(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 28-Battle of the Gladden Part 2

A breeze rolls down all the way from the Misty Mountains and over the boundless plains of grass, causing the grass to wave like the ocean. Light sparkles off the river to the south as it meanders by in its shallow bed and the feathery moss waves back and forth in the current. Nearer the river, the grass becomes short and velvety soft, as if inviting you to relax by the water and let your worries float downstream with the water.

It is snowing. The late morning winter air is cold and dry around you. The moon is not visible.

[Durgum(#19150)] As the stench of the light lovers grows stronger Durgum pulls on his helmet and pulls forth the magnificent scimitar Elf_Slicer.

Collinmar eyes the screaming beast licking his axe, an intense hatred for the blatant blasphemy spoken on his foul tongue in a speech that ought to be more fair. The Knight-Bachelor begins to stalk to his right so as not to be noticed by the ugly thing.

[Revoltang(#29739)] The gibbering horde of Morians break off from the rest at the screaming signal of Revoltang. Dark and crooked arrows fly like insects from the bows of the Morian orcs. The arrows of the elves fly in return, cutting through the snow, and leaving uruks bleeding to death on the ground. Yet the charge to the east cannot be broken, and the horde bears down on the foe. Revoltang leads the charge with his mouth fixed in a horrible shriek of rage, and his hammer lifted high into the air.."Moria! Moria! Kill!"

Uberghash giggles once more, his eyes ablaze. "Kill! Kill! Cook their spleens!"

[<#24093>] Dark the dawn of this day is -- marked with the foulness of the orcs that have come. Men rally to the standard of Dol Amroth, as the elven guards form a silent unit at the command of the Herald of Celeborn. " Yeni ve linte yuldar avanier, Galadhrim!", Calriel cries out in the language of her own people. Fair her words are, the beautiful speech of the elves, tainted by nature... strong her words are and far they carry, but not so that they jar the ears. She now unsheaths her longsword, the word Eglador that has been lined out in silver on the hilt glints dully in the faint light of the remaining stars. " To arms! Draw your bows!", she cries, and as one, the Galadhrim archers take the sturdy longbows from their backs. Deadly, menacing, they stand firm.

A shrill and high-pitched wail, full of despair and evil, echoes over the area.

[Calriel(#24093)] And indeed, far the elven arrows fly. As grey lances that pierce the night they are - deadly, sharp. Slowly the elves take steps back to move closer to the tall men of Gondor. White their banners fly and opposed to the elves - whose grey cloaks blends them with their surroundings on this early dawn - stand easily recognisable.

[Felmompant(#10607)] As they turn off from the Mordain, Felmompant roars out at the elves, "I'm gonna let yer precious sun shine through yer ugly little guts! Come t' me so as I kin show you what yer blood looks like! Yer hear that? Yer blood! BAAAAALOOOOOD!" He screams mochingly at the enimy.

[Revoltang(#29739)] The battered horde of uruks still comes foreward like a wave toward the men and elves making the stand against it. With his hammer raised, Revoltang jumps over the body of one of his fallen kin, and slips in the blood snow. He goes heavily to the ground, and scrambles to his feet, the arrow intended for him now buried in the heart of another. He screams in rage as he rushes the gathered forces, "Charge them! Burn them with the flame." As the two forces begin to draw together, Revoltang sees his prey in the form of the warrior Faengor..

[Faengor(#18480)] With a frowned forehead Faengor brings up his shield, raising it in front of him defensively, to fend off the arrows. "Stand fast, Men of Dol Amroth!" he roars with a booming voice. Grim eyes are set upon the advancing orcs as they come ever closer, slowly narrowing the gap between them. Defyingly, the Descendants of Numenor await them, their black cloaks fluttering about them and their swords at ready.

Durgum staggers forth triping over sticks and rock that are unseen in the blinding light swinging his scimitar Elf_Slicer and not caring whether it hits friend or foe. Just wanting to get the battle over with so he can retreat to the darkness of the tents or caves.

[Amano] As a wraith looming out of the snow, pale as the flurries that blow loosely about him, the Squire Amano lifts his shield of steel to turn aside the black darts of the enemy should they fly too close, the silver Swan of Dol Amroth emblazoned fair and clear upon the metal, gleaming in defiance to the shrieking horde. Not alone are the folk of the Galadhrim, Firstborn, for behind the archers are the Men of Gondor, tall upon their steeds and the Blue-Squire cries out in the fray, in response to the guardsman of Minas Tirith, his voice deep though yet young: "For Dol Amroth, and Gondor! We stand fast!"

His steed, the stallion Angruin, aptly named, trained to battle, rings out a shrill challenge, pawing the earth beneath with iron-shod hooves.

[Felmompant(#10607)] Holding his axe over his head, Felmompant follows his leader and plows through the Uruk, blinded by the sun off the snow. As he pushes through, he spys an elf-rider just in range of an attack and jumps forward, swinging the weapong in a hacking motion at the chest of the horse that belongs to Amano...

[Calriel(#24093)] With the crunching of snow beneath her boots, the short lady who had commanded the rain of arrows and who had trod so far from her southern forests, comes finally into view with the orcs. A mail, bright and strong, bedecks her chest and hips, so bleak that its very hue seems pale in the shades of the early morning. Indeed, already morning has lazily stretched its rosy rays across the distant horizon, gracing it with orange hues and crimson layers. Clouds, however, gather firmly, leaving the whole area into a faint darkness. Calriel has her sword unsheathed and calls for the others to do so as well. Proud and fair she stands, her long golden hair fluttering behind her. A princess among elves, faint visage of the lands of Aman.

Revoltang again slips in the blood slicked snow, this time managing to keep his balance. Yet his shrieks to the horde have seased, and he now lopes toward Faengor at a quick pace for such a twisted creature. His tounge lolling from his mouth, he does indeed look like the wolves that ride with the uruks to battle. With a scream on his lips, Revoltang lunges foreward and swings his hammer like his swings at a forge. Only the iron is the weapon shoulder of the man of Gondor..

[Amano] Quick and sure are the reflexes of the chestnut stallion Angruin, for surely he would have taken serious injury from the goblin's foul black axe even swifter is the Squire's sudden iron pull upon his mount's reins, causing the horse to wheel to its left, away from the flashing blade not a heartbeat too late. The movement itself brings Amano's sword-arm swinging through the air in a wide arc, low enough to lop off the head of one unwary and the force of the stallion's movement is behind it, as well as the strength of the young Squire's arm.

[Faengor(#18480)] With grim eyes and flexed muscles the warrior of Gondor watches Revoltang's aproach, his shield held closed to his chest, covering both his upper torso and his neck, his sword grasped tightly in his right hand and held forward.

Suddenly, then, the creatures leaps forward and engages Faengor. Immediately the Gondorian jumps sideways, in the opposite side of the swing in an attempt to jump free of the unruly attack. Once having evaded the attack, Faengor brings up his own sword, slashing it in a downwards strike against Revoltang's stomach.

[Collinmar(#21716)] Collin watches the heathen orc flail his grim bit of iron at the noble Amano. The others of the battle field disappear as three dimensions descend to two motion slowing to the dying thoughts of the dumb as Collin brings his bow string to the corner of his jaw. The sun sends her rays to the head of arrow, iron gleaming to create a prestine star at the end of a grey shaft like the birth of a commet to ascend from his fingers to the highest of heavens and the farthest of distances yet this missile is meant for the horrid eyes of Felmompant. The foul thing continues his slow progression from the earth to the head of Amano and his noble steed. Vengeance is the order of the day Collinmar. Vengeance no for deeds done, but deeds intended. The brilliant star becomes a streak of white fire as it leaves the vector of its flight. A jubillant whistle is heard like the joy of a child at play as some prfound moment of intense fun, the meaning of life to those who delight in making merry, as it speeds to brighten the blackness in Felmompant's heart. Unable to comprehend the pure evil of such creatures, the brave soul of Collinmar sees the felling of this thing as akin to the felling of a blade of grass and no real soul being sent to wherever they may go in Ea's halls or elsewhere.

[Revoltang(#29739)] The attack of the goblin is wild and brutal yet untrained. Only the fanatical strength behind the goblin makes his hammer of any danger at all. Yet the blow is avoided with skill by the swordsman of Gondor, and the force of the blow carries Revoltang foreward until his feet slip out on the bloody snow that had already felled him twice. The blade of Faengor scratches along the side of his ribs, drawing first blood. Revoltang yips in pain and stuggles to find his feet, lashing out wildly to hold back the warrior.. Durgum continues his advance. Scimitar in his right hand held over his shoulder and left hand in front of him feeling for an opening in the horde. Guided only by the foul smell of the elves and humans and the sound of the hooves beating on the ground.

[Calriel(#24093)] As the hand-to hand fight has begun, the small elven lass continues to orders the release of another assault of arrows. Some elves have sought refuge behind the various wildgrowth and are launching their deadly projectiles from there. Side to side with one of the Squires of Dol Amroth, Calriel leaps forward into the horde of orcs. "For the Lord, for Lothlorien!", her fair voice cries out in the common tongue. She swings her blade at one of the dark creatures, the cold steel of her old sword clashing into his shield

[Felmompant(#10607)] As he misses the horse, Felmompant falls to the ground and Amano misses his head only to have an arow pass through his leg and out the other side. He screams with pain as he pulls himself to his feat. Hefting his axe once more he charges, diving in and swinging his axe low at the horses feet hoping to cripple the mans steed.

[Faengor(#18480)] Noting the fall of Revoltang, Faengor immediately turns around and in blind pride he already considers the skirmish between him and the savage orc won. Immediately he raises his sword high in the air, to thunder down upon the fallen orc and pierce his body, yet the leaves his side suspectible to the defensive swing of Revoltang. The hammer strikes him in his side with full force and it's effects are clear. Wincing with pain Faengor is sent rolling to the ground. He growls, and begins to clamper back to his feet.

Uberghash runs squealing into combat, stabbing wildly with his meat-fork, deflecting a blade with his pot lid. He giggles insanely as he charges in.

Durgum continues slowly ploding forward when suddenly there is a flash of light nearby and the uruk to his left falls tot eh ground with a loud crash of a blade to his shield. Durgum turns at the charging Calriel and swings Elf_Slicer in a small arc down and then to the left trying to cut her throat.

[Revoltang(#29739)] With his blow buying him time, Revoltang scrambles back up to his feet and wipes a small trickle of the blood from his ribs. Licking the blood from his finger, the goblin commander begins to circle the Gondorian with his hammer held in one one hand. "Come snaga dog. Strike...Strike...Strike me and be cursed by the flame." His red eyes widen as his voice grows taunting, and he lashes out weakly twice to force the man of Gondor to keep his distance..

Collinmar dissatisfied with the prolonged attack on Amano and the fair animal he rides brings sorrow to the deepest recesses of Collinmar's heart and a scowl to his fair countenance. A sence of urgency wells in him desiring only the death of this beast and the lamentations of his folk, the Knight-Bachelor skillfully nocks another arrow and aims the bright corner of its bodkin at the grotesque right ear of Felmompant. A fierce war cry wells in Collin's chest leaping from his disphragm and resounding in his throat to send the hordes of black-hearted devils back to the dark holes the crept from his lips are closed and his voice is silent. A gleam rises from the Gladden to brighten his eye and make create stars in his eyes. The two dimensions remain, as does the slow hacking of the enraged yrch at the poised steed rears and backs away. A sweet wish for blood is born in Collinmar's heart once more as he mentaly watches the fire in his target's eyes dull and cease to exist in the fair Middle Earth. The purpose of war becomes a bit clearer to Collinmar, for him it is the righteous need to rid such parasites from the minds of his fair peoples' minds, and will evil dreams and realities from the sweet children of mortal men. Though none have been seen by his eyes, such noble people could have children of no less beauty and tender, genuine innocence.

[Amano] Neighing fiercely with rage and terror the red horse screams as it rears high, the bitter blade meaning to deal destruction to his limbs, and perhaps death for once lamed in such a cruel fashion few swift steeds would run again. No craven creature is this stallion! The axe does bite, but not deeply, for the movement of the horse it scores across a foreleg, blood running deep crimson down to stain the earth, though the crashing, sharp hooves come down upon the creature, in their intent no less lethal. A fury scarce less wild glitters in the young Isilrim's sea-grey eyes for the cowardly strike of the orc and with a voice fell and grim, he shouts, above the clamour of steel and the hiss of arrows both elven and orcish:

"Strike not at a creature that cannot strike back at thee, black beast!" His voice rings out, not the fair tones of the Galadhrim, but one no less valiant. And so it is that he leaps off his steed, slashing at the goblin that defiles the earth so close to the Wood they had left behind. The cold gleam of silver in his grip arcs in a diagonal slice, meaning to cleave armour and flesh both, from shoulder to lower limb.

[Faengor(#18480)] After having clambered to his feet, Faengor's gaze is oncemore quickly fixed upon the repulsing orc and he too joins in on the dangerous game that Revoltang has started, circling together with his him as the battle continues savagely around them. Squires and elves alike swing their glimmering swords under the stars of the night. Quick then is the Gondorians strike, as he jumps forward and jabs at the Orc Commander's right hip, holding out his shield protectively as his longsword darts forward.

Revoltang jumps backward as the blade seeks his hip, but is not quite quick enough. The tip of the longsword rips through the padded leather guarding his waist and a spring of black blood wells forth. Yet the goblin commander did not stay alive by being slow and foolish. His red eye sees the opening at the head of the warrior, and his hammer lashes out for that place, seeking to end this game of blood with one fell blow..

Uberghash cackles as he thrusts his meat fork back and forth. "For the Cooks!"

Arnafel says, "quote of the day..."
Arnafel says, "Indilzar glances up in surprise as a hairy orc-lord comes flying over him. He wonders if he is 'okay'."

[Faengor(#18480)] Faengor is quick enough to see the hammer strike. Immediately he darts sideways in an attempt to evade the hammer from crushing his skill, bring up his shield to fend off the blow as he jumps to the commander's left side. Yet the power wielding the hammer is strong and the blow is fast and although the blow is picked up by the shield, it is of such strength that the Errand Riders is sent staggering backwards. Several steps backwards are taken in fast succesion as the Gondorian attempts to remain on his feet, sadly he fails and seconds later Faengor finds himself lying on his back, dazed, with the Orc's shadow looming over him.

[Felmompant(#10607)] As the arrow of his enemy once again hits its mark, Felmompants ear is gone in a flash and he screams louder than before, "Damn!" he shrieks as the blood comes forth and saturate his garments of war. The sword of Amano sings down apon him making a large gash in his shoulder, making his left arm lifeless. Eyes filled with blood rath, he trys once more to take out the young man, building up all his remaning energy he snarls and flings himself up, grabing the horses neck and biting down hard just beside the beasts mane, hoping to infect it with his foul germs and parasites....

Revoltang recoils from the impact of the hammer on the shield and his foot slips again in the snow. Yet he does not fall this time, while the man of gondor crashes hard to the ground. Revoltang stares for a split second at the fallen warrior, then lunges at him like a rabid warg, his hammer forgotten and his teeth going for the throat of the gondorian.

[Faengor(#18480)] Even after years of combat, one can forget all discipline and self-controll that one has learned and now as Revoltang jumps towards Faengor's throat, the warrior can feel fear taking over. Shakily he raises his shield in front of him, closing his eyes in cowering fear as he protects his upper torso and neck with the shield and thrusts his sword forward in idle hope of impaling the orc on it.

Collinmar is taken aback by the foul beasts ability to maintain his vigil against the noble Amano, and his ease to stoop to toward the lowest manifestations of honor. In sharp contrast, a desire to protect and stand at the side of those who remain good in the failing western lands of Middle Earth, Collin nocks a third missile to his graceful weapon again meant for Felmompant. As he kneels, his arms stretch farther apart thereby bending the arch of his bow past what would be typical performance in an attempt to end the useless life of the walking, biting vegetable that personifies the entire race of yrch. Vegetables they are in the truest sense, incapable of anything but reproduction, consumption of others' hard earned resourses, and the destruction of all that is beautiful and precious still in Middle Earth. A soft breeze cools his brow the Knight-Bachelor momentarily brought back to the reality of the immortal, endless praise for the creativity of Yuvanna, and, as is a Sindarins' wont, a longing for the sea faintly detected on the light breeze. Urgency wells stronger in him as the foul thing grows more desperate to fell the noble steed. A whistle from his bow sends a call of salvation as it races to Felmompant's blackened heart.

Revoltang claws at the shield of the gondorian in vain, while his teeth still try to seek the throat of the warrior. Yet in his blind rage, the sword catches him unprepared as it jabs up toward his gut and finds the upper part of his leg, covering the warrior in the blood of the uruk commander. Revoltang rolls off of Faengor with a scream of pain and rage, grasping his hammer from where it fell, and backhanding it toward the ribs of the warrior..

Uberghash thrusts his meat fork with a sickening plop into an already-injured human. Apparently the "brave and mighty" cook has no qualms at all about striking a man when he is down. Even so, the small orc squeals in pain as the injured human's short-sword slashes across his ribs, tearing open his ring mail apron. He stabs with the meat fork again and again, cackling and yelping at intervals. "Kill! Kill! Kill! BLOOD is mine!"

[Amano] Icy fury, barely countained, blazes in the young Isilrim Amano's countenance as the orc inexplicably chooses to attack his mount instead of him, even though his blade had landed true with a cry he brings the keen, coldly gleaming blade into a straight thrust at the dangling creature, alongside Angruin's neck, in its direction taking care not to impale the flesh of the terrified steed. Yet speedily the sword flashes, darting like a serpent's tongue for the black-clad goblin, seeking to spear through its befouled flesh like lightning.

Durgum smiles to himself as the fair haired wench Calriel cowers before his attack and sneaks away then turns back tot he battle and continues his advance slicing anyone that gets in his way.

[Felmompant(#10607)] As he claws and chomps at the flailing horses neck, Felmompant drools as to let his spit leak into the blood stream of the beast. Just as he thinks he can do some real damage to the horse, yet another arow is let loose in his direction, it hits his back with such force that it breaks his his spinal cord. As he is paralyzed the sword of Amano strikes true and slices him in half, his lower body falls to the ground while his claws are still stuck into the horses neck leaving his upper body hanging. An actual lake of blood has been made under this disgusting site.

[Faengor(#18480)] Faengor's breathing is heavy and uncontrolled as Revoltang scratches at his shield. Verily, the Gondorian trembles with fear and even as Revoltang rolls of him, Faengor can not find the courage to raise and scramble to his feet. Several moments he remains lying there, drenched in the blood of the Orc commander, clearly feeling the pain that the orc has delivered him when he landed on top of him.

Finally, having mustered the courage and the will to fight further, Faengor rolls aside, oblivious to the hammerstrike that Revoltang had descided to launch his way. Luckily it misses his ribs now that Faengor had rolled aside, yet it finds his mark against the Nimothan's shoulder blade which shatters under the immense power. A roar of pain escapes Faengor's lips as his arm is left bruised and broken, the shock having moved all over his body. His face contorts and obvious pain can be read in his face.

The Nimothan's breathing becomes even harder now, for he is now faced with both pain and exhaustion. Thrusting his sword in the snow, Faengor rolls away oncemore before Revoltang is able to get off another smash, slowly scrambling to his feet awaiting the next attack of the Orc, unable to fend for himself anymore, his shield having been cast aside, now that his arm has been shattered.

Revoltang hears victory in the scream of Gondorian as his hammer shatters his arm. His eyes gleam with a horrible light as he begins to stalk toward the retreating warrior, his tounge flicking in and out of his mouth like that of a snake, "See my face..See fear. See death." Now he lunges for the warrior again, his hammer sweeping in a long and lazy circle of death for the brow of Faengor.

[Amano] Grimly, the Blue-Squire eyes the dangling corpse of the goblin for a heartbeat, the horse now weakened by the loss of blood. Truly a sight that would sicken the fainthearted, the creature's body still lodged in his steed's neck like some shrunken, shrivelled maggot, the blood pooled beneath the beast's hooves, foul and black, hideous and nauseating but linger, Amano does not, even to help the noble horse from Dol Amroth. For his keen, roving gaze had caught the dire straits in which the errand-rider, Faengor, had been placed in and with no further delay, he flicks the cold blade, now blackened with orc-blood, to cleanse it of filth, rushing on silent feet at the unguarded back of Revoltang. A low, swift thrust! Fast as his feet can carry him, the Squire sweeps toward the charging goblin from behind, the sword a bitter, stabbing fang upon which he means to spit the orc upon.

[Collinmar(#21716)] As the foul orc's last moment is seeped with death and blackness, Collinmar looks away to hear the cry of another noble mortal of Dol Amroth. Urgency is paramount it seems to the supporting archers that are the Deadagnir Patrol and the Order Guard in which he is a Knight-Bachelor. Another arrow is balanced in the caressing embrace of his bow, butt end lightly touching the corner of his jaw. The farmilar star is aimed at Faengor's vile attacker. Would that Calriel had the courage to remain and lend aid to the man, but alas, the duty has fallen to him and his trusty bow. The foul words of Revoltang send a beam of hatred forth from Collin's bow, directed at the under arm leading his powerful hammer. Victory must be spared the humiliation of acting the part of morale to such a foul thing. Again, the three dimensions of reality succumb to two in the red-faced portal of existance that is combat, Collinmar makes a seconf effort to end the life of the hateful beast attacking the defenceless Gondorian. Another arrow is sent forth to Revoltang's chest.

Uberghash continues his frenzied stabbing with the meat fork, spilling blood this way and that, giggling and whimpering maniacally as he does so. He sits atop the injured human now, but injured is no longer the way to describe the mangled scrap of flesh he brutalizes. And still his mad laughter rings out.

[Faengor(#18480)] Faengor growls with anger, yet fear has struck him and slowly he staggers backwards. Yet his steps are weak and the pain is unbearable. His limbs feel weak, his legs are barely able to support him nor can he muster the strength to raise his sword in defense. Revoltang's words come like a deep curse as if a Nazgul himself had uttered those words. They strike deep in the Nimothan's noble heart, filling it with fear and pain for death.

Then the hammerblow is launched towards the Errand Rider's brow and with full force it connects sending Faengor twirling down towards the ground as if a spiral. Not a word crosses Faengor's lips as he is send down to the dirt and lands with a heavy thud. a Small stream of blood begins to spill from Faengor's left temple, yet Faengor himself does not speak. He remains on the floor, unconcious, his sword having clattered next to his side.

[Revoltang(#29739)] A horrible shriek of pain rises from Revoltang as the blade of the squire plunges into the back of his shoulder, sending out a jet of blood that paints the white snow black. With a dazed look in his eyes the goblin stumbles foreward and falls to his knees, bleeding into the snow. From the sky comes the arrow of some unseen foe, striking the goblin in the side. The goblin commander stumbles slowly to his feet, grasping at the arrow lodged in his side. He stumbles over the fallen form of Faengor, and cries through blood stained lips, "Orcs of moria! Fall back! Fall back!"

[Uberghash(#28478)] The cook-turned-psychopath still lashes out at the mashed corpse with his meat fork, though he has progressed to jumping up and down atop it, trusting to his thick leather boots to crush any last trace of the slightest vestige of life from the torn body. He giggles now, uncontrollably. Tears stream down his face, tears of wicked joy.

[Revoltang(#29739)] Leaving a trail of bloody snow behind him, the badly wounded commander Revoltang stumbles toward the hill with the gait of a cripple. His body is covered in a sheet of gore, and he cries out as he stumbles foreward, "Fall back! Fall back! Retreat! Orcs of Moria! Retreat.." He stumbles and falls to one knee, then pushes himself back up with one arm, "Fall back uruks of Moria. We have done our damage..."

[Collinmar(#21716)] The silohette of a mishevious child jumping on a pile of stones is lain across his path. Alas, it is no child, but the mind of a child trapped in an entity capable of taking the lives of the noble sons of Gondor. The Knight-Bachelor is first everwhelmed in sorrow, then in a rage unfelt by his young heart used to the whistling of a breeze in the golden canopy of his home, or the gentle twinkling of the sweet Celebrant. A bright flame is let at Collin's fingertips as if by magic, and like a flash of untamed righteousness manifests in the refined point of his arrow to pierce the mail apron of the foul creature and its toys. Such is the desire of this elf as his breath lets out from his lungs like the controlled sigh of a weathered statue as the arrow leaps forth to take the foul beast as its victim.

Uberghash hears the call to retreat. Rising shakily, his dark-skinned face flushed still darker, breathing rapidly, he gives the corpse, though it can barely be called a corpse, one last stab with his meat fork. He scrambles closer to where the rest of the retreating Morians are, covered in blood and ropes of guts and bits of organs best left undescribed.

[Faengor(#18480)] Silent Faengor's body lies in the snow, dazed and broken. Serenely, the Nimothan's conciousness has left him amidst the battle and now the Errand Rider lies in the cold snow. His left arm is broken and shattered beyond recognition. A small stream of blood has found it's way outside of Faengor bruised brow, turning the snow next to him in an ugly dark red and to his right lies his sword, likewise drenched in the putrid blood of the Orc commander.

[Amano] Even as the orc commander yells for a retreat, the steely-eyed Blue-Squire, his white tabard now besmirched with the soil and blood of battle as though bearing badges of war, leaps forward to the fallen Nimothan, drawing him up by the dint of a mighty pull. No slight lad, is Amano, and his days spent in hauling and labour are evident in his strength the battlefield no place for the injured, he manages to hoist the unconscious sergeant, drawing the other's right arm across his shoulders. He calls out, the timbre of his voice clashing with the noise of the retreat. "We have the victory, Elves of Lothlorien, Men of Gondor! Aid to the wounded! They fly, we hold the field!"

Rising to his feet, he bears Faengor to where one among the White-Squires stands, the two between them carrying the Guardsman to safety behind the ranks of the Elf-archers.

Durgum's advance slows and stops at the call for retreat and he turns and shuffles off back toward the hills from which he came. Stumbling over branches and rocks as he goes.

[Felmompant(#10607)] As the retreat is called, many orcs turn to run while others are too week to hardly walk, and still more are too engalfed in the rage for blood and stay and fight for there pride. The noise now is of screams and of orcs and orcs only for they are running now for there lives and to get out of arow range.

[Amano] With the last clash of steel upon iron, those who had survived, and those who had won, stand, stained with blood, often their own, the remnant of men upon horseback gathering into a loose formation once more beside the phalanx of elf-archers. A grim silence holds sway beneath the rumour of fleeing feet, the moans of the injured, the screams of dying beasts and it seems a troubled lull, a time in which many check upon companions or staunch bleeding wounds. No longer white-garbed, though the black mantle from the Steward still rests upon his broad shoulders Amano's glance follows the trailing dark vestiges of the orc-horde, his lips drawn in a hard, bloodless line, eyes narrowed.

"Should we give chase?" he inquires of the men, distractedly, noting how his mount had been felled and lay dying on the plain. He shakes his head gravely, before taking one of the packhorses lightly laden, and swinging into its saddle. Poor replacement for a warhorse, but it had to do for now.