Elendor
Sun and Scimitar
The orc Grishnakh arrives in South Ithlien and makes sure his name is known among the men of Gondor.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: South Ithilien
Game Date: March 22 3046
IC Time: Afternoon
Description:
South Ithilien Road(#26464Rnto)
The looming Ephel Duath are not so near now as they were before, but still they tower in the east, vast and menacing. The road continues in both directions until it falls out of sight, and upon either side a thin forest stretches. The ground below is packed hard, and the dirt is cracked as though from drought, yet the track seems well travelled.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
A group of uruk-hai clad in pitch black walk the road slowly, making their way towards the south. They make little attempt at covering their movements or shrouding their existence in the still bright sunlight. Their pace is terribly slow though, and they are very alert, glancing about. It is a small sort of formation around 15 strong, marching in two columns. Four in the front, then one alone in the middle, followed by 10 more in rows. The glint of true silver can be seen on the head of the massive beast in the middle.
Grishnakh, recently returned to the west walks with a twisted sneer. His hand grips firmly the hilt of a drawn scimitar, the blade shimmering almost as brightly as the helmet. His cloak hardly makes a flutter in the windless air as it drags behind him.
There are others here, too, but they take great care to conceal themselves, flattening themselves against the landscape, cloaks of green and brown doing well to conceal them. No words are passed between these men there are 10 in all, their faces masked, as well.
Among the noises of the trees there is the call of a bird and an answering call.
[Grishnakh(#22300)] The commander comes the halt, the rest of the troop does as well. His words reek of evil, spoken in the foulest of tongues. A few sets of red eyes flick up towards the sun at his words. Grishnakh's own eyes scan the sides of the road, eyeing closely the birds and wildlife of the area.
All is still in the woods, unnaturally so. No bird song, no stirring of the leaves, as if the very forest is holding its breath. And then, from the greenery on the west side of the road, arrows suddenly fly, the air thick with them. White-fletched they are, no arrows of Mordor.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The vorazg is unfortunately scanning the east side of the road. But the arrow that zips past his shoulder spins him swiftly around. Several orcs leap in front of the commander immediately, two taking arrows in the chest. The rest of the orcs swiftly fly into action as Grishnakh belts out orders in morbeth. The rush for the side of the road is taking place almost a quickly as the first volley flies past. Two orcs lay in the road, unmoving. The rest charge. Grishnakh is behind two others, scimitar held to the side, shield removed from back.
Another volley of arrows is released at the onrushing orcs, and then four archers there drop their bows and draw swords. At the same time, on the east side of the road, 6 more men of Ithilien now appeared from their hiding places, these with swords in their hands already.
Among this second group, masked as are the others, is a man wearing black gauntlets and wielding a dagger, not a sword. This group of six rushes the orcs from behind, blades glinting in the sun.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The orcs and humans on the west side of the road collide. The ring of steel in brutal and fast paced. These men will be overwhelmed in moments if....
WHAM! The first men of the second force slam into the backs of several orcs, spinning them around. A single word is screamed in morbeth, over the gurgles of 3 more orcs dying with blades in their backs. Being at the rear of the formation, the commander's back is vulnerable as he attempts the wheel about in time.
The orc commander. Focusing on that, the man in black gauntlets pushes forward through the mass of orcs and men now fighting. Putting his weight behind it, Ceredir tries to stab his dagger up through a gap in the orc commander's armor, if he can find it, and into the creature's kidneys.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The creature spins just swiftly enough and the dagger whizzes inches past his hip bone. He growls and the first words in common come from his mouth, "Little sneaks. Well played."
As the orcs and men clash, the ambush is over and the elite orcs hold their ground. A few are down, and the battle is almost even. The orcs are pressed sort of back to back, but the battlke begins the spread as it progresses. grishnakh wastes little time with words. Using the momentum of his turn to power the blade, it sings as it plunges towards the sneak's chest in a wide arc.
Tunic, leather armor and flesh all rip open at once with a great spurt of blood, and it is only from staggering backwards from the force of the blow that Ceredir is not outright killed at once. He has the wits still, at least, to do two things: Slash with his dagger at the orc as he backs away, though it is defensively, and know when to give up the fight.
"Fall back!" the Master Scout calls, through a voice weakened with pain and blood. And then in Sindarin, "get to the camp and report their position and these orcs that walk in the sun!"
Around him, his men struggle to obey, though at least two are already dead, and another two struggle to fight through heavily bleeding wounds.
[Grishnakh(#22300)] The elite orcs push hard against the men of Gondor. Uruk-hai, one and all, members of the black guard, they put up a terrible fight. Wielding hammers and scimitars they fight on, attempting to seal retreat and hold the ambushers. Another 2 orcs lay dead in the road, but their numbers are still slightly greater.
Grishnakh snarls as the human calls for retreat, "You didn't know we were here did you, tarkscum? Weren't sure what you were gettin' yerself into? Now you know. Grishnakh is here and you will leave these lands." He advances on the human, eyes glinting murderously. The blade shifts back and all the pwer in those corded biceps snaps it forward with terrible speed. The blow is aimed high, neck height.
Ceredir is still staggering from the first blow, blood soaking his tunic rapidly, but his faltering balance saves him from having his throat cut open. He throws up a hand to keep his balance, and the armored side of his gauntlet deflects the orc's blade, which instead opens a cut on his forearm.
Though the blow is not deep, Ceredir now falls to his knees, unable to stand any longer. The other scouts are in equally bad shape: Two more already lie dead in the road, and the rest are fighting for their lives and unable to reach Ceredir to help.
[Arathis(#30050)]
Hoof riddles the earth, its cadence growing swiftly from the south.--In evident heed of their countrymen's cries, a half-dozen horsemen, clad in the mails and livery of Dol Amroth, thunder in full haste towards the embattled scouts.
At their fore charges the Knight Arathis a boom flies from his horn, and steel is unleashed in unison about him. So he bids his destrier in ride for the yrch above Ceredir, attempting to cleave its neck with the momentum of his pass.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Among the Knights is the Squire, Arashen Telpekhor. He sits astride a dappled charger -sword drawn and shield slung to his left arm. While some of his number continues past him and Lord Isilrim to engage with the other orcs, the Blue Squire reins in his horse. Leaping down, he approaches the fallen Master Scout even Arathis attacks his foe.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
Grishnakh's quick for his size and the hoofbeats gave ample warning. The orc ducks the blow of the human, albeit just barely. Using the strength of his massive legs from his crouched position, Grishnakh uses his shield to lunge at the horse's flank in an attempt to knock the animal over as it goes by. His eyes flick quickly side to side as the horns blare and his posture becomes more defensive. Ceredir is stepped back from in the confusion and for the moment forgotten. The commander's attention more focused on the standing threats.
"Help the others," Ceredir harshly tells the Squire, blinking as he tries to bring his eyes into focus. He sticks his dagger into the dirt of the road to try to use it to stand, but too weak, just slumps over it, using it to support himself.
There are 5 other scouts left, still fighting Grishnakh's troop, though the reinforcements seem to have renewed their strength some.
"Or.." Ceredir continues in Sindarin now, "get to the camp...this position and orcs...sun."
[Arathis(#30050)]
The warhorse is struck, and though it does not topple, its rider is loosened from its saddle.
Swift to regain his feet, the Isilrim barks over the din of steel: " Arashen! Heed him not: retrieve Ceredir with haste!" The same volume fuses his strike, levied flatly for the same yrch as before: a simple thrust from below his shield, aimed for Grishnakh's belly, even as his step begins to curve against his opponent.
The other horsemen engange the yrch upon the road, attempting to free the scouts from their labor.
[Arashen(#24692)]
"Funny, you don't look like a Knight," Arashen replies grimly, even as Arathis issues his command the squire looks warily at Grishnek and then hazards to sling his shield across his back and re-sheathe his sword. His hands thus free, he ducks under Ceredir's left arm and help him upright. "Come on. It looks like you get to ride my horse, after all. My brothers will retrieve your other wounded."
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The orcs continue to battle fiercely, engaging the new foes with gusto, attempting to remove them from their horses. The effect takes it's toll though a s a couple more orcs are permanently downed. Grishnakh's sneer deepens as the unhorsed man attacks him. He shifts his blade and the clang of steel is loud.
A few hollered words in morbeth have the other orcs calmly backing inward towards the commander, structuring their defenses against the riders. The vorazg keeps himself focused on the man in front. The parry knocks the blade aside and he steps in positioning his shield in front of it. The scimitar cocks back, dripping warm red ichor, then launches forward in an overhead hack at Arathis' shoulder.
With his last bit of strength, Ceredir pushes up to try to stand as the Blue Squire helps him up. And then he is dead weight in Arashen's arms, blood loss and the wound he suffered making him pass out.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Perhaps expecting it, Arashen easily catches the suddenly limp Ceredir. With a grunt, he lifts the man and hefts him onto his shoulder. Then staggering slightly under the weight of a full-grown, armored man, he makes his way towards his horse.
[Arathis(#30050)]
The tall Swansmen of Amroth drive heartily against their enemies, employing whatever free moments gained to pull away their felled countrymen.
Yet the effort is unjoined by Arathis for the blow of his opponent lands true, cleaving the links at his shoulder and driving deep into the flesh beneath: a cry, seldom heard from the Isilrim Lord, ejects from his lips.
For a second, his shield-arm falls limp, ere he raises it with tokens of great pain upon his visage. Glancing at the progress of the Squire, then, he attempts again for the yrch, fielding a muted attack for his opponent's swordarm.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
Grishnkah darts to the side with quickness unfitting his girth. The sidestep takes him to his right, flanking about the human's weapon arm. An upperhand blow is swiftly employed, the tip of his blade nearly scraping the ground as it comes up for Arathis' armpit.
The other orcs continue to back in, their circle closing, defenses stable as they work closer to one another. One less fills their ranks, but the humans have suffered the worst of the casualties to the nasty uruk-hai.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Straining, Arashen grimaces as he transfers the unconscious Master Scout from his shoulder and draped in front of his saddle - his charger prances unseasily. The Squire looks around - noting each wounded man of Ithilien has been retrieved. Then his gray eyes fall upon the Isilrim Knight and narrow. "Sir! Do you need help?"
[Arathis(#30050)]
Swift sidesteps carry the Knight against the path of the yrch Commander, in attempt to gain a greater angle against his opponent's shieldarm. Thus he shortens the distance travelled by Grishnakh's blade, leaving it to land hard but blunt upon his mail.
He answers soon with his own, advancing first a step with his shield-foot, ere swinging his blade in attack yet his elbow snaps inwards mindway, and a downward strike is attempted for the yrch's shoulder.
Accompanying his steel is his tongue: " Ready the men! We depart with the scouts!"
[Arathis(#30050)]
Meanwhile, those men of Dol Amroth still mounted seem of little haste to engage the remainder yrch, albeit some surely do push the enemy yet. They hurry instead to secure the wounded.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The burly orc dodges again. The sweat pouring from his brow does not mingle with a drop of his own blood, though spatters of red ichor stain his angry countenance. He bellows out words in morbeth as the orcs group together hardly fending off any attackers.
The dodge he employs is more of a duck and swivel than anything else, leaving him still in front of the man as the blade whooshes down his side. Using his formidable leg power, the uruk-hai leaps up stabbing at the humans throat with the end of his curved blade.
The last rays of the sun gleam off his mithril helmet. New sounds break the air in the waning daylight. Sounds of wolves and shouts to the north.
[<#24692>]
" Yes, sir!" Arashen replies and swings himself up into his saddle. Taking up the reins in his right hand, he secures Ceredir with his left and glances around at his brethren He orders, " Prepare to take all the men of Ithilien into your saddles ** **** out at Lord ********* command!"
[Arathis(#30050)]
Heeding the leap of his foe, the Isilrim Lord retreats a twain of steps in haste. Grishnakh's blade meets then this man's breast, earning considerable crimson from the marred flesh beneath his mails. Another wince comes to curve the Knight's features, albeit its temper is not shared by his retreat: his shield and blade held steadily outward, he strides backwards towards his mount.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
Grishnakh does not bother to persue the man. Instead he backs slowly away, to the cluster of his remaining warriors. He sneers at his former opponents and raises his rough voice in westron, "These lands I reclaim in the name of the one true master! You will remove yourselves or suffer your demise! The uruk-hai are here!"
The orcs watch warily as the humans and their wounded are removed. A few look hungrily towards the bodies of the dead men strewn about. There will be a feast at the camp this night...
[Arathis(#30050)]
A bloodied grin cascades across the Isilrim Lord's visage, birthing utterance as he regains his mount: " Know, brothers, that we ride in Ithilien, our Men sit in Osgiliath, and that Poros flies our flag.
"With haste, then! To the healers!"
Thus the Swansmen break southwards.
South Ithilien Road(#26464Rnto)
The looming Ephel Duath are not so near now as they were before, but still they tower in the east, vast and menacing. The road continues in both directions until it falls out of sight, and upon either side a thin forest stretches. The ground below is packed hard, and the dirt is cracked as though from drought, yet the track seems well travelled.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
A group of uruk-hai clad in pitch black walk the road slowly, making their way towards the south. They make little attempt at covering their movements or shrouding their existence in the still bright sunlight. Their pace is terribly slow though, and they are very alert, glancing about. It is a small sort of formation around 15 strong, marching in two columns. Four in the front, then one alone in the middle, followed by 10 more in rows. The glint of true silver can be seen on the head of the massive beast in the middle.
Grishnakh, recently returned to the west walks with a twisted sneer. His hand grips firmly the hilt of a drawn scimitar, the blade shimmering almost as brightly as the helmet. His cloak hardly makes a flutter in the windless air as it drags behind him.
There are others here, too, but they take great care to conceal themselves, flattening themselves against the landscape, cloaks of green and brown doing well to conceal them. No words are passed between these men there are 10 in all, their faces masked, as well.
Among the noises of the trees there is the call of a bird and an answering call.
[Grishnakh(#22300)] The commander comes the halt, the rest of the troop does as well. His words reek of evil, spoken in the foulest of tongues. A few sets of red eyes flick up towards the sun at his words. Grishnakh's own eyes scan the sides of the road, eyeing closely the birds and wildlife of the area.
All is still in the woods, unnaturally so. No bird song, no stirring of the leaves, as if the very forest is holding its breath. And then, from the greenery on the west side of the road, arrows suddenly fly, the air thick with them. White-fletched they are, no arrows of Mordor.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The vorazg is unfortunately scanning the east side of the road. But the arrow that zips past his shoulder spins him swiftly around. Several orcs leap in front of the commander immediately, two taking arrows in the chest. The rest of the orcs swiftly fly into action as Grishnakh belts out orders in morbeth. The rush for the side of the road is taking place almost a quickly as the first volley flies past. Two orcs lay in the road, unmoving. The rest charge. Grishnakh is behind two others, scimitar held to the side, shield removed from back.
Another volley of arrows is released at the onrushing orcs, and then four archers there drop their bows and draw swords. At the same time, on the east side of the road, 6 more men of Ithilien now appeared from their hiding places, these with swords in their hands already.
Among this second group, masked as are the others, is a man wearing black gauntlets and wielding a dagger, not a sword. This group of six rushes the orcs from behind, blades glinting in the sun.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The orcs and humans on the west side of the road collide. The ring of steel in brutal and fast paced. These men will be overwhelmed in moments if....
WHAM! The first men of the second force slam into the backs of several orcs, spinning them around. A single word is screamed in morbeth, over the gurgles of 3 more orcs dying with blades in their backs. Being at the rear of the formation, the commander's back is vulnerable as he attempts the wheel about in time.
The orc commander. Focusing on that, the man in black gauntlets pushes forward through the mass of orcs and men now fighting. Putting his weight behind it, Ceredir tries to stab his dagger up through a gap in the orc commander's armor, if he can find it, and into the creature's kidneys.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The creature spins just swiftly enough and the dagger whizzes inches past his hip bone. He growls and the first words in common come from his mouth, "Little sneaks. Well played."
As the orcs and men clash, the ambush is over and the elite orcs hold their ground. A few are down, and the battle is almost even. The orcs are pressed sort of back to back, but the battlke begins the spread as it progresses. grishnakh wastes little time with words. Using the momentum of his turn to power the blade, it sings as it plunges towards the sneak's chest in a wide arc.
Tunic, leather armor and flesh all rip open at once with a great spurt of blood, and it is only from staggering backwards from the force of the blow that Ceredir is not outright killed at once. He has the wits still, at least, to do two things: Slash with his dagger at the orc as he backs away, though it is defensively, and know when to give up the fight.
"Fall back!" the Master Scout calls, through a voice weakened with pain and blood. And then in Sindarin, "get to the camp and report their position and these orcs that walk in the sun!"
Around him, his men struggle to obey, though at least two are already dead, and another two struggle to fight through heavily bleeding wounds.
[Grishnakh(#22300)] The elite orcs push hard against the men of Gondor. Uruk-hai, one and all, members of the black guard, they put up a terrible fight. Wielding hammers and scimitars they fight on, attempting to seal retreat and hold the ambushers. Another 2 orcs lay dead in the road, but their numbers are still slightly greater.
Grishnakh snarls as the human calls for retreat, "You didn't know we were here did you, tarkscum? Weren't sure what you were gettin' yerself into? Now you know. Grishnakh is here and you will leave these lands." He advances on the human, eyes glinting murderously. The blade shifts back and all the pwer in those corded biceps snaps it forward with terrible speed. The blow is aimed high, neck height.
Ceredir is still staggering from the first blow, blood soaking his tunic rapidly, but his faltering balance saves him from having his throat cut open. He throws up a hand to keep his balance, and the armored side of his gauntlet deflects the orc's blade, which instead opens a cut on his forearm.
Though the blow is not deep, Ceredir now falls to his knees, unable to stand any longer. The other scouts are in equally bad shape: Two more already lie dead in the road, and the rest are fighting for their lives and unable to reach Ceredir to help.
[Arathis(#30050)]
Hoof riddles the earth, its cadence growing swiftly from the south.--In evident heed of their countrymen's cries, a half-dozen horsemen, clad in the mails and livery of Dol Amroth, thunder in full haste towards the embattled scouts.
At their fore charges the Knight Arathis a boom flies from his horn, and steel is unleashed in unison about him. So he bids his destrier in ride for the yrch above Ceredir, attempting to cleave its neck with the momentum of his pass.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Among the Knights is the Squire, Arashen Telpekhor. He sits astride a dappled charger -sword drawn and shield slung to his left arm. While some of his number continues past him and Lord Isilrim to engage with the other orcs, the Blue Squire reins in his horse. Leaping down, he approaches the fallen Master Scout even Arathis attacks his foe.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
Grishnakh's quick for his size and the hoofbeats gave ample warning. The orc ducks the blow of the human, albeit just barely. Using the strength of his massive legs from his crouched position, Grishnakh uses his shield to lunge at the horse's flank in an attempt to knock the animal over as it goes by. His eyes flick quickly side to side as the horns blare and his posture becomes more defensive. Ceredir is stepped back from in the confusion and for the moment forgotten. The commander's attention more focused on the standing threats.
"Help the others," Ceredir harshly tells the Squire, blinking as he tries to bring his eyes into focus. He sticks his dagger into the dirt of the road to try to use it to stand, but too weak, just slumps over it, using it to support himself.
There are 5 other scouts left, still fighting Grishnakh's troop, though the reinforcements seem to have renewed their strength some.
"Or.." Ceredir continues in Sindarin now, "get to the camp...this position and orcs...sun."
[Arathis(#30050)]
The warhorse is struck, and though it does not topple, its rider is loosened from its saddle.
Swift to regain his feet, the Isilrim barks over the din of steel: "
The other horsemen engange the yrch upon the road, attempting to free the scouts from their labor.
[Arashen(#24692)]
"Funny, you don't look like a Knight," Arashen replies grimly, even as Arathis issues his command the squire looks warily at Grishnek and then hazards to sling his shield across his back and re-sheathe his sword. His hands thus free, he ducks under Ceredir's left arm and help him upright. "Come on. It looks like you get to ride my horse, after all. My brothers will retrieve your other wounded."
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The orcs continue to battle fiercely, engaging the new foes with gusto, attempting to remove them from their horses. The effect takes it's toll though a s a couple more orcs are permanently downed. Grishnakh's sneer deepens as the unhorsed man attacks him. He shifts his blade and the clang of steel is loud.
A few hollered words in morbeth have the other orcs calmly backing inward towards the commander, structuring their defenses against the riders. The vorazg keeps himself focused on the man in front. The parry knocks the blade aside and he steps in positioning his shield in front of it. The scimitar cocks back, dripping warm red ichor, then launches forward in an overhead hack at Arathis' shoulder.
With his last bit of strength, Ceredir pushes up to try to stand as the Blue Squire helps him up. And then he is dead weight in Arashen's arms, blood loss and the wound he suffered making him pass out.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Perhaps expecting it, Arashen easily catches the suddenly limp Ceredir. With a grunt, he lifts the man and hefts him onto his shoulder. Then staggering slightly under the weight of a full-grown, armored man, he makes his way towards his horse.
[Arathis(#30050)]
The tall Swansmen of Amroth drive heartily against their enemies, employing whatever free moments gained to pull away their felled countrymen.
Yet the effort is unjoined by Arathis for the blow of his opponent lands true, cleaving the links at his shoulder and driving deep into the flesh beneath: a cry, seldom heard from the Isilrim Lord, ejects from his lips.
For a second, his shield-arm falls limp, ere he raises it with tokens of great pain upon his visage. Glancing at the progress of the Squire, then, he attempts again for the yrch, fielding a muted attack for his opponent's swordarm.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
Grishnkah darts to the side with quickness unfitting his girth. The sidestep takes him to his right, flanking about the human's weapon arm. An upperhand blow is swiftly employed, the tip of his blade nearly scraping the ground as it comes up for Arathis' armpit.
The other orcs continue to back in, their circle closing, defenses stable as they work closer to one another. One less fills their ranks, but the humans have suffered the worst of the casualties to the nasty uruk-hai.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Straining, Arashen grimaces as he transfers the unconscious Master Scout from his shoulder and draped in front of his saddle - his charger prances unseasily. The Squire looks around - noting each wounded man of Ithilien has been retrieved. Then his gray eyes fall upon the Isilrim Knight and narrow. "Sir! Do you need help?"
[Arathis(#30050)]
Swift sidesteps carry the Knight against the path of the yrch Commander, in attempt to gain a greater angle against his opponent's shieldarm. Thus he shortens the distance travelled by Grishnakh's blade, leaving it to land hard but blunt upon his mail.
He answers soon with his own, advancing first a step with his shield-foot, ere swinging his blade in attack yet his elbow snaps inwards mindway, and a downward strike is attempted for the yrch's shoulder.
Accompanying his steel is his tongue: "
[Arathis(#30050)]
Meanwhile, those men of Dol Amroth still mounted seem of little haste to engage the remainder yrch, albeit some surely do push the enemy yet. They hurry instead to secure the wounded.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
The burly orc dodges again. The sweat pouring from his brow does not mingle with a drop of his own blood, though spatters of red ichor stain his angry countenance. He bellows out words in morbeth as the orcs group together hardly fending off any attackers.
The dodge he employs is more of a duck and swivel than anything else, leaving him still in front of the man as the blade whooshes down his side. Using his formidable leg power, the uruk-hai leaps up stabbing at the humans throat with the end of his curved blade.
The last rays of the sun gleam off his mithril helmet. New sounds break the air in the waning daylight. Sounds of wolves and shouts to the north.
[<#24692>]
"
[Arathis(#30050)]
Heeding the leap of his foe, the Isilrim Lord retreats a twain of steps in haste. Grishnakh's blade meets then this man's breast, earning considerable crimson from the marred flesh beneath his mails. Another wince comes to curve the Knight's features, albeit its temper is not shared by his retreat: his shield and blade held steadily outward, he strides backwards towards his mount.
[Grishnakh(#22300)]
Grishnakh does not bother to persue the man. Instead he backs slowly away, to the cluster of his remaining warriors. He sneers at his former opponents and raises his rough voice in westron, "These lands I reclaim in the name of the one true master! You will remove yourselves or suffer your demise! The uruk-hai are here!"
The orcs watch warily as the humans and their wounded are removed. A few look hungrily towards the bodies of the dead men strewn about. There will be a feast at the camp this night...
[Arathis(#30050)]
A bloodied grin cascades across the Isilrim Lord's visage, birthing utterance as he regains his mount: "
"With haste, then! To the healers!"
Thus the Swansmen break southwards.
Players: Grishnakh,Ceredir,Arathis,Arashen
