Poros River Attack! (Part 1)
Poros River Attack!��
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Submit Date: 2002-11-24 22:46:38
MUSH Date:�
Culture: Gondorian
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Participating Players: Haradrim, Gondorian and Mordain
Participating Cultures:�
Location(s): Crossing of Poros, N. Bank
Description:
The Gondorian fort on the Poros is attacked by dark foes from Harad and Mordor
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Elendor - Tuesday, March 20, 2001
Crossing of Poros, N. Bank
In the pale light of the darkness, faintly to the north you see the road continue north through the grasses of South Ithilien. To the south the pale light glints off slow moving
waters and moss covered, wrecked masonry. To the west the light casts a dull glow upon yellow flowers, growing on a monolith caped mound. It is too dark to make out any details
of the monolith, without getting close to look at it.
The blackness of night creeps over the sky as the red sun sinks below the horizon. You shiver as night claims the Harondor.
Contents:
Gondorian Military Campsite - Hosts of Gondor(#24998ae)
Uvatha
Dorionn
Erutirn
Rhiforath
Drenlyn
Alanya
Herunumendil
Aefenbryn
Morrandir
Amano
Angiest
Runadan
Shagrat
Noghzak
Karashrok
Fragluk
Boromir
Nyubi
Sauron
Ashnak
Bellas
Khamul
Adunaphel
Uruk Column(#25568OVae)
Narakshi Camp Remains
Monument on a mound
Obvious exits:
South, North, and NorthWest
[Rhiforath(#28737)] Night has decended on the Poros River... the air is cooling off rapidly, the sky is clear and starry. The wind, ever blowing, whispers through the tall
grasses in a rhythm older than the river's song. Tonight, the mourning Narakshi are silent. There is no singing, no wailing, no chanting. Only the stir of life in the edgy
Gondorian encampment gives rise to sound. Men walk about staring off into the darkness, to the south and up the river to the east. The air is almost oppressive with the almost
humming silence without.
[Shagrat(#29507)]
From the north comes a veritable lake of fire torches, lined in rank and file, pour towards the crossing of the river Poros - the northern brink of the lands of Harad.
Swarthy and stout comes the army of Mordor, crimson eyes flashing against the light of their fires as they march under the cool night sky. The noise of their harsh voices and
speech rise up and disperse like a plague born on the wind. At their head is a group of able Captains. One boasts a mighty battle axe before him.
"Har, and that's final. If one of Them has ordered it I'd suggest you stop your belly achin' lest I, Captain Shagrat, remove your belly!" hollers a distinct voice over the
rest...
The shadow of the East approaches.
[Runadan(#26692)]
Runadan walks among the outskirts of the camp, his desert attire replaced with the traditionale garbs of a Scout of Ithilien. Rings of iron glimmer every so often in the
starlight from the studded armor bound about his chest. A turn now northwards, and suddenly the man freezes. Fire glows on the horizon, nearly a river of fire approaching
quickly toward the Gondorian campsite. "Alarm!" rings from his throat in a scream, breaking the chill silence of the night.
[Dorionn(#27533)]
At the sound of the alarm cry, a hand reaches out and pulls back the flap of one of the tents where the white squires are housed. A dark-haired head sticks out, and Dorionn
looks about wildly for a few moments, saying, "Wha'? Where?" before he's dragged back in and out of the way so a somewhat larger squire can take a look. Sounds of chaos ensue
from within as the occupants search for their belongings.
[Ashnak(#26563)] A hoarse, throaty chuckle erupts among the tromping of boots, one of the front line captains of the orcs turns his head to the one who just spoke, eyeing him
with saddistic mirth. "'Twasn't me! When the shrieker to Ashnak it's your life if you don't make it, Ashnak runs!" Patting the bow in his hand, he tests the string even as he
marches, and smiles at the muffled twang.
[Rhiforath(#28737)] At the sound of the cry that pierces the night, men begin to flood from the tents and stad up all around the smoldering cooking fires. One of these is
Rhiforath, his Narakshi tribal clothes also gone and replaced now with his proper uniform. He too takes up the call, "To Arms! To Arms! They come from the north!"
All around the Gondorian encampment comes to life as men rush about to begin forming up ranks, seeking their arms, looking for their officers, rushing to the few horses picketed
about. It seems that general chaos reigns, yet some order keeps men from panic.
[Morrandir(#24549)]
A raven-haired head turns to the direction of the scout. The one-eyed squire, Morrandir Wolfsbane, lets out a quiet snarl and runs into a nearby tent. He emerges with a small
bundle of armor, and immediately starts girting himself for war.
[Nyubi(#29880)] Creeping close to the ground goes the Apothecary of Dol Guldur. While the bulk of the column marches in rank and file, many of the Northern Uruks take a quietier
approach to the field of conflict, slipping between shadows and rocks on near-silent feet.
[Angiest(#19936)]
The call of "Alarm" having been raised, the Gondorian campsite is suddenly abuss with activity. Soldiers run hither and thither taking up arms. Sergeants and Lieutenants bark
out orders. Units form up.
The healer's tent is also abuzz with activity. As rumour of war quickly spreads through the camp, healers begin to make ready to tend to their futue charges. Out of that tent
strides Angiest. He is just attaching his cape about his shoulders. He is followed by a healer, pleading with him not to leave. "I am well and I can fight! I will not be kept in
there where so many injured will soon be!" His cry pierces the night air, and many of the soldiers under his command look up to see their ailing Captain emerging from the tent
that has been his home for some days. He has forgone his spear, taking rather his sword into battle. He wears his high helm upon his head and a shield on his right arm.
[Erutirn(#17520)] The knight, Erutirn, paces the Gondorian camp, brace upon his leg. Still does he wear a desert-style of clothing, armour worn over it and helm upon his head.
He walks, his shield oddly balanced by a length of rop upon his back, when he hears the alarm he moves his shield to his arm and withdraws his horn. He cries out, "To Arms! To
Arms men of Gondor!" Then a piercing burst of sound emits forth as he sounds the horn. He continues to sound the horn three times.
[Bellas(#29722)]
In the light of the stars a cloaked figure stands silent near the riverside.. Well actually there are two persons standing there and a soft whisper is lifted up in the air and
words like, "Are you sure, Bellas" and "What did you plan to hunt tonight Alanya .. hmm the stars maybe?" As the alarm cleaves the air they remove their gaze from the sky and
their eyes seek the source of the shout... Then quickly the tall figure graps the woman's arm and together they hurry back camp and leaving Alanya alone for a moment, Bellas
dissapears into a tent.. Shortly after he stands outside, wearing a leather armor and a round buckler. For a short moment they stand still smelling the night.. Then they seeks
the camp again watching the soldiers running out from their tents.
[Imrahil(#29017)]
The silence of the desert night is perilous and fraught with the shadow of fear and wariness -- for strife has come again to the Fords of Poros. No longer do the fires of the
Gondorian camp burn brightly -- in their stead, a line of torches has been set along the northern bank, and just beyond their circle of light stands a shadowy line of men
bearing bows. And behind them, glimmer spear-points akin to a forest of fallen stars.
Yet, at the sudden alarm, cries of startlement rise in what remains of the camp -- to be silenced by a clear, commanding voice which cuts through them with ease, "Companies of
the White Tree and the Silver Swan, form to the rear!"
For thither, clad in mail limned with Tilion's pale glow, strides a tall, commanding figure -- the Prince of Dol Amroth.
[Thorondur(#23126)]
The great, booming horncalls of Gondor cry aloud:
Ba-whoooooooooooom!
Ba-whooom ba-WHOOOOOOOOOM!
Aefenbryn bursts out of a tent as the alarm goes up, clutching her helm, her staff and a hair-tie all at once. Her normally braided blonde hair flies out behind her as she
dashes out - evidently she was trying to re-braid the mangled, cropped end before the outcry was raised - but she simply stuffs it down the back of her jerkin and crams her
helmet on her head, yelling loudly in Rohirric for Leif as she runs with her blue eyes blazing.
[Shagrat(#29507)]
The Ungol Captain chortles and bites a nail from his thumb before spitting into the wind.
"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you, you goon? Har! Keep your pants up so you don't trip when my axe finds your back." he laughs as the noisome preperations and horns of the
Gondorian camp reaches the vast Mordain army. "Look boys!" he booms mockingly, "We've been found. Ha! If you see any straggling tarks, hash them down. I'm sure the Shrieker
wouldn't mind a little fun to be had." orders Shagrat his eyes shimmer from behind a torch-bearer.
The Army keeps a rapid, tireless advance...
[Rhiforath(#28737)] Hearing orders, someone shouting for the Company of the White Tree to form up in the rear, Rhiforath tosses the gear he was helping to hand out and breaks
into a jog to where the officers are ranking the men. Now keeping his sword sheathed until it is needed, he moves swiftly to take his place with the others, surely the only man
here with the tribal tattoos of the Narkashi tribe to fight for Gondor today.
[Drenlyn(#19482)]
Pacing along the outer rim of the emcampment, one man walks, his eyes like stars tracing the night settling on the lines of torches. Even as the scout's cry breaks the night
air, Drenlyn is unmoved by the alarm, but halts his path, staring southwards over the crimson lake. His hand reaches down to the hilt of his sword, griping it tensely, and the
man turns, making his way back to the gondorian camp, no completely alive with preparation.
Passing by the squires' tent, he spots Dorionn and calls out sternly into the tent, "Get your swords lads and your armor, the enemy comes. Make Haste!"
Spotting the Prince of Dol Amroth, Drenlyn quickly makes his way to him.
[Alanya(#17244)] Stumbling footsteps propel Alanya up the banks away from the river. They'd get her there faster if she didn't keep looking over her shoulder, trying to catch
some sight of the marching army behind her. Bellas drags her up towards the camp, till, close, she twists out of his grasp, turning to look down on the river, and the host
coming to it.
At the sound of alarm, the Master Healer, calls for order inside the healers tent, her voice rising about the din outside, 'Healers! Prepare for triage. Pointing to several of
her staff the orders ring out clearly, 'You shall stay here and see to the incoming wounded." To others Aearwen directs, 'You are in charge of seeing to those that fall in
battle. Place them on the litter and haul them to safety using whatever method you have to use"
Putting on a leather vest over her gown of royal blue, Aearwen pulls a dark cloak about her shoulders and reaches for the satchel of medicinal supplies. Calmly, her cerulean
eyes gaze at the faces of the well trained staff, oddly enough, her voice is quiet now, almost steely in quality as she says, "We all know what to do. I expect the best out of
each and every one of you. Stay safe and see to our men of Gondor!" With that the healer turns on her heel strides through the opening in the tent flap and into the fray in the
campsite.
[Runadan(#26692)]
The Master Scout Runadan quickly draws his longsword as he stands along the northern line of defenses. Men gather about him, some bearing the insignia of Ithilien, yet others
strangers to the man. His face is grim, though eyes are steady as he stares into the darkness separating the camp and the line of torches.
[Morrandir(#24549)]
"Drenlyn!" cries the Wolfsbane as he sees the Knight. Morrandir hurries toward him, and lays a hand on his shoulder. "Allow me to fight at your side, Sir Knight. And may we let
all past grieviances be forgotten?"
Dorionn stumbles out of the squires' tent still pulling on his leather jerkin as he does so. He takes a few steps to hurry after Drenlyn, then stops and runs back into the tent.
Emerging a second time, he finally recalls to bring his greatsword with him as well, and hastens to catch up with his knight, moving a tad awkwardly as he wrestles with the best
way to handle the weapon's bulk.
From afar, Adunaphel whistles softly. "Very nicely posed... Impressive." =)
[Bregedur(#22134)]
Among the shadows that flit between the camp of the Men of Gondor and their palisades and defenses, a taller figure stands. The wind whips at his cloak, but he stands unruffled
and unmoved by the tumult.
[Ashnak(#26563)] Cocking his head to one side to spit, and laughing aloud as it splats into an orc two rows behind him, the other orc captain sneers. "Bah. You keep your axe
stuck in some tark's neck, like it belongs, and tomorrow we see who can hold more bloodwine." Still stomping forward, Ashnak pulls an arrow from his quiver, and nocks it, but
does not draw the bow while he runs.
[Erutirn(#17520)] Spotting the Prince of Amroth, Erutirn makes all haste to join his countrymen around the great captain. In his hand, as he walks, he replaces horn for sword.
The knight is slower than he once was, but still fast can he move. Though he walks towards Imrahil, he does not seem to truly recognize those around him for the moment.
Rhiforath slips down the slope towards the river, his riding boots leaving gouges in the loose gravel and sand. He comes to stop not far from Runadan and gives that man a look
and a nod as he takes up his position with the others. At this point he redraws his longsword and then he waits, watching, and listening for orders. The coming pool of fire
seems terribly threatening to the point that the recent Haradrim captive begins to speak a prayer he learned as a child under his breath, "White Tree that shades us, fountain
that flows..."
[Angiest(#19936)]
Upon the command of Prince Imrahil, Angiest makes his way toward the head of the Company of the White Tree. A fierce fire burns in his eye. As the Company begins to fall in to
ranks, he quickly walks up and down the files, his eye looking to each man. Some of the younger ones, who perhaps have not known such combat, look as if they might have a tinge
of fear. He trains his eye on these in particular. The power of the noble's gaze emboldens them, and any trace of fear they may have had vanishes from their face. The older and
more experienced in the ranks are more grim of face, knowing full well what may await them. Having completed his quick inspection of the Company, Angiest returns to the head of
his soliders, his eye trained first to Imrahil, then to the taller figure standing further off.
[Drenlyn(#19482)]
Halting as Morrandir runs towards him, Drenlyn nods grimly, "If you would Morrandir, then do so. I would see some of the lessons of the Herald that you have learned....but where
is your commrade squire Dorio..."
The young knight's words halt as he spots the lad rushing towards him, "Careful with that sword Dorionn!" cries the knight a deep frown upon his face as the lad wrestles with
the weapon. Then turning to Morrandir as the other squire reaches him he says, "Very well, then both of you come, we must form up."
Then hefting his shield, Drenlyn swiftly moves to the rear, mingling with the other men of the company of the Silver Swan.
[Imrahil(#29017)]
Swiftly, with a skill forged in the fires of battle, two companies draw up a spear line to the north, along the road. And with but a nod to the Swan-Knight and the Squires --
"Come with me" -- the Prince makes his way to their center.
Thus, the Men of Gondor await the onset of their foes -- two thin lines, one to the North, one to the South one commanded by the Prince, the other by the Captain-General.
Will they hold?
[Bellas(#29722)] In a loud voice that almost dissapears in the noise made in the camp, Bellas speaks, "Alanya dear friend, Stay close to me.. And flee if nessesarily!" Then he
moves up to her again and gently puts a finger on her chin and moves her face to meet her eyes that shines in the light from the stars.. "Will you promise me that?" Then he
quickly looks around and seeing Angiest leaving the healers tent, he whispers to himself, "Father!" Then quickly he turns back to Alanya, "Please follow me, milady!" Then he
walks toward Angiest with quick steps.
[Amano(#30032)]
Eyes sharp as the gleam of steel lance the darkness, seeing as yet nothing beyond the shadowy margins of the grasslands, as a tall, lean form strides to hearken to the summons.
And lo, already he is garbed in the gear of war - for sleepless, or perhaps on tireless vigil had he remained. Amano, of the Isilrim, or so his cold countenance names him.
Swift is his step, as he joins others of his brethren - Knights of Dol Amroth, in mail clad, some helmed. Pale faces, stern and fair, are half-glimpsed in the firelight as they
turn to obey the Prince's command that had come clear through the clamour.
[Herunumendil(#15552)] His pulse beatiing to an older cadence, hinting of bronze, tasting of iron, another man, both tall and broad, stands between the tents, his gaze piercing
the space between here and there, a White Tree emblazoned upon his tabbard, his greatsword's blade achingly sharp...
[Drenlyn(#19482)]
Nodding to the Prince's words, Drenlyn follows Imrahil as they move through to the center of the line, expecting the squires to follow.
[Aefenbryn(#20347)] "Wow, look at all this," Aefenbryn mutters to herself in Rohirric, spitting out a straying lock of hair as the Gondorian fighters charge around all about her
in the camp. "Cenecyld! Cenecyld!" Her notoriously unreliable grey mare whinnies in answer as the getaleboda shouts, and so she rushes over in the direction of the horse's call,
freeing the tether with fumbling fingers. "Come on, sweet, I need you to put me above all this chaos! Behave today, hmm?"
[Dorionn(#27533)]
"Sorry, sir," answers Dorionn as he catches up to Drenlyn and Morrandir. Holding his sword more carefully, he follows the knight and older squire as they go to form up, casting
the occasional nervous glance at the approaching enemy.
[Boromir(#19834)]
Striding between the lines of archers and spearmen set to guard the Southern approach to the camp, the Captain-General hears the calls of alarm and knows the Captain of the West
will hold the lines there, if any can. He speaks to his men, "Hold your positions. ARCHERS! Ready!" The men in the line of archers to the fore notch arrows and take aim on the
pools of light provided by their torches along the bank of the River.
To the shields and spears over his shoulder, he says, "Be ready." Then does the Heir of Denethor lift up his own horn to his lips and blow an answering call:
Hoooooooooom! HOOOM HOOOM!
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!
Then does Boromir abandon his horn in favour of the broad steel blade at his hip.
[Adunaphel(#29611)] From somewhere in the distance, a chill to the air approaches, slowly settling over the area like an icy cloak. A bitter taste accompanies the light breeze
that rises, a bitterness carrying the taste of ash... and hatred. The night deepens, shadows sliding over the ground, and stars even seem to wink out. The sky darkens, but
then.. is pierced by a cry. One which brings unspeakable terror in its wake.
[Adunaphel's Robes(#12698)] Adunaphel looks to the sky and lets loose a long and shrill scream.
[Adunaphel's Robes(#12698)] A shrill and high-pitched wail, full of despair and evil, echoes over the area.
Rhiforath watches Angiest go by, inspecting the line. The young man draws some calmness to himself in the older man's purposeful actions of command, waiting...
[Morrandir(#24549)]
Morrandir looks to Dorionn, then to the Prince. "A time to fulfil our oath." He smiles grimly and draws forth Angor, the Iron-Terror. He then follows Drenlyn, walking upon his
right.
[Shagrat(#29507)]
The Orcs of Mordor rush closer the mass of torches glowing brighter as they approach. Shagrat scoffs, his voice now heard over the others.
"We'll see if you can even afford the bloodwine, Ashnak. Now suck that gut of yours in so you can aim proper. Archers, stop your lollygaggin' and get to shooting! Now, and
gather the scouts up so we aren't looting our own boys at the end of this." he commands over the thunderous Army.
The huge captain takes his own battle axe and sets it before his frame. The light of the Gondorian torchline grows nearer. Surely in bowshot for both sides, yet the Mordain
approach without hesitation.
[Alanya(#17244)] Blue eyes glance from Bellas back toward's the healer's tent, but then she nods, almost imperceptably, her hand tightening on a small dagger. "You don't have to
go into this fight..." she says, but Bellas is already gone, and she hurries to catch up.
[<#29880>] "" a voice whispers from the shadows of the stones where creeps Nyubi, the cloaked Apothecary of the North. The creature's spear wobbles
slightly in its hand even the black beasts of Mordor feel the chill of a Nazgul's coming.
Imbrahan looks around somewhat bewildered, but steadies his spear, facing the enemy
[Shagrat(#29507)]
However, the Army does falter only to be enhanced in speed and vigor the call of the Nazgul sends them in a fury. The Orcs have come.
Drawing up well behind the lines of archers and spearmen, Lady Aearwen, the master healer listens to the orders commanded by the Prince and Lord Boromir. The words of the men as
the speak amongst themselves, offering encouragement and swearing to defeat these enemies is heard by her ears and aloud she whispers, "The Glory of Gondor shall hold!"
Directing the placement of the litters and supplies that have been brought from inside the healers tent, her eyes peer into the darkness as a loud shrill scream splits the air.
Pausing briefly in her own tasks she remarks to her assistant, "Tis the sound I recall from the Siege of Osgiliath. This bodes not well"
[Erutirn(#17520)] As he forms up with his comrades, the short knight Erutirn begins to speak to those nearest him. "Today we honour our oaths, men. No matter what happens, it is
not us that is important... but Gondor. Remember that and nothing we do here shall be for naught!" He makes many last minute checks of his equipment, watching for the enemy.
When the shrill cry breaks into the air he mutters quietly to himself, "I have heard that before..." The knight looks to the others, "If we falter here... they are free to march
on Gondor, we can not allow that!"
[Runadan(#26692)]
Runadan stands with longsword held steadily before him. His arms hold the blade at eyelevel, hands covered by black gauntlets polished to a glow in the torch-lit darkness. The
darkness before him is slowly replaced by crawling shadows, his trained eyes catching sight of the first foul orcs upon the front of the columns. He shudders briefly at the
Nazgul's call, yet eyes remain steady upon the horrid smelling creatures. A second cry escapes his lips, "Runadan for Ithilien!", a challenge to any who would oppose him.
[Ashnak(#26563)] "Normally I don't take kindly to anyone shorter than a shrieker telling me what to do, but you make sense. Archers, shoot! Now!" Ashnak takes his bow and raises
it into the night sky. Slowing only slightly to draw back the string, he looses an ill aimed arrow at the knights of Gondor, chuckling with impish pleasure.
Ashnak launches an arrow...
Ashnak's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
[Angiest(#19936)]
Drawing forth his sword from its sheath, Angiest turns as if to address his troops. But even as his mouth opens the shrill cry from the sky shatters the night air. For the
slightest of instances the expression on his face changes, but quickly he masters himself. Then he speaks again, "Men of Gondor! Soldiers of the White Tree. Remember your homes,
the stout walls of Minas Tirith. Lebennin with its swift streams! Amroth on the sea! Do your duty well and they will ever be safe from the Enemy! Remember you are Men of Gondor!
Fight well and do honour to thy sires and to the White Tree!"
[Drenlyn(#19482)]
Comming to stand by the prince amongst the other knights, Drenlyn draws forth his sword. Grey as sweeping the flame filled darkenss before him. As the shill shriek shoots
through the air he shudders, and turns to the two squires at his side, "This is the time where oaths are held or broken...where boys become men, and men become warriors. Stand
ready, and beware!"
Even as the knight finishes, dark arrows flitter into the sky. Raising his shield to ward off their sharp sting, the Knight waits.
[Imrahil(#29017)]
Thus, Imrahil the Fair anchors the northern line, making his stand in its midst with his Knights around him -- clad in glittering mail and high helms, the Dunedain of Belfalas.
And to his right are arrayed the Men-at-Arms of Dol Amroth, and to his left, those of Minas Tirith, grim and resolute.
Yet, an ancient evil has come forth in this hour, upon the wings of night -- and at that desolate, terrible cry, many in the line pale and glance to each other in unease.
Yet, the voice of the Prince rises in a stern call, "Hold, Men of Gondor!" And they are steadied again.
[Dorionn(#27533)]
"Wh-what was that?" Dorionn asks Morrandir at the sound of the shriek from the sky. The youthful squire's hands close around the hilt of his sword more tightly than necessary,
as if seeking reassurance from its solidity and the words of the knights around him. He looks away from the oncoming arrows, however, unable to stare them in the face.
Rhiforath hears Angiest's call and Runadan's challenge. He only licks his lips and thinks of his step-father, Ravenwyr, praying for courage to not loose his nerve. The young man
holds his place, waiting for the order to charge, electrified with adrenalin rushing and pounding through his rabbit heart to begin.
[Bellas(#29722)]
As Bellas walk quickly toward his father, he lift a hand to make sure the leather helmet on his head sits perfect.. Then he grab the hilt of his sword and the sound of the sword
moving out of the scabbard sounds like a metallic sigh in the night.. Now the sword is free and in it thousand of stars reflect their light. Then he stands next to Angiest,
"Father! I will be near you.. But let me know... Who or what makes those cries in the air, this night!?" His eyes look worried into the night. Quickly he looks back however, to
see Alanya catching up with him.
Talan rides up and down his line atop his black steed. Inspecting his troops one last time he shouts,
"We do this for our land. We do this for our loved ones at home. We do this for those who've died at the foul hands of these men in tin. For fair Umbar and all you hold dear
Drive them off our sovereign land, or make their broken corpses a part of it!"
Kayle's mercanary band comes in trailing behind the main forces of the Haradrim. Fanning off to the west after they cross over the Poros they move at a quick trot attempting to
flank the pressed Gondorian forces. A few of the mercanary's halt and put arrow to their bows, yet Kayle calls out suddenly, "Hold your arrows, they will be needed in good
time."
[Morrandir(#24549)]
Morrandir shudders at the harsh cry of the Nazgul, and turns to Dorionn. "Nothing you need to worry about now, boy." He says grimly. "Just stay with..." he pauses as an arrow
thuds into his shield. "Stay with Sir Drenlyn and I." He raises his sword in challenge at his foes, and cries: "Nimdraug for Gondor!"
[Aefenbryn(#20347)] Aefenbryn's Cenecyld prances and tosses her head at the sound of the eerie cry from the night, refusing to let her mistress mount up at first. "Stop it,
Cenecyld!" the getaleboda hisses, though her own blue eyes glint with cold fear. "Stand still! We're the only ones riding for Rohan here, so behave yourself!"
Cenecyld finally calms - through no words of the girl's own, no doubt - and Aefenbryn mounts up in haste, turning the mare's head in the direction that the roused Gondorians are
rushing.
[Boromir(#19834)]
Figures move toward the pools of light on the Northern banks of the Poros, and archers loose whispers of death into the night.
"AGAIN!" shouts the son of Denethor. They ready their next volley as Boromir continues to pace between the backs of the archers and the front of the bristling wall of shields,
armour, and spears that stand murmering in uneasy lines behind him. Wherever he walks, the men steady and seem to murmer no longer about the shrill cries and harsh sounds of
battle being joined on the other approach to the fortress.
[Alanya(#17244)] The sound of bowstrings and arrows in flight is one Alanya knows well, and she throws herself to the ground while a few of the orc's darts whistle past. Then
she's on her feet again, or, rather, on all-fours, staying low to the ground, and moving after Bellas, with only a glance up at the sky for the darkness blackness which makes
her shudder.
[Fotud(#24579)] Turning to the north as Arali does, Fotud shifts forward in his saddle, his scimitar dropping to sit before him, ready for what will come. His mount nickers and
paws at the ground beneath him, restless as he himself is as they wait.
And then the cry of the Wraith breaks the night, and the Farside Captain pales. Shivering, he hears not the Black Lord's cry to attack, nor the shouts of the men of Farside as
they surge forward. His stallion, terrified by the shrill scream, bolts forward, carrying Fotud upon his back.
No cry does the Hassadite let fly, no shout for Umbar or fancy words for the men of Farside. The cry of the Nazgul holds him, icy fingers within his mind, deeply does he sit
within its sway.
[Imrahil(#29017)]
A wall of shields greets the orcish storm of arrows -- yet, there is no reply from the Men of Gondor. For the archers aid the southern line, not the northern. And a dozen men at
the least fall to the ground, pierced through by the cruel darts.
The first blood of the night has been spilled.
[Arali(#20995)] The shriek that pierces the night causes the Lady Arali's heart to go cold, her slim Narakshi steed nearly throwing her off as it panics. Struggling to keep the
animal and her own fear under control, the Lady cries out, "Attack!!" and leads the charge of her men, thundering across the Poros River and seeking to shatter the Gondorian
lines.
[Amano(#30032)]
As if in defiance to the sudden horror that descends, and is reflected in the pallor of brow and the ash-grey of a chilled gaze, the Isilrim Knight, Amano, sweeps his blade
forth from its scabbard, a pale, leaping flame that cries his wordless challenge to the darkness. And high does he lift his shield to turn the darts of the enemy, the swan and
star blazoned therein glinting.
[Rhiforath(#28737)] Their Captain Boromir, lordly and tall, his words booming even over the din, walks by the lines. Rhiforath and many others see him pass and take heart,
quieting down. Archers ahead fire another volly of arrows and everone waits for the order to engage.
Talan shouts, "Shields up men! Form the shell! Archers, make ready!!" He pauses as volleys of arrows strike shields all around him.
"Now, between volleys, let fly!!" His archers let loose their own volleys!
[Shagrat(#29507)]
Shagrat raises his head and caws back to the shriek of the Nazgul.
"Alright boys, I'm not responsible if you get hit, but keep shooting the arrows. If I see you hesitating, I'll shoot you with it!" he hollers, the most prominent of voices in
the medley of Orkish voices.
The Army of Mordor rushes forward, meeting with the first ranks of spears and the like to collide with the northern line of knights. The Ungol Captain is at a loss of words as
his axe reams towards his preselected victim Imrahil, mighty Prince and Lord!
Shagrat attacks Imrahil with his Battle Axe and moderately wounds him!
[Drenlyn(#19482)]
No cry does Drenlyn let out, a silent figure amongst his fellows. His eyes call out on their own flaming with intense anger directed towards the south. A quick eye is given to
where cries fall, but little can the young knight do now. Examining his sword briefly he whispers, "Brother, you shall be avenged," and then falls silent as the first attack
reaches the lines of the Silver Swan.
[Angiest(#19936)]
As arrows begin to fall into the camp all about him, Angiest turns quickly to his son, saying, "Foul Lieutenants of Him," is all he says. An arrow impacts his helmet with the
thud of stone on metal, then falls to the ground at his feet. Speaking again, he says, "Be safe, my son, for thou hast not the experience in battle." Then the armies charge on
the Gondorian ranks, and all thought of talking is quickly ended.
[Noghzak(#22620)] Slinking along the rear of the orcish force is a scrawny long limbed snaga, a black bow clutched in his green fingers. His bulbous head bobs above his thick
body, keeping his eyes locked upon the enemies. Spittle drips from the corners of his mouth as Noghzak draws within range of the freshly started battle.
[Bregedur(#22134)]
In the camp so suddenly besieged, the tall and darkly-cloaked figure of a Ranger sidles close-by to Aearwen, his sword still sheathed, his bow still upon his back. He waits.
[Erutirn(#17520)] As the arrows of the orcs begin to rain down upon the line, Erutirn kneels low to allow his shield to protect him better. A few arrows clang loudly against his
shield and as all seems well, an arrow clips his brace. A small piece of that wood is chipped away, the knight looks towards his leg. "Close... too close." Then he turns to his
countrymen, "For Amroth! For Tirith! For the White Tree! For the Silver Ship! For Gondor!"
[Herunumendil(#15552)] Herunumendil tightens his grip about her wirebound grip, setting his white knuckles to cracking. Tonight she will be his only love, that and the song they
shall sing together. His ears ache at the overhead whistling of descending arrowheads, as they part the air in a deadly symphony like a horde of descending harpies, hungry and
lusting for blood. One kisses his check in its flight... grey eyes harden to flint, hard as stone. He sets forth his loud war cry rending the air in defiance. "GONDORAGLAR!!"
[Ashnak(#26563)] Scowling as his first shot fails to produce a scream, Ashnak mutters to himself, so lost in concentration that he ignores the words of his fellow captain. He
readies another arrow, launching it into the night with an insidious twanging. As he shoots he stops his charge, and readies another arrow, not waiting for the second arrow to
land before looking for another target.
A massive stack of crates, formerly used to hold supplies on board the Gwaithlion are noticed and looked at in a different light as Aearwen calls to her staff. "Gather and stack
those against the enemy archers. Stack them several feet high so we may form a triage area to the back of the battle." Striding across the ground, she lifts one herself and
begins the task the arduous task. A whistling of arrows causes the crate to be held aloft is if it were a shield, one arrow hitting the wood with a loud *Thunk*, as slivers of
wood fall into her hair. Undaunted, this well versed healer has traveled with the war host for too many years to be kept from her task. One crate is put into place and several
more follow in its stead.
Ashnak launches an arrow...
Ashnak's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
[Boromir(#19834)]
"SHIELDMEN READY!" cries the Son of Denethor to the men on one side, and "LOOSE!" to the men on the other. Each order is obeyed and another hail of arrows is sent toward those
approaching from the South.
"HOLD STEADY!" he bellows, turning and standing along side the archers, guaging the distance of the advance.
"ONCE MORE!!"
"FOOTMEN READY!!" the order is passed through the ranks behind him like wildfire, most of the men more than willing to throw themselves at the Southrons instead of the menace
from the North.
[Dorionn(#27533)]
Having somehow managed to avoid getting hit by the showers of arrows, Dorionn opens his eyes again when the sound of the enemy approaching truly becomes too close for comfort.
His eyes widen and he lifts his sword, but if he makes any sound, it goes unheard in the surrounding chaos.
Imbrahan moves on foot towards the battle lines of the northern ghosts, then nearly jumps out of his skin as an arrow impacts into his shield, narrowly missing peircing his arm,
"son of a mumakil" he breathes, then continues his advance, heart pounding... spear at the ready
[Angiest(#19936)]
The order of Lord Boromir draws Angiest to the ready. He looks to his Captain, awaiting the order to join the battle. The fire in his eye burns brighter, though all the brighter
would it burn to spill Southron blood.
[Uvatha(#28711)] From the North and off the road the thundering of hooves comes tearing across the countryside. A rider atop a black horse sits forcing his angry beast on below
him, spurring it and heading towards the battle with terrible speed. The black robe and cape streams around the rider as he moves across the night field like a ghost, his body
leaned forward. A feeling of terror extends all around him, not discerning forward from behind.
The ancient evil wastes no time on his approach to the battle, his strength and fear lashing out at the Orcen minions of Mordor like a whip giving them added vigour and the will
to fight. The Messenger of Sauron has arrived upon the scene, not even the dead are incapable of not feeling the heartsinking terror of Uvatha the Longrider!
But ho! With distance enough away from both forces he suddenly pulls upon the reins of his fell steed and causes the beast to slide to a stop and buck up into its back two legs
with a loud neigh. A tsunami like wave of fear echos across the battlefield as the wraith releases one of the most terrible screams ever to resound across Middle Earth. A dagger
striking out at the hearts of even the strong, stabbing them with all the force of a Morgul blade, designed to shake both the foes and allies of the Dark Lord without
discretion!
[Uvatha's Robes(#16929)] Uvatha looks to the sky and lets loose a long and shrill scream.
[Uvatha's Robes(#16929)] A shrill and high-pitched wail, full of despair and evil, echoes over the area.
[Bregedur(#22134)]
Near-to the woman who commands the healers, Bregedur watches the arrow strike the crate. He steps forward, drawing it from the wood and examining the shaft and
fletching--unconcerned--as others fall around him.
[Nyubi(#29880)] From the shadows of the rubble, a force of Uruks sits waiting while the bulk crashes already into Gondorian lines. Tiny crimson pinpoints betray Nyubi within
that group, the hooded beast's spear tracing the lines of foemen, one shielded claw awaiting an opportunity to send its creatures into the fray.
[Imrahil(#29017)]
Thus, the black tide of orcs comes forth like a river in spate -- but against them, unyielding as a cliff, stands the northern line. And it wavers at the force of that terrible
clash, only to steady and thrust forth with its spears in the next, forming a perilous hedge of chill steel.
And in the midst, the Prince is taken unawares in the press, and blood limns the rent mail upon his shield-arm. Yet, he makes no cry, but turns to this new foe -- fell and grim
he seems, and a fear goes before the golden helm he bears, with the dragon etched upon its peak. And thus Umbardacil rises and falls towards the orc-captain's head, swifr and
sure -- in the very moment that the Fell Rider's cry rises over the field of battle!
Aefenbryn gasps and ducks low in the saddle as arrows whine about the fray, avoiding injury more by virtue of Cenecyld's nervous ducking and shying than any divine luck.
Gripping her staff tightly in her left hand, the Rohirric maiden canters uncertainly up to the Gondorian lines - she cannot see Leif, cannot take any orders from him. Catching
sight of a familiar face - Dorionn's - she urges Cenecyld forward and shouts at him from the saddle, "Hey! You, mouse-boy! How does this whole lining-up arrangement work ..?"
Her voice trails off as another scream rends the air, faltering into cowed silence.
Imrahil attacks Shagrat with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.
[Dorionn(#27533)] Aefenbryn's voice breaks the momentary paralysis that terror had placed upon the young squire, and without turning around, Dorionn yells, "We stay here, and
you stay behind us, woman!"
[Bellas(#29722)] "Do not worry, father! I will be your second sword arm.." Then seeing that his father is untouched by the arrow he turn to see where Alanya have gone, he shouts
into the night, "Alanya, get here quick!" His voice shivers as the gentle breeze over the cold desert runs its cold fingers over his face. He lifts his buckler hoping for the
weak protection it can give, then he turns back toward his father, seeing him with the army his face shows the doubt within him, whom should he stay with..? Then finally he
decides and again his eyes seek Alanya in the darkness...
[Drenlyn(#19482)]
A rain of metal tips resounds upon Drenlyn's shield as the arrows shoot down. One more arrow clangs to his helm before the young knight lowers his sheild, and is greeted by the
cruel, grinning face of an orc hefting its axe in a killing stroke. Raising hefting his shield once more, the stroke impacts, the defenning din of the collision resounding about
him. Slashing forward he feels some resistance before the stroke is moved off.
Peering over the rim of his shield Drenlyn grimaces towards the orc, as the axe is raised once more, but not to him, the blade falling towards the white squire next to him,
"Dorionn heed!"
[Vrael(#21062)] A cloaked man runs swiftly and silently in the midst of the Southron ranks, his face concealed save for the two deepset eyes that do pierce out into the darkness
to spy the north and the foes that draw ever nearer. "Today will vengeance be wrought..." The man may be heard to mutter if those screams and cries of men were not so boisterous
and strong.
A shield does this cloaked man wield before him, small and dirty, while in the other hand there sways the massive form of a jagged scimitar. The blade is dark and worn of age
and use but its edge may yet bring disaster to those unfortunate enough to be caught in its fell path. And yet, before it can be used, the terrible cry of the wraith rings loud
into Vrael's ears and he nearly stumbles vile imagery strikes his mind and a quick glance is cast down to a hand that has only nine fingers.
Alanya throws herself to the ground again, and covers her ears at that horrible screetch. For seemingly eternal seconds after the infernal noise has echoes away does she lie
there, only, again, to poke her head up, searching for Bellas, less than a dozen steps away. But whistling arrows make those dozen steps perilous ones, and Alanya stays crouched
behind a rock.
Kayle continues to hold his men slightly to side of the Haradrim lines. His silver and black shield reflects the light given off by the moon above. There is no cries of unity
coming from this man's lips for none can fathom why he has actually come to this field of battle. A shudder runs through his body when the high-pitched wail carries over the
field once more and his eyes close for a moment. His band of mercanary's look at their commander with looks of dismay then, yet one and all does not waiver. They too wait for
the cry to advance on the waiting Gondorian Footmen.
[Angiest(#19936)] The second cry shatters the crisp desert night. Angiest takes in a deep breath and with all the strength his noble blood can summon to his aid, Angiest fights
down the terror within, and prevents it being seen upon his face.
Herunumendil looks askance at those he is abreast of, warriors all, men of the Host, men of Dol Amroth. Most importantly Men, men who hold nothing higher than the faith of the
White Tree... and all she represents. Arrows fall about and into them. Some men fall, other curse and pull forth those feathered quills that have sprouted from them, yet others
stand untouched. Uncowed. He awaits a word, one word, thou sweetest and most hardy and hearty of words... ATTACK!!
[Dorionn(#27533)] With a startled gasp, Dorionn swings his greatsword in a rather hastily aimed arc at the orc attacking him, missing completely. The momentum of the blow
however, carries him beyond the reach of the orc's own attack, so both opponents send their weapons whistling through empty air, at least for the moment.
[Shagrat(#29507)]
The huge Captain snorts as he shrugs the blow of the Prince off with his forearm! Shagrat continues to push forward, his gurth and weight giving him a second shot at the man.
One-armed, the orc captain swings the massive axe down to cleave at Imrahil, his other arm shoving forward.
The cry of Uvatha screams and the madness flickers in the Orc's eyes as he bears down on the Prince. Behind him presses the rest of the Army of Mordor.
[Boromir(#19834)]
The archers have remained until the last possible moment, and in time with, and perhaps because of, the cry of the Nazgul from across the field of battle, they again loose their
arrows, and Boromir orders, "FOOTMEN FORWARD!! SHEILDS AT THE READY!!"
"ARCHERS TO THE REAR!!" and then he leans in to the Captain of the archers and says, "Lend your aid where you can, but be the first into the fort, to cover our retreat if one
must be made."
Then the infantry is among them, and Boromir leads the tide forward to meet the Southrons charging across the river, the cold gleam of steel reflected in the torchlight.
Shagrat attacks Imrahil with his Battle Axe, but Imrahil parries the attack with his shield!
Talan is the picture of conflict atop his steed. His face takes on a clear pallor at the cry of the Dread Ones, yet his heart sings that they fight at his side against the
threat of Gondor!
[Fotud(#24579)] Gondorian arrows fly, angry darts within the night, speeding toward the charging force of the Southrons. Fotud does not seem to notice, feathered shafts flashing
past, mere inches from his face, his gaze remains riveted straight ahead, seeing naught but what holds his mind's eye in thrall. An arrow slams into his shield, staying fast,
another glancing off his helm. Still, he does not take note.
As the Farside Captain unknowingly plunges into the Poros upon his terrified mount, a shaft takes the animal in the neck. Fotud is unceremoniously dumped into the river as the
horse collapses beneath him. Water closes over his head as he does naught to hold himself above her red-stained surface.
A Farside soldier sees the Lady's cousin go down and hurries forth, struggling to haul the big Hassadite out of the river, and the path of the charging Haradrim armies. Still
unseeing, unnoticing, Fotud is a limp weight in the warrior's arms.
And then the cry of the second Nazgul sounds, and Fotud is torn from his horror. Standing suddenly, and pushing the soldier away, he marches toward the Gondorian lines with
clear intent and purpose.
[Morrandir(#24549)]
As Drenlyn is beset, so too is Morrandir. His shield clangs as it fends off the blow of an orcish scimitar. The white-squire grunts and lashes out, but his attack parried.
[Aefenbryn(#20347)] "Stay -behind- you!" yells Aefenbryn in a fury at Dorionn, some of her fear burning away in the flash of anger that lights her eyes. "You squeaking, arrogant
-" Considerately enough she breaks off as Dorionn is attacked, struggling with Cenecyld's reins as she rears, and fights to regain control of the mare as the fight crashes down
around her, screaming curses in Rohirric.
[Runadan(#26692)]
Able to stand steady no longer, Runadan steps forward madly from the lines, his eyes focused upon one of the dark little creatures. Even as he is moving, his blade arcs widely
behind his head, shoulder muscles straining as the swing builds speed. With a fury, he pulls the blade downward with even more strength, rewarding him with a foul cry as an arm
drops with a meaty thud to the ground. Yet even as he pulls back the blade, a hideous cry from one of the Nazgul breaks through his fury.. leaving him off-balance.
[Ashnak(#26563)] Scowling at the distinct lack of screaming from his shots, the Teguk Dushgob glances about the field of battle. He watches as several lines of orcs charge in
front of him into battle with a shrug, and raises his bow to a scabbed cheek, looking for a target to hit. He finds one, and looses his next shot, immediately looking for
another arrow at his side.
Ashnak launches an arrow...
Ashnak's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
Once the tenuous -shelter- is created by the crates, Aearwen strikes a piece of flint and lights a lantern against the dark of the night. The sounds of battle rage in the
distance. The clanging of weapons against helm and shield. A presence is felt, a dark, evil coldness not unknown to her as the presence of one -felt- in the dark forest of
Mirkwood joins the fray of battle. A fear is seen in the depths of cerulean eyes as they peer into the night. The orders of Boromir ring loud and confident as he orders the
footmen forward. Able to pick out some of the men in the light of lanterns and fires, Aearwen watches as the well trained soldiers hold off this attack.
Imbrahan wades through the river, then pauses to help a foot soldier pull a horseman up out of the river, then continues, heard pounding, chilled by the screams of the undead
lords, the screams of the wounded... but doggedly continueing, moving towards the right flank
Rhiforath starts as he sees Runadan break from the line to meet the orchish foe. That man cuts swiftly and takes an orc's arm off but at the sound of the errie shriek, is taken
off balance. Not knowing what could possibly make such a bone chilly noise, the young Man-at-Arms moves forward to watch Runadan's back, "Steady - steady!"
[Bellas(#29722)]
An arrow lands in the sand just in front of Bellas' feet.. Quickly he throw himself toward the direction he left Alanya as yet an arrow hits his leather armor in the side, A
silent river of blood starts to flow, from his side, but he continues his search for Alanya as he cries her name out in the night. Without knowing he ends up near the stone
where she hides, There he stands for a moment before his shout again cleaves the air, "ALANYA!" The word is cut into pieces as yet an arrow flies in the air, hitting his
buckler.
[<#28711>] ]Uvatha says in Morbeth, ""Surrender to the Lord of these lands and thou will escape as slaves."
[Nyubi(#29880)] The shielded claw falls, and from the shadows of the ruins leap a dozen slim Uruks, all armed with spears. The foul beasts charge the Gondorian lines, their
sharp-tipped weapons seeking tender human flesh upon which to feast.
Trailing its charges, the cloaked figure of Nyubi follows along. Its crimson eyes fall upon the fear-striken form of Runadan, and yellow shadows betray the grin growing beneath
its coif. With a savagry borne of forest life, the skinny beast leaps upon the Gondorian, its spear leading the charge.
Nyubi attacks Runadan with his Spear, but Runadan parries the attack with his Longsword!
[Amano(#30032)]
Steadfast as though hewn of steel, with ice for blood, only the barest shiver passes through the Isilrim's tall form as the lines crash together, the orcs a black wave
splintering on bared blade and gleaming shield. And expressionless, he hews at the foe without outcry, as if in silence he would not waver. Yet now upon the flank of the
Squires, and Drenlyn, has he been pressed.
[<#28711>] With a loud thud the horses hooves land upon the ground and the wraith moves his hand down towards his side with quick reflex. Grabbing hold of the hilt of his sword
in one movement, and in the next he withdraws the blade to lift it up into the air. His horse rocks slightly, its front hooves lifting from the ground with unease as it resists
the urge to bolt from under the specter above it.
The sword hand begins to move, circling around a few times before Uvatha lowers it to point at the Gondorians. His voice rises up in an unearthly tone that reaches down to the
very core of all those who can hear, ""
[<#11051>] ]Talan says in Morbeth, ""
[Imrahil(#29017)]
With unthinking skill, Imrahil turns away the orc-captain's blow with his shield, and sparks glimmer in the night. Yet, he holds his blade for a moment then -- for around him,
the line falls back a step, as if the cry of the Fell Rider were a threat more fearsome by far than the mortal foes they face. As indeed, it may well be.
And standing thither 'neath his gilded banner, the Prince raises his voice in a great cry, ancient and fair, "Lacho Carlad! Drego Morn!" And the line holds.
Back to his foe Imrahil turns, and Umbardacil is as a leaping flame in his hand, sweeping towards Shagrat's chest.
Imrahil attacks Shagrat with his Longsword, but Shagrat parries the attack with his Battle Axe!
[Adunaphel(#29611)] A second Shadow joins the first, its fell steed lifting its hooves anxiously, as if thirsting, too, for the blood of their foes on this field. Reaching down,
a dark blade is freed from its sheath, and a gloved hand raises it high into the air, answering the second call with yet another of her own... punctuating his demands with her
own.
[Adunaphel's Robes(#12698)] Adunaphel looks to the sky and lets loose a long and shrill scream.
[Adunaphel's Robes(#12698)] A shrill and high-pitched wail, full of despair and evil, echoes over the area.
----------End of Part 1 - Continued in Part 2----------
