the town of Bree and their only hope of a safe haven, though for how long it is to remain so is something to be decided another day. For now, the dwarves press on, as ever.
